Chapter 7: The Fuel Depot

Haskell kept his fuel in a tank farm on the rail siding, a quarter mile outside the Yard wall.

"Sixteen tanks, one fence, six guards," Bria said, tapping her pencil on her map.

"He thinks nobody would dare."

It was Friday night, two days before the deadline.

We lay on a ridge above the siding with the engine of our truck ticking in the cold.

"If we take his fuel, his riders can't move," Tova said.

"And if we burn it?"

"Then they can't move, and he can't see across the valley by his own bonfire."

She looked at Bria.

"You're sure you want to ride with him?"

"I'm the only one who can wire the trucks."

"You've been white as a sheet since the Narrows."

"I'm a redhead," Bria said. "White is my natural color."

Hallie said nothing.

She sat in the back of the truck with her braid in her lap, braiding it tighter, her eyes on the girl's face.

Tova took the east side with a rifle, and Hallie stayed with the truck.

Bria came with me down the slope on her belly, her tool roll strapped across her back.

The guards were bored, as I had hoped.

Two of them played cards under a lantern.

I reached out from the dark, and the lantern died.

While they were swearing, a wall slammed them against the fence and held them there, gasping.

Bria zip-tied their wrists.

Four more came running.

Tova's rifle cracked from the ridge.

I felt the blue light drain out of me in one hot rush, and my vision spotted white.

Bria grabbed my belt.

"Don't pass out," she hissed. "I can't carry you."

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"So are you."

She was.

Her whole body trembled against mine, and a thin red line ran from her nostril to her lip.

She wiped it with her sleeve before I could say a word.

"Dust," she said. "Come on."

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