Three

by Kristen Simmons

  I left the pack and hurried toward Tucker, the gun I carried heavy in the back of my waistband. In the open, the sun was hot, and I couldn’t imagine how Tucker had been able to stand it.

  I had only reached the first set of gas pumps when he saw me. He did a double take, and I cringed at the deep cut across his jaw. Then, so subtly I almost missed it, his gaze lifted.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered.

  The next moments seemed to pause, and then lurch forward at twice the speed.

  I followed Tucker’s gaze, and saw the flash of a navy dart across the roof. Seconds after a clatter on the metal came a loud crack, but I didn’t stop to see where the shot had been aimed because I was running for the closest cover, the mini-mart.

  Another shot, and then another. I crashed into Tucker, and knocked him into the side of the building. We fell hard, a mess of arms, legs, and the hard metal angles of the chair.

  “Help me up!” he shouted.

  I was already scrambling toward the entrance on my hands and knees. A quick look over my shoulder revealed that he had yet to rise, and was thrashing around like a fish out of water. It was only then I saw that his hands were bound in front of him, and his waist and legs were fastened to the chair.

  What remained of the glass double doors behind me shattered as a bullet screamed by my left ear. My ears rang, my heart hammered against my rib cage. I drew myself as close as I could to the building, feeling the shards of glass slash my thighs, and reached for the gun.

  The trigger stuck.

  An instant of frozen panic.

  I released the safety, cocked the slide, and fired up at the roof. Once, twice. The kickback sent reverberations up my arms. I locked my elbows and fired again, straight into the metal overhead, watching the holes puncture through it like it was tin foil. There was a stunted cry, and then a crash as the awning gave way near my last shot, and a man fell through, landing ten feet away. There was blood on his face. It soaked through his open uniform jacket. He gripped his leg, screaming. It bent forward at the knee to the same degree that the other bent back.

  I shoved myself up. In a surge of strength I grabbed Tucker’s shoulders and began to drag him backward through the front doors of the mini-mart. He twisted, trying to help me, and threw the chair onto its side.

  My back strained. The muscles of my legs quaked. With a cry, I jerked us both through the entrance, landing on a warm, dusty floor.

  Immediately I searched for more soldiers, any signs of movement. It wasn’t until that moment that I saw what filled the mini-mart.

  Bodies. A dozen of them. Tossed over each other like dirty laundry. I smelled it then, the rotting flesh, the sharp tang of blood. Flies buzzed through the air, a thick black cloud over them.

  The medic from Chicago leaned against an empty rack, his face white with death, a hole in the center of his forehead.

  I stared at the gun in my hands needing something, anything, solid to hold on to. My vision shook, or maybe it was my grasp. Maybe it was my whole body.

  We were too late. The MM had set an ambush and used Tucker as the bait. And DeWitt, who’d led us to believe he’d sent a team to help, had done nothing.

  There was no time to think about it now.

  I crouched behind the counter, locking my jaw as I removed an icicle-shaped piece of glass an inch wide from my side. My mouth opened in a silent scream, but though the beige tunic blossomed red, the pain numbed instantly. I pressed down on it to slow the bleeding.

  “Chase,” I said between my teeth. “Do you see him?”

  Tucker had managed to free his waist from the chair, though his ankles and wrists were still bound.

  “Find something sharp!” he ordered.

  I grabbed the closest thing I could, the piece of glass that had been embedded in my skin, and crawled over to him, keeping as low as I could. I sawed at the tight ropes around his hands.

  “Don’t move!” I snapped at him when he strained against the ties.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” he chanted.

  The shots continued outside, and when I heard a grunt, and a drawn-out groan of pain, I dropped the glass and shoved past him, ducking low to see who had been hit.

  A soldier kneeled out in the middle of the street. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder too slowly, and in the time before he fired he was hit three times across the chest. He fell back, motionless. I didn’t see the shooter until Jesse streaked by toward the cover of the shipyard.

  Another window shattered. Tucker, hands now released, grabbed my arm and ripped me back. He returned to frantically trying to cut the rope around his ankles.

  “They followed me,” he said. “I didn’t know. I swear.” His eyes, green and glassy, met mine. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  I believed him.

  A groan behind me drew my attention, and both Tucker and I froze. Still with the gun aimed on the door I crawled backward, keeping my head low.

  The first thing I saw was Jack, or what had once been Jack, his long body splayed out across the floor as if he’d been tossed there. Under his legs was someone else. Someone whose pale face was turned to the side, revealing a head of light brown hair, matted with blood.

  “Sean?” I kept my eyes on the door but crouched low, close to his face. I gave his arm a firm shake and he groaned again. He’d been shot low in the shoulder, but from the looks of his shirt had bled significantly.

  A bullet zipped overhead, implanting in the back wall. Tucker swore.

  With one arm I shoved Jack’s legs off of Sean’s, and pinched him as hard as I could beneath one knee.

  He gasped, coughed weakly. The tears burned my eyes. I was so overcome with relief I nearly broke down.

  “Sean!” My voice cracked. “Get up right now!”

  “Ember?”

  “Up!” I ordered. He struggled to get to his elbows. His eyes found Jack and wandered around the rest of the room before falling out of focus.

  “Three,” he said faintly. “They know where the doctor is. We’ve got to get back. Becca’s…”

  The screech of metal behind me, and someone burst through the back door.

  I jerked my gun around, and felt the sob strangle my breath when I saw Chase.

  “Ember!”

  “Here,” I said. He dodged between the bodies, eyes going wide with horror before stooping beside me.

  “DeWitt didn’t send anyone,” I said.

  “You sure about that?” His voice was cold, and his intention made my blood run cold. This couldn’t have been Three’s work. This had to be the MM.

  “Good. You brought backup,” mumbled Sean. His eyes began to roll back.

  I pinched him again, this time in the crook of his elbow.

  “Ow!” Sean shook his head.

  “Jesse?” Chase asked me.

  “Last I saw he was running for the shipyard.”

  His lip curled back as he saw the way my shirt was sticking to my side. “You’re hit.”

  “Just glass,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

  He looked as though he didn’t believe me, but nodded anyway. “I’ll clear the back for you. It’s a straight shot into the woods; we’ll meet back at the car.”

  “You hear that Sean? We’re running,” I said. “Get ready.”

  He groaned as Chase hoisted him to his feet.

  “Wait,” I heard Tucker say from the other side of the counter. “Wait, I’m almost … wait, okay?”

  Chase flinched, his eyes cold and hard.

  “We can’t leave him,” I said.

  “Once you’re clear, I’ll come back for him.”

  “Chase…”

  His hand cupped the back of my neck and drew me forward, smashing his lips against my brow. He was gone too soon; when I opened my eyes it was to see his back as he dodged toward the exit.

  I ducked under Sean’s arm and we hobbled after Chase. When we were in the doorframe, I wiped the sweat off my hand and replaced the gun, then made sure my f
riend was tight against my side.

  “Ready?” Chase asked.

  I glanced to Sean. He inhaled through his nostrils, face beginning to flush in patches.

  “Now or never,” he said.

  I nodded.

  Chase stepped out on the crumbling concrete step and aimed directly into the woods. Shots came from the roof, and then someone called, “Hey! They’re back here!”

  Without hesitation, Chase ran to the side, spun, and fired up at the roof. Sean and I sprinted toward the tree line. We hit the bushes with a crash, barely staying upright. I told my feet to keep moving, and they pedaled on, tearing through the vines and flimsy roots. Sean stumbled, then regained his footing, shoving forward.

  I grabbed his arm. “Keep going,” I said. “There’s a truck three miles south where the road ends. I’ll meet you there.”

  He looked like he would object, but when I pushed him, he turned and stumbled away.

  “Come on, Chase,” I whispered. Gripping the gun I ducked behind an overturned refrigerator someone had left out here years ago. Chase was back inside the building now; I could see his shadow move across the room.

  Ten seconds, I told myself. I would give him ten seconds to get out, then I was going back after him.

  Nine.

  Eight.

  Seven.

  Six.

  Chase sprinted through the exit, head down. Someone rounded the side of the building and began firing, and Chase dropped, rolling across the ground.

  I jumped to my feet. Just before I crossed into the open, Tucker broke through the door and ran to Chase. He bent and grabbed his shirt, pulling him up.

  Another shot, only this one from around the side of the building. Automatically, I ducked low, but my mouth fell open in shock when I saw Jesse firing toward Chase and Tucker.

  No! I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t find my voice. Jesse was making a mistake. Tucker was with us, he’d been imprisoned.

  Tucker fell to his side with a blunted cry. He gripped his thigh and drew his knee to his chest.

  Jesse disappeared around the side of the building again.

  Chase looked down at Tucker for one instant, but that was all it took.

  “Freeze!” shouted a soldier from the opposite side of the building. “Drop your weapon!”

  I raised my gun, willing my arms to stop shaking. A noise in the bushes behind me startled me, and I glanced back, but saw nothing. When I turned back around, Chase had lowered his gun, and dropped it on the ground. Two soldiers faced him now, and another emerged from where Jesse had been hiding just seconds ago. The guard on the roof aimed down his sights at both he and Tucker.

  Chase raised his hands in surrender.

  A soldier approached and kicked Chase’s gun across the dirt in my direction.

  “Lucky I don’t kill you right now,” he spat. “On the ground. Hands behind your head. The chief’s got some questions for you.”

  The chief was in Charlotte for the celebration. They meant for Chase to join the other prisoners there.

  I lifted my gun again, blinking through the sweat dripping in my eyes, ignoring the whispering in the grass behind me.

  I aimed.

  I never saw the rope slip around my neck.

  CHAPTER

  20

  THE boat rocked gently from side to side. The water below was silent, slick and black as oil, coating the metal siding and dripping over the rim with the sway. Overhead, the sun beat down, cold and unmerciful. I shivered.

  Chase stood on the shore ten feet away. He dragged his toe in the water, jolting back when it burned the bottom of his boot with a harsh hiss. I searched the hull desperately for a paddle, but found only splintered pieces of wood.

  “It’s broken,” I called, holding them up. The waves dragged me away, inch by inch. They thrashed harder, and I gripped the wooden bench I sat upon, fearful the boat would capsize.

  I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t get home.

  He was no more than a tiny speck now, on a shore far away, and his voice came to me as a whisper.

  “I’ll find you,” he said. “And I’ll bring you back.”

  * * *

  A LOW groan came from my raw throat, magnifying the pounding in my head. I blinked, but was confused by the sight that greeted me: thick ropes, branches and leaves, and through them, the clear night sky.

  Side to side I swayed, as if I was lying in a hammock.

  Not a hammock—a net, strapped to a tree. I tried to twist, but my legs were tangled up, and I only managed to tighten the ropes around my knees. The ground below was six feet away, and as I stared at it my temple throbbed, and the patches of grass wavered in my vision.

  I grasped my neck, feeling the heat from the rope that had cut off my air supply, and the spike of panic when I realized my necklace was no longer around my neck.

  The memories cropped up, fuzzy at first, then sharper, driving my pulse like the beat of a drum. Tucker outside the mini-mart. The bodies within. The soldiers surrounding us. Sean—had he made it?

  Chase.

  My heart clenched so hard I grit my teeth so I didn’t cry out.

  He’d been taken. Tucker as well, and maybe even Jesse.

  I’d been taken. Though … not by the same people.

  Voices came from my right, and I pretended to be unconscious as several sets of footsteps crunched over the dead leaves.

  “Watch this,” said a boy excitedly. I held still but tracked them through my lashes as they approached. I recognized the speaker; I’d met him in the grove weeks ago, before we’d been brought to Endurance, where he’d told me to shut up and kicked me in the side. A dirty blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, but the mean, hungry look on his bony face was still the same.

  He grabbed my ankles and spun me in a circle. I went faster and faster until my stomach heaved and I had to swallow the bile. The net dug into my arms and my chest and my face. And then I paused, and the boy hollered in glee as I began to unwind, whipping around with greater speed than before. The branch above groaned and I braced for the fall that never came.

  “What’re you gonna do with her?” asked another.

  “Don’t know,” the boy answered. “Maybe we’ll cut off her fingers an’ feed ’em to the dog.”

  Chills raced over my skin.

  “Shuddup.” This voice was farther removed from the others, and higher pitched. When I followed the sound I recognized the younger one that I’d been foolish enough to follow in the grove. He was still shirtless despite the cold, and covered in mud.

  “What’s that, dog?”

  The boy who’d spun me disappeared from my view and I heard the familiar thump of a solid hit, and a high whine that followed.

  “Bad dog! Bad dog doesn’t get a bone!” shouted the boy. Several others laughed. While they were distracted I freed my arms completely, feeling for any break in the net. The branch above me groaned again.

  I glanced at the boys, my body still. There were more of them now, maybe fifteen, standing by a large campfire, surrounding a child who crawled around on his hands and knees. Every few seconds someone kicked him. He began to bark and howl, and they clapped their hands and laughed.

  I went to work on the net again, but the boys suddenly grew quiet. From behind them came the sound of scraping metal, and I squinted through the darkness to where a series of torches sticking out of the ground surrounded an old trailer home. A fat man wearing only a stained undershirt stumbled down the steps and belched loudly. Several of the boys laughed.

  “Quit all that racket!” he yelled. They silenced.

  He walked among them, pushing a few out of his way. “Charlie, I think I owe you somethin’, don’t I?”

  The mean boy stepped forward timidly, hands clasped down low in front of him. With more dexterity than I would’ve thought possible, the man swung his fist toward Charlie’s face, but stopped an inch away. Charlie flinched, and when the man began to laugh, smiled weakly.

  “Naw, I owe y
ou better’n that. I take care of my boys, don’t I?”

  “Yes, sir,” said several of them.

  “What’s that?”

  “Yes, sir!” they chimed together.

  “Ungrateful bastards,” muttered the man. Finally I found a weak link in the net and succeeded in ripping a hole large enough to shove my wrist through. Frantically, I began pulling at the ropes, but a flash of pain in my side made me grit my teeth and hold perfectly still while it passed. The glass puncture from the mini-mart had reopened. When it was manageable again I resumed my attack on the net.

  “Charlie got me a little prize today, and for that, he gets a little prize of his own, don’t he?”

  Charlie unclasped his hands, and looked up at the man with interest.

  The man reached into his pocket and removed a handgun. I froze. It was my gun.

  He placed it in Charlie’s hands.

  “Thanks, sir!” The others gathered close around him as the man began to stumble in my direction. He belched again as he came close, and then smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked, rotting teeth. His breath was enough to make my stomach heave again. The smell of alcohol wafted off of him.

  “Pretty little thing,” he whispered. I watched him, holding my breath. He stuck a finger through the net and poked me in the side. I couldn’t help wincing; his finger pressed right against the cut the glass had made.

  “Tickle, tickle, tu-tu!” He giggled. The net began to sway again.

  I fought the urge to scream.

  “Now why were you all alone out there?” he mused. “I know you must have friends.”

  I sensed he wasn’t asking me. The boys had gathered in a half circle behind him.

  “She had friends,” said Charlie. “But some Blues came and snatched ’em up.”

  “They see you?” asked the man.

  “Nah,” said Charlie. “They might’ve though, what with that dog making all kinds of noise. Nearly got us found out.” He kicked the ground, spraying dirt on the youngest boy. “He’s always trying to blow it for us. Can’t keep his yap shut.”

  The boys silenced as the man turned around. He clucked and shook his head from side to side. “You gonna handle this, Charlie?”