Free Three (Article 5) by Kristen Simmons

to talk to a small gathering of survivors. After a few moments, he rose and moved to Billy and Sarah. Billy stood and made his way to another group as Jack limped in our direction.
    We stood. Jack picked at his teeth. What looked to be a T-shirt was tied around his leg.
    “Rat’s gone missing,” he said. “A few of us are going back to the bridge to see if he’s there.”
    It wasn’t until then that I remembered that Rat had raced past me in the attack. I’d assumed he’d returned once the fight was over, but apparently he had not.
    “He went through the woods,” I said, leaving out the part that he’d been running scared. “I saw him during the fight.”
    “Your uncle probably stabbed him. Accidently, of course.” Jack tightened the bandage around his leg, then spat into the fire. The flames hissed back at him.
    “It was a mistake,” said Chase flatly.
    “A mistake,” Jack repeated. “You choking back there, was that a mistake, too?”
    I knew he was talking about the attack—I could still hear his call for Chase to shoot Jesse—but that didn’t explain the venom in his tone. My arms crossed over my chest.
    “Something you want to say, Jack?” Chase took a step closer.
    Jack’s lips drew back into a thin line. “If you’re not too busy with your family reunion, maybe you could look for our man.”
    Chase’s fingers tapped against his thigh, and I reached for his forearm, feeling the muscles flex beneath my hold.
    Jack looked to where we touched, and then back at Jesse. His eye twitched. Without a word, he stalked off toward the bridge. I tried to ignore the punch of sympathy when his shoulders sagged; not until that moment did I remember him calling for his ma—Sheri something. It wasn’t the first time I’d wondered why he hadn’t gone with the others from Chicago back to the resistance bases. I figured he’d been burned by the tunnel collapse, scared to go back to the cities, but now I realized he’d hoped someone would be waiting for him out here in the wilderness.
    When I turned back, Chase had already torn a strip off his sleeve and tied it around the end of a stout branch to make a torch. He dipped it into the flames, and it crackled as it caught, creating a small glowing ring to light our way.
    “Good luck,” said Jesse, hardly moving.
    “Thanks,” muttered Chase.
    The woods were dark, and even with the torch held high, the shade swallowed most of the light. We tracked north, cutting sideways through the brush, calling for Rat every few minutes. I stayed near Chase as the echoes of our voices distorted in the woods, coming back like the whispers of strangers, but whenever I got too close he pulled out of reach. I thought of Rebecca—the way she’d looked on that wobbly bridge, the straightness of her back as she’d walked away into the unknown, as if she’d never turn around. A chill shivered over my skin.
    “Jack was right,” Chase said when we reached the stream. “I choked.”
    I stepped closer into the halo of light, hating the doubt I saw in his face.
    “It ended up being your uncle. It’s a good thing you didn’t shoot him.” I tried to sound convincing, but my lack of enthusiasm for Jesse was shining through.
    “It won’t happen again,” he said. I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.
    So you’re a man now, Jesse had said.
    I stopped and snagged the back of his shirt before he could walk away.
    “You didn’t buy all that stuff Jesse was saying, right?” I took a step closer. “I mean, I know he’s your uncle, but he doesn’t really know you.”
    Chase shoved his free hand in his pocket. “He knows me better than you think.”
    “Because he taught you how to steal? Because, why?” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “He shot someone, too?”
    Chase exhaled through his teeth.
    “Because he knows what it’s like digging food out of Dumpsters,” he said. “And because he was there when the bombs hit Chicago, and when people went crazy and