Free The Variables by Shelbi Wescott Page A

felt the car roll to a stop at the end of the street and Darla suppressed the urge to make a snide comment about old habits; there were some ingrained actions that were hard to shake. Then, as Dean pulled forward, she heard the shatter and felt the pebbles of the back window falling down around her. The sound jolted her upright, her mind frantic. They were back, she thought. Teddy’s kidnappers came back to finish the job.
    “What the—” Dean cried, and he screeched to a halt.
    Without hesitation, Darla grabbed her gun and spun, firing a shot out of the now-open window. Then she heard the shriek; the high-pitched scream halted her from firing another shot into the void.
    Spinning to get a better look, Darla saw her.
    Ripped clothing, matted hair, dried blood caked to the left side of her face. One leg of her jeans was ripped to the knee, and she was missing a shoe.  
    Ainsley stood in the middle of the road, holding fist-sized rocks against her body, panting and wailing after the truck. When she saw that the truck had stopped, Ainsley dropped the rocks, scattering them against the asphalt, and shuffled forward, wincing, her body racked with sobs as she approached the idling truck. Her shoeless foot dragged behind her, streams of tears smearing the blood on her cheek.
    “Sweet Mary and Joseph,” Dean said. He jumped out and rushed forward to her, holding his arms out and inviting her to fall forward into them. She buried her head into Dean’s chest and clung to him, her hands clutched the arms of his jacket like they were the only things holding her upright.
    Darla could hear Dean shushing Ainsley, and she let her gun drop back down. It was then she realized that her hand was shaking; she balled it into a fist, opening and closing her fingers until the tremors subsided.
    She wanted to join in the reunion; she wanted to celebrate Ainsley’s failed assassination. Certainly the men who arrived at their house came with a single mission: annihilate everyone but Ethan and Teddy. The fact that Dean, Darla, and Ainsley walked away meant that their mission had been a disaster. But Darla couldn’t find any joy and pleasure in seeing Ainsley’s face.
    For a second, Ainsley peered above Dean’s jacket with wide, pleading eyes, seeking out Darla in the truck and shaking her head before hiding again.
    And it was then Darla heard Ainsley’s voice, muffled but clear. “Please don’t let her kill me,” she cried. “Please, Dean, please. Please don’t let her kill me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

CHAPTER FOUR

    The festival was intended to boost morale.
    People heard about the Brikhams’ fate. Rumor had it that the family was given the tanks for subversive behavior, and no one doubted it. The Brikhams had few allies among the survivors, but while the family’s neighbors wouldn’t miss the late-night shouting matches or their son Charlie’s blatant thievery, their absence created pockets of angsty discussions in hallways. The worry was spreading.
    So, according to Lucy’s mother and father, Huck dreamed up a spectacle to while away the hours.  
    It seemed like an odd juxtaposition: one thousand sun-deprived people with varying levels of cabin fever filing in and out of the Center, participating in old-school carnival games and eating popcorn and hot dogs like it was all they had ever wanted. Rock music pumped through the speaker system and occasionally the MC, a shiny haired former NASA employee and weekend comic, would break in with raffle prizes, booth announcements, witty banter, and all-around good cheer.  
    The Sky Room chefs hosted a cake walk; someone had brought or pilfered Polaroid cameras and set up a photo booth. People walked away from it shaking the flimsy, slowly developing film in eager anticipation of seeing their expressions materialize from nothing. It was a simple joy. The System’s occupants milled around between beanbag tosses, miniature