by Scott, Kylie
I get to my feet, hauling the strap of the bag over my shoulder. No one is separating me from my stuff again—small amount that I have.
Thom gives the duffel a look, lips tight. “You’re going to have to leave it. We don’t have time to check for trackers or any such shit in there.”
“You said you trusted Crow.”
“Betty, we don’t have time for this.”
It sucks, but I do as told, setting the duffel bag down. He takes my hand and leads me out into the hallway. The red light gives everything a weird postapocalyptic vibe. And instead of heading toward Henry’s work area, we turn left, deeper into the subterranean complex.
“Where are we going?” I ask, half-running, trying to keep up with the man.
“Away from here.”
Like this tells me anything.
“Plan B,” he says. “You’ll have to come with me for the time being.”
Out of the gloom, Henry dashes toward us, breathing heavily. “You’re all set. Don’t stray from the path. It’d be a shame if you got your asses blown to pieces.”
“Thank you,” says Thom. He has a gun in his other hand now.
Henry just tips his chin, turning to me. “Later, Betty. Keep your head down, okay?”
“Okay.” My voice hardly quavers at all. “Thanks.”
Then he’s gone, moving past us. Thom leads me farther down the shadowy hall. It seems to go on forever.
“What’s he going to do?” I ask, out of breath now too.
“Henry takes uninvited guests pretty seriously. He’s got this mountain rigged with all sorts of shit. He’ll probably just sit in front of a screen and watch ’em burn.” Thom gives me a smile full of sharp teeth. “Or, if he’s feeling frisky, he’ll go out and have some fun with a sniper rifle.”
“If this place is safe then why don’t we stay put and wait them out?”
“Because I can’t afford to be on lockdown in the bunker for days on end,” he says. “As for you, I don’t like how fast they found us and I don’t know the extent of their resources. How much they’re willing to throw at this. Might only be a one in a thousand chance they breach the place, but I’m not risking it. Until I know more, you’re safer with me.”
“All right. Makes sense. So you think Henry’s going to kill them?”
Thom squeezes my hand. “Whoever these people are, they’re not our friends. Friends don’t sneak up on you wearing tactical gear, bulletproof vests, and carrying Uzis, while moving in an attack formation.”
“How did they find us?”
“Good question. I’m still figuring that bit out.”
Eventually, the hallway loses all pretense of sophistication and turns into more of a tunnel. Intermittent lights cast a scarlet glow from the sides of the walls and we duck our heads so we don’t hit the ceiling. At the end, a steel ladder leads up to a generous-size hole.
Above us, the ground shakes. Dust sprinkling down on us. I don’t even want to imagine what caused that mini-quake.
“It’s all right,” says Thom, slipping the gun into the back waistband of his jeans. If he accidentally shoots a butt cheek, he’s going to be sorry. Though he does seem to know what he’s doing. One of his front pockets bulges with extra ammunition. “Someone just stepped on one of Henry’s traps. But they should be nowhere near us. I’ll go up first and you follow straight behind me, okay?”
I nod.
“Soon as we’re up top, you make for the passenger side of the vehicle. Get in and get your seat belt on. I’ll do the rest.” His gaze slides over my face, taking in my bitten lip and fear-filled eyes, no doubt. “Babe, I’ve got this. Just follow behind me and do as I say. You’re going to be fine.”
Another nod. I don’t quite feel up to speaking for some reason. Shaking in my boots? Yes. Forming sentences? That’s a hard no.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. I want a gun.”
He shakes his head. “You’ve spent about five minutes in your entire life with a gun in your hand. Shooting at a fixed target from a safe, stationary position.”
“True. But I still want a gun. You said it yourself: anything could be waiting for us up there.”
“It should be clear, at least until we’re in the car, and then you’ll need to keep your head down.”
“The safe house should have been clear,” I snapped. “Henry’s should have been clear. They’ve—whoever they are—have been right on our tail at every turn. For all we know they’re waiting for us right where that ladder comes out.”
