Renegade

Chapter thirty-four

Brad stood on the porch of his cabin, his shoulders drooped in defeat, weighed down by the ambient sorrow. The full realization of what had happened hit him as he'd sat alone in his office, his skin prickling with the camp's underlying grief. It had eroded his defenses until he'd slumped forward in his seat and released the tight control he had over everyone's emotions.

Rain pattered on the roof above his head, trickling down the side of the cabin. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a reminder of the dying summer. Most of the camp was dark as his companions had retired for shelter from the rain and some time to grieve. The lamp hanging next to his head was on, illuminating the nose of an old Jeep.

The sound of uneven, sloshing steps broke the monotony of the downpour as Blaise limped to the vehicle. His leg was healed but he was left with a temporary stiffness in his muscles that prevented him from walking normally.

He threw a backpack in the trunk and walked around the car to the passenger's seat. He pulled the door open but didn't get in right away, his eyes locking with his leader's. He swiped a few wet strands of hair out of his face, his jaw set in grim determination.

The sloshing sound came again as more people approached. Diana and Howard also stashed a couple of bags in the trunk, the latter pulling the door shut. Like Blaise, both were clad in regular clothing, Howard's jacket zipped up to his chin and the hood of Diana's blue raincoat pulled over her head. They also stopped to look at Brad.

The Ocher stared back at them, trying to get words out around the lump in his throat. He had lost three people today, he couldn't bear the thought of losing more.

"You don't have to do this," he told them, his tone calmer than expected.

"We do," Blaise answered, his voice thick with repressed emotions. "This is our fault. Our responsibility."

Howard nodded and Diana flashed him a mirthless smile. It wasn't their fault, it was his. His, for sending them out when they weren't fully rested. His, for not planning ahead. His, for growing complacent and cocky. If anyone was to blame it was Brad, yet no one did - everyone took it upon themselves to fix it.

Gale had locked himself in his cabin to search for their captured comrades and hadn't left since. Blaise, Diana, and Howard packed their things and were going back to the confrontation's scene to see if they could find something useful. There was no stopping any of them; their faces were screaming their determination as loudly as the emotions rolling off of them. So Brad would let them go.

"Be careful," Brad said and watched as they sat in the Jeep.

He stood stock still, barely blinking when the car's headlights practically blinded him. He would let them all do what they needed to do, but so would he. He had sat back once and he'd lost family. He wouldn't stay behind and do nothing this time.

As soon as the Jeep was gone, Brad hurried down the steps and headed for the largest cabin, opposite his and barely visible in the pouring rain. Light filtered out through the windows and he pushed the door open.

Gabriela stood next to one of the beds, tucking in the corners of a clean bedspread. She turned at the sound of the opening door, her unusually colored hair cascading over her slim shoulders. She picked up the balled, dirty sheets that lay at the foot of the bed and straightened, waiting for him to speak.

"Blaise, Howard, and Diana left," Brad said, aware that he didn't need to elaborate. As the one who had treated them, she would've caught wind of their plan long before him. "I'll be going too. I might know people that can help."

Gabriela's dark eyes were trained on his face. She was the least expressive person he had ever met - he could actually count the number of times he had heard her voice on one hand. He continued without an answer, knowing it wasn't going to come.

"I'm leaving you and Gabino in charge and I need you to keep an eye on Gale. Can you do that for me?"

Gabino was Gabriela's twin brother. Save for the hair - hers was a deep blue and his a classical black -, they looked identical. Their personalities, however, couldn't be more different. Gabino was reckless, loud and unreliable, but he had a lot more presence than his sister. He was also a Telepath, which was one of the reasons he left him in charge alongside her.

People knew they could trust and rely on Gabriela as a person, but they couldn't expect her to lead and that was where Gabino came in. She was the only one who could keep his exuberance in check and as long as they were together, Brad was guaranteed that the camp would be fine. Gabriela would be the brains and Gabino the mouth.

Gabriela nodded and Brad flashed her a tired smile. He felt the pang of worry shoot through her as she took a better look at him. It slowly morphed into disapproval, which was Brad's cue to leave. For someone who barely spoke, Gabriela was very good at convincing people to do things. Though it probably would've been in his best interest to obey her, Brad had no time, so he backed out of the cabin with a soft "thank you".

He didn't bother going to see Gale as the Technopath would ignore anything he had to say. Besides, he would realize soon enough that Brad was gone and if he got worried, he would contact him. The Ocher returned to his own cabin instead.

Once inside, he made a beeline for the small living area at the back of the wooden office. Stripping out of his humid clothes, he pulled on a pair of faded jeans, a T-shirt and an old sweater. He grabbed a black sports bag from under his cot and haphazardly flung spare clothes in.

Pushing the white curtain aside, he crouched in front of his desk and pulled a drawer open. A small, black metallic box sat inside it, which he gingerly picked up and set on the top of the desk. He flipped it open to reveal wads of cash. All of the camp's savings were stowed away in his office and though none of it was kept under a lock, no one actually broke in to try to steal it.

The people that lived here were all fugitives. Whether they had spent time on the run, in research facilities or imprisoned, they were all wanted. This was their sanctuary, their home and it didn't require any currency to function - only diligent work. As such, no one ever complained about the lack of money. Whatever cash people brought with them was stored in the office in case someone needed it on a mission away from camp.

Brad pocketed a small number of bills before turning his attention to the display of weapons. Besides the heavily secured armory, his office was the only place that contained any weapons. He grabbed a handgun, some ammo, and a holster, checking that everything was functional before tying it across his chest. He pulled a jacket on to hide it from sight, then added a rifle and a hunting knife to his bag.

Theoretically, Brad could survive by solely relying on his ability. Practically, it was better to be safe than sorry. He pulled the bag over his shoulder and shot his office one last glance before exiting.

Apprehension settled in the pit of his stomach that was slowly swallowed by the mounting excitement. This would be his first time leaving camp in so very long.

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