by E. R. Arroyo
I instantly feel adrenaline coursing through me like raw heat. I don’t know if this is a sick joke or if it means what part of me hopes it means—that none of it was true, Dylan never betrayed me. My heart leaps at the possibility, but I don’t have time to think about that. For now, all I can do is prepare for whatever’s next.
Like I’ve been awakened from a spell, I’m suddenly aware. All my senses heighten, stretching, reaching out for sensory details. My eyes flicker once more to the door and the camera above me. I only hear the sound of a far off unit circulating air through the place. The smell of disinfectant draws my attention to the empty stand that normally holds vials. I grip the countertop, still feeling the slightest effect of the anesthesia.
Breathing steadily, I keep myself as deep in the corner as I can while I slip into my clothes. I hope no one sees me on a security feed. Once my clothes and boots are on and my weapons are in place, I stretch my legs and right arm, making small movements trying to get the blood flowing. Having my weapons again empowers me.
Ticking my fingers against my leg in time with the wall clock, I watch the second hand move. I don’t know exactly what time Dylan stepped out. After I’m certain more than five minutes have passed I start to worry. Maybe it really is a trick. Maybe he’s trying to get me keyed up so my body will produce more adrenaline. Dylan said it affects the quality of the fluid he withdraws. I check my gun to see if it’s loaded, and it is. No way he’d give me a loaded gun if this were a ruse.
I grow more anxious with each second that ticks by, and I begin counting them under my breath. Too much time has passed.
I take a tentative step toward the door, planning to peek into the hall, but it swings open. Dylan closes the door behind him and rushes to put my backpack on me.
“I don’t have time to explain.” He grips both my shoulders, looking me straight in the eyes, his expression pleading. “We don’t have a second to waste.” He breaks away, swipes the sheet off the medical table using a small knife to cut it in two. He fashions a sling for my newly-splinted arm to fit down into and ties it off. He cups my cheeks. “I need you to trust me. You know who I am. Please, just trust me.”
He waits for me to answer with his hand on the door.
My pulse races as I battle it out in my head, trying to decide if I do trust him. If I can trust him.
“Now, Cori. We have to go now.” His eyes flash to the security camera then back to me.
“Yes,” I tell him. If it means getting out of here, and especially if it means finding Emma, my answer is yes.
He nods. “Follow me.”
In the dim tunnel there’s no one in sight. I stay close behind him, gun in hand, trying to match his long strides. He makes a point to stay tucked as close to the wall as possible so I do likewise.
He pauses at the first corner we come to, and then continues ahead, but I glance down where a lab tech lies unconscious as we pass. The place is a maze and Dylan navigates all the turns like he knows right where to go. We don’t say a word to each other. With every step we take, I wrestle with the emotions I’ve dwelled on the whole time I’ve been here.
His words, his tone, his attitude—I analyze everything. I remember everything I can, weighing it against what I thought I knew about him before this, trying so hard to determine which Dylan is real. But he’s doing this. He’s getting me out. This is Dylan.
He comes to a quick stop reaching back to push me against the wall. Instinctively, I shove his hand away, but I stay where he put me. We wait for a few seconds. He’s counting under his breath and then we’re moving again.
A man rounds the next corner we come to, reaching for his gun as soon as he sees us. Dylan puts a choke hold on him and I aim my gun, but Dylan shakes his head. Realizing how loud a gunshot would be in this tunnel, I decide to holster my gun and pull the knife instead.
Dylan lays the passed out guard on the floor, then we continue. He presses himself against the wall next to an open door and reaches back to grip my wrist. I’m so conflicted about it, I don’t know whether it comforts me to feel his touch again or if it’s tainted now by everything I’ve been through.
“Come on, come on,” he whispers, waiting.
“Hey,” a voice shouts from inside.
Dylan taps my wrist before inching me closer to the door. He holds up two fingers and points inside. Two guys. Then he counts off … one finger, two fingers, then three. Then we rush into the room. He throws his arms around the closest guy and I stab the guy in his chest. Getting back in the swing of things my instincts take over and I throw my leg up, slamming my boot into the other guy’s chest as he advances. He reaches for his gun, but I pull my knife from the first guy’s chest and slash the other one’s throat.
Both bodies thud against the floor as Dylan closes the door. I stare at them for a moment. I push aside the despair and defeat I’ve felt over the last two days in favor of determination and instincts. I am not a pawn. Not a project. I’m a soldier.
