We The Forlorn (Book #2) (Completed)

32. Maybe Just Maybe

What was perhaps a few minutes slipped by, before a case of water was brought to their cell by an older soldier. He dumped the bottles through the bars and then tossed a package of bandages and salve through after it. He then turned and sat on a chair where he could keep an eye on them. From the way he lay his rifle across his lap, they could tell he was going to be their new guard.

Despite the new presence in the room, Bo didn't give him any attention. After glancing at him once, she ignored him as thoroughly as he was ignoring them. She picked up a water bottle, sipping on it with the thought that she had to nourish herself if she was going to be strong enough to help the Forlorn. You didn't escape from militia custody dehydrated and weak.

The water seemed to bring some life back to everyone, and their self-imposed silence and isolation finally broke. Esme ordered Khan to pull his shirt collar down so she could access his wound, and she poured one of the bottles of water over it. It was still bleeding, and she looked worried.

"It needs adhesive or stitches," she said, pressing down on the bullet hole with one of the bandages to do her best to staunch the flow.

"Just wrap it up," Khan said. "It'll do until we can get out of here." He said the last bit low, so the guard wouldn't hear.

Esme sighed, but followed Khan's orders. She held one of the bandages to his wound in a bundle, and tightly wrapped another around it. Khan clutched handfuls of the fabric of his pants, breathing shallowly and sweating as Esme worked. To distract him, Esme tried to start a conversation.

"What do you think Silver meant by not having an election?" she asked, glancing at Helga and Bo.

Helga snorted. "Who knows and who cares. He's a traitor, so even if his words meant anything, I don't think we should trust them."

"He rambled on about hurricanes, too," Esme said, shaking her head. "None of it makes sense."

As the conversation shifted to figuring out just how many vile names they could call Silver and the militia, Bo silently made her way to the opposite corner of the cell where she could think in peace. She leaned against the wall, facing away from the others and half in the shadows. She crossed her arms and rubbed her lips with one hand.

What had Silver meant by his words. He surely couldn't have just been talking nonsense. She had seen the way he'd been hyper aware, like he was hiding something. There was something behind his words. Something he didn't want the militia to hear him telling them.

An election. What was there to vote on?

Who would be the one to try and escape first from the cell?

Who would be the sacrifice to go out and test the ground?

Was he telling them to sit tight and he'd come back for them?

No, he wasn't that noble.

Bo bit her lips and looked up. What else would they be voting for? Who died first? She came up blank on any other options. There just wasn't anything they'd hold an election for.

Unless. If he was talking about the Forlorn, and not the small group in the cell... Could he possibly be telling them not to elect a new leader? Could he be telling them about Adam?

Her heart soared and she sucked in breath. If he meant that Adam was still alive, then he'd just given them all the hope they needed to escape. In fact, if Adam was out there, Bo would risk everything to get to him. Especially since his time might not be very long. If Aston had somehow been stopped on the ship, he was no doubt chomping at the bit to get at Adam now. Their time to escape was even more limited now.