He glares at me. Then he reaches under his armpit to a holster. It’s dark and compact, so I hadn’t even noticed it. He hands me a small, snub-nosed piece. “When you’re holding on to it, keep your finger away from the trigger and point it at the floor. You don’t use it until you hear me say ‘shoot.’”
“Understood.”
“I mean it. Otherwise you’re more likely to accidentally kill us both.”
I nod and stuff the gun into the back of my pants, just like Thom did. Except of course my pants aren’t combat ready like his. This is my life now, unicorns and rainbows and guns. Still, the elastic around the waist is strong enough to bear the weapon’s weight without too much wobbling.
Thom moves swiftly up the rungs while I follow, my innate lack of physical prowess slowing me down some. At the top of the ladder, he punches numbers into a security panel. The lock on the round metal door above us clicks and he pushes it open. Up above, the light is equally dim and the air smells musty and earthy. Of course he climbs out all grace and athletic-like. I, on the other hand, clamber and stumble. Not that it matters at a time like this.
We’re in a small, rickety barn, moonlight shining through the slats overhead. There are more woodpiles, a few bales of hay, and some tools. Along with an old, rusted Dodge Charger. I guess our SUV and the muscle car Thom mentioned are housed elsewhere.
Another explosion shakes the mountain, though this one sounds farther away. Henry is not playing around.
“Not the Cobra?” I whisper.
“Not the Cobra. Sorry. And not the SUV either, just to be safe.”
Outside, a small light flickers in the distance. Then there’s a sound. The rustling of dried leaves.
Thom immediately pushes me in the direction of the vehicle. His gun is back in his other hand. “Go.”
We both dash for the car, Thom all but sliding on his ass across the hood à la a totally cool and smooth move. The passenger door might have been closer, but he still beats me into the car by a long shot.
“Seat belt,” he says.
“Getting there.” I wince at the louder-than-I-intended sound of my car door closing. “Sorry.”
“Head down. I need you to stay out of sight as best you can. Make yourself as small a target as possible. And hold on to this for me.” He hands me another gun from out of his ankle holster. The man’s a walking armory. “Don’t use it. Just hand it to me when I ask for it.”
“Okay, okay.”
Thom rolls his window almost all the way down, and reaches for the ignition. He glances at me. For a moment, he looks like I feel, rattled with more than a touch of afraid. Then his jaw sets and his eyes go hard. “Get down farther, as far as you can.”
He starts the engine, the car roaring to life. All pretense of quietly escaping the mountain disappears as he throws the car into gear, and we rush out of the barn in a cloud of dust.
Bullets ping off the side of the vehicle, freaking me right the fuck out. Thom, however, returns fire while singlehandedly driving the car along the bumpy dirt road. No idea how he can actually aim the gun to hit anything. Also, the noise of the gun firing is deafening.
What with my head down, I have no real idea what’s going on. We’re going fast, however. Damn fast. The motion of the car throwing me this way and that, with the seat belt digging into my middle. I’m leaning so far down that the top part of the belt can’t grip me properly at all. I can only trust Thom knows what he’s doing
.
Something breaks above my head. I look up to see a small hole in the windscreen, glass splintering into a myriad of spider-web patterns. Any farther over and the bullet might have hit Thom’s head. Cold air whistles through the bullet hole in a freaky fashion.
“Holy shit,” I squeak. “We’re going to die.”
“We’re not going to die.”
I do not believe him.
“Everything’s going to be fine. Try and stay calm and focus on your breathing for me.”
“Fuck my breathing.” My heart hammers inside my chest. “Just in case we are, I accept your apology for lying to me about everything.”
He pauses, the gun in his hand ceasing its crazy noise. “Do you actually mean that?”
“God. I don’t know,” I say, my voice still unnaturally high. There’s a good chance I’m about to pee my pants. “Forty-nine percent, maybe?”
“Awesome,” he says flatly. “Do me a favor and keep your head down.”
“We’re going to hit a tree.”
“We are not going to hit a tree.”
“Can you even see to drive?”
“Yes,” he says. “Now let me concentrate.”
We bounce over the rough road, my head hitting the dashboard. Which is painful. Like I didn’t have enough bruises already. I brace one hand straight in front of me against the glove compartment. I also try not to think about death. Though it would have been nice to hear Mom’s voice one last time. To tell my parents I love them. Due to the condo going boom with boxes of my stuff still inside, my browser history and vibrators are already dealt with, at least.
Not knowing what’s going on is killing me, so I take a peek.
Thom fires another couple of shots. “Swap guns with me.”
I grab the empty one he’s shoving at me, handing him the fully loaded backup weapon. Just in time, as it turns out. Because a shadowy figure steps out onto the road ahead of us, wearing a balaclava and brandishing some sort of automatic weapon, I think. Whatever it is, it’s big and scary.
Before he can turn us into Swiss cheese, Thom mows him down. Or rather, sends him flying. Because the body crashes against the top of the windshield before continuing up and over. A bang on the roof of the Charger, then the body disappears into the darkness behind us.
“Oh my God, Thom.”
“Get down, Betty.”
And I do. But apparently that was the last of the bad guys on our trail. Because the sounds of shots being fired at us comes to an end. Hallelujah. I turn my head to see Thom place the gun in his lap and put both hands on the wheel, thank you, baby Jesus. Really rather not drive off the side of the mountain and all.
Now that we’re no longer being shot at, I cling to the interior of the car and concentrate on breathing. All I can hear is blood rushing behind my ears. My ex-fiancé or whatever he is really likes hitting people with cars. It’s a concern. Old Thom was an excruciatingly safe and slow driver and always behaved like such a pacifist. Though the people involved in this particular violent instance were definitely deserving of getting hit, so there’s that.
“Just a bit longer, then you can sit up,” he says, shifting down a gear as he takes a sharp corner. “We should be clear soon.”
“Okay.”
“Most of them were sneaking up the other side of the mountain. Those two just got lucky, I think.” His tone of voice is scarily calm and matter-of-fact, now that we’re clear of the action. “Doesn’t really bother me so much if they fire at me. That seems fair enough, you know? Not that I actually want to get hit because it hurts like a bitch.”
“I bet it does.”
“Seriously pisses me off when they fire at you, though. I kind of take that personally.”
“Ah…thanks?”
“No problem.” Then he chuckles. “So it takes a near-death experience to get you to accept my apologies. I must remember that. Though it wasn’t a particularly sincere acceptance.”
“It wasn’t completely insincere,” I protest. “I’m trying, all right. Just didn’t want to have all of this anger between us. Not if there was a chance we were about to go down in flames.”
He sighs. “You could just accept my apology one hundred percent, you know? That would be nice.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He just looks at me.
“What you did was pretty damn awful, Thom. I would first have to be convinced you understand how messed up it all was. And that you sincerely repented your asshole ways and were never going to lie to me again so help you God.”
“You sound like a foul-mouthed priest.”
I don’t dignify his statement with a response.
“Cute jammies, by the way.”
“Thanks. Not the kind of thing I’d have expected from Crow.”
His lips skew slightly. “I told him you like unicorns.”
“I don’t keep any figurines or anything around. How did you know?”
“Just remembered you put up a picture on social media once. Given the somewhat stressful situation we’re in, thought they might make you smile.”
“Huh.”
We keep going for miles and miles along dirt roads barely deserving of the title. Somehow Thom manages driving with the splintered windshield. With dawn rising in shades of violet and gray over the hills, he pulls up next to a hatchback left on the side of the road with a For Sale sign in the window near the highway. The Charger’s battered windscreen faces away from the road, the worst of the damage hidden from any passing motorists.
God. It’s taken just about the entirety of the drive for my heartbeat and breathing to return to normal. And I thought the panic of making a floral delivery on time was intense. Thom has to be an adrenaline junkie or something.
“This is our new ride,” he says.
“We’re stealing this car?”
He stops, glances at me. “Betty, priorities please. We’re on the run from dangerous people. People who want us dead. We need a change of vehicle and our options are not good. Come on.”
Still, I hesitate. I can’t help it. Mom and Dad raised me to try and see both sides of any situation. While the hatchback is admittedly old and crappy, it still belongs to someone. A person who probably needs the money from the sale of the vehicle. I’ve never actively broken the law before (apart from the occasional bit of speeding or jaywalking, which don’t count). Though I don’t actually want to die. It’s a conundrum.
“Give me strength.” He lifts up his shirt, displaying an elastic-type band halfway up his chest. It’s about the width of his hand and comprised of pockets, and is apparently the stealthy version of Batman’s utility belt. From one of the pockets, he pulls out a wad of cash and throws it on the seat of the bullet-hole-riddled Dodge Charger. Then he marches over to the hatchback, pulling out a small kit from another pocket. Lock-picking tools, apparently. “Come get the For Sale sign. Quickly. Stick it in the Charger’s window.”
“Thank you.”
A snort of amusement from him.
In no time at all, with the help of the straightened wire, he has the hatchback open. Next, he sets to work hotwiring the engine. It splutters before catching on, a far cry from the roar of the Charger. Yet I highly doubt anyone will be looking for us in this vehicle.
I put the sign in the Dodge’s back windshield before climbing into the new car. The interior is tiny. It’s like one of those little cars out of Europe. Perfect for the inner city and not much else. Country and Western blasts out of the tinny stereo. Thom surprisingly turns it up. Guess he’s a Dolly Parton fan. I approve of this entirely.
Next, he does the traditional killing of the SIM card before getting out to place his cell under one of the front tires. Guess he ran out of time earlier due to the gunman sneaking up on us. To destroy the entire phone, he must be seriously concerned about us getting tracked down. Understandably.
“We overpaid,” he says. “You know, the bad guys are probably going to find the Charger and the money long before the owners
of this piece of shit do.”
“At least we tried.”
A grunt.
“Not screwing over people is important.”
“If you say so,” he says.
“Your empathy levels are of concern to me.”
He gets us onto the highway and on our way before answering. “Guess I’m not used to having many people to care about. Most of my life it’s been everyone for themselves and sacrificing anyone for the greater good. Keeps things simple.”
“And yet you came looking for me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“So you were ready for complicated.”
A small line appears between his brows. “Didn’t think it would get this complicated.”
“Relationships. What can you do? Emotions won’t stay confined in neat little boxes just because that’s what works for you.” I try to get comfortable. But the size of my ass versus the width of the seat makes it hard. Thom’s head brushes against the roof; his elbow bumps the driver’s side door. I’m not alone in this quandary. “So what comes next?”
“You want to talk about having children?” he says, sounding a little surprised. “I’m not totally against the idea.”
“No, Thom,” I say slowly. “I mean, what’s next in Operation Don’t Get Killed?”
“Oh. We’re heading to a small airfield to rendezvous with a charter flight to New York. Time to get out of here. You’re going to hole up in a safe house I have in the city while I go and get some answers.”
“Answers from who?”
“People who run the zoo.” His gaze shifts from the road to me and back again. “You know, we could talk about the future if you want.”
I frown. “Still not convinced we have one.”
“A couple of kids would probably be all right.”
“I’m sorry, Thommy Junior. Daddy’s going to miss your school play because he’s off dusting a dirty politician this week.”
“No.” He gives a brisk shake of the head. “Politicians are usually pretty soft targets. You can often just blackmail them into early retirement. Don’t have to resort to wet work. Much less mess, so long as it sticks.”
“What a relief.”
“My job really bothers you,” he says, as if this is somehow news. “I mean, I knew you weren’t crazy about the odd hours and time I had to spend away. But I didn’t think you hated it.”