I finally look up from the bodies—we’re in the surveillance room. Dylan promptly scans the monitors but I don’t know what he’s looking for. I keep glancing at the door, preparing myself for someone else to come through. I want to say something, but I have no idea what. I’m still too stunned.
“Almost got it…” He taps away at letters on the screen. “Are you ready to move?”
When I don’t respond he glances up from what he’s doing, meeting my eyes. There’s emotion in them now … pain. He finishes up then all the screens go black, presumably having disabled the security cameras.
Dylan puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll explain. Later.”
I stare at his hand until he removes it, then I meet his gaze. A look of sorrow darkens him. Can I trust him after all?
I don’t have time to decide.
Dylan pulls the door open and we move out again, this time not using nearly as much caution as we rush through the halls.
Soon, we dip into a closet. He clicks on a flashlight and I follow the beam to a corner where people are huddled. Two girls with wild hair, two boys with tattoos … from The City. My breath catches and I step closer, soaking in their faces. My eyes drift downward and finally I see Emma. Everything freezes, halts, suspends, pauses… I fall to my knees, breathing her name.
She clutches the arm of a light-haired girl, her big blue eyes scared and weary. But she’s alive. I want to embrace her, but I’m afraid to frighten her—she doesn’t know me.
I grip Dylan’s wrist and squeeze, looking up into his eyes long enough to whisper, “Thank you.” And it’s hard to continue doubting him. Could it all have been a ploy to save me? To save these hostages?
“That’s Pip,” he says, pointing to the lighter-haired girl coddling Emma. She nods, acknowledging me. “Mesa, Judd, and Val.” Dylan finishes pointing them out for me.
“Is this all you found?” I ask, not meeting Dylan’s eyes. Afraid they won’t reflect the version of Dylan I’m trying to trust. Desperately wanting to trust.
“Yeah, just these five.”
“Out of twenty,” I mumble, frowning. I reach for the remaining five, ushering them toward the door. The dark-haired girl, Mesa, trembles. Her cheek is bruised, her eyes bloodshot, and her nails are bloody. She looks like she’s put up a good fight a time or two. Good for her. Judd and Val, maybe fifteen and nineteen, are both scowling with fists at their sides. They’re ready for anything.
Pip pulls Emma onto her hip to carry her. I can’t imagine what Emma’s been through, but I don’t see any evident wounds or bruising. This is all too much for a teenager to handle, much less a three-year-old. I hope she forgets in time.
“Stay close,” Dylan says.
When he flings open the door, he pulls his gun, pausing a moment before leading us out. We make it halfway down the hall without trouble, but a guard turns a corner and comes face to face with us. He moves toward his gun, hesitates, then lifts his hands palms out, surrendering instead.
“Bring him,”
I suggest.
Without much thought, Dylan grabs the guard’s shirt and turns him around, holding his gun against the back of the guy’s head, pushing him out in front of us. I pull the gun from his hip, stuffing it in the back of my pants.
“How much farther?” I stay close to Dylan, just barely behind him, but keeping a clear view of where we’re going. I frequently check to make sure we’re all together. Pip seems shaken up, more so than the others, and Emma is on the brink of tears. Pip continues to shush her and tell her it’s okay. I hope she’s right.
“Few minutes,” Dylan says.
“Pip,” I say. “It’s going to be okay. I need you to be strong for Emma, okay?”
She nods, wiping her eyes.
“Quickly,” Dylan says, picking up the pace. He cuts through a small cafeteria, guiding us between tables and chairs and into the kitchen. “Through here.”
Dylan holds open a metal swinging door letting us all pass through, then he gestures for us to kneel.
“What’s the plan?” I ask him, not having a choice but to be all-in at this point.
He points across the room. “According to the blueprints, that door leads to a corridor that should take us to the main tunnel, giving us a straight shot to the exit.”
“You memorized the blueprints?” the young guard asks.
I ignore his question, asking one of my own. “How do we get through the door? It’s a foot thick and the security—”
“You can’t go that way,” the guard says, finally getting both our attention. “They use it for storage now, it’s full of boxes.”
I meet Dylan’s gaze, and defeat settles into his eyes for the briefest of moments, before he steels himself, tapping the City kid on the shoulder. “Val, check it out,” he says.
Val jumps toward the skinny door and pushes some boxes around before coming back over and confirming there is no way through.
Dylan wipes his face, the wheels in his brilliant mind turning. He turns to the guard. “Get us out of here and I’ll let you come with us. You don’t want to be here when we leave.”
The guard ponders for a moment, his face drawn as he looks at Emma, quivering in Pip’s arms. His eyes widen slightly, his face softening. “Call me Hank. Follow me.”
Without much more of a warning, he darts back out into the cafeteria and we all scramble to keep up with him. We travel the main tunnels, making it that much more nerve wracking because we’re bound to run into more people.
Two Fort Burke citizens round the corner. They don’t look like guards but they’re armed. Before they realize what’s going on, Dylan and Hank rush them. I hold my arm out protectively in front of Pip and Emma as I watch Hank and Dylan disarm the two men in a coordinated effort. Pip shields Emma’s eyes, thankfully, before Dylan slams the butt of his gun into the man’s temple. Blood trickles from the wound as he slumps over.
After that, we all out sprint, having no time to waste before someone figures out what’s happening.
By the time we reach the main stretch of tunnel and the steel door is in sight, the entire space is colored red by blinking lights. Pip struggles to keep up, trying desperately to hold Emma, but her little body is sliding out of Pip’s weak arms. And I’m in no better shape to carry her. Noticing what’s happening, Judd takes Emma as she begins to sob.
The four of us have fallen behind in the hand-off, but I usher them onward, bringing up the rear. I glance over my shoulder frequently, ready to shoot.
When the siren begins to wail, a small cluster of soldiers steps out of a room right in front of us—between us and the door. Dylan and Hank engage them immediately, and Judd and Val soon join them. I push Pip and Mesa to the side with Emma, guarding them. But one of the soldiers notices me. He moves around the cluster and comes straight for me.
Billy.
He reaches for his gun, but I throw my knife at him, nailing him in the gut. He pulls the blade, dropping it and pacing toward me, only marginally slower than he had been. He pulls his gun but I don’t—I’m terrified to pull the trigger and have the bullet ricochet off the cave walls.
I wish there were something I could do to hide Emma, to keep her safe. I’m supposed to be saving her.
I crouch low and throw my shoulder into Billy’s legs, knocking his feet from under him. Leaping onto his back, it takes all my strength to keep his gun from finding and ending me. With my arm around his neck, I reposition so I can stomp on his hand. He’s so much stronger than me, but I keep trying until finally he releases the gun. Beneath me, he flips onto his side, knocking me on the floor so we’re face to face. He grips my neck with both hands, squeezing hard, aiming to finish what he started in my cell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I gasp for air, gripping his wrist, pulling his hand but getting nowhere. I knee him, trying to wedge my legs between us to kick him away. Doesn’t work. He moves closer, pushes me onto my back. He straddles my torso, pinning me down.
I let go of his wrist to reach for my gun, but his knee is blocking it and I can’t reach my knife on the ground either. As my hand scrabbles at the cool, rugged wall, the energy whooshes out of my body. Desperate for oxygen, I close my eyes.
Then suddenly … I can breathe. Holding my neck, I look up—Pip is behind Billy with something pulled around his neck, choking him. He grabs her hands and flips her over. He slams her on her back. She screams out in pain.
I scramble to my feet, retrieve my knife, and lurch towards him. He sees me coming and dodges my advance, but I recover quickly. I come at him again. This time I don’t miss. This time I plunge my knife downward into the tender space between his collarbone and his neck.
He puts his hand on top of mine, both of us holding the knife as blood and life begin to leave his body. I stare into his eyes, wondering if it had to be this way. If we were destined to be enemies. If it’s fate that I’m the one who took his life, just like I took Sean’s. Pulling the blade free, I watch him slump over.
Savoring the air in my lungs, I look around for Emma and sigh when my eyes land on her. For the moment she’s safe in Judd’s arms again.
Dylan calls my name. He shrugs a body off him then gets to his feet, heading for the door. We have a clear shot at the exit. I wave Judd and the others toward Dylan then reach for Pip, but she can’t get up.
“My legs won’t move,” she cries, tears streaming down the sides of her face. When Billy slammed her down it must’ve snapped her back. I holster my gun and reach down, attempting to get her arm around my shoulder. Pain shoots through my broken arm—I can’t lift her.
Val sees my problem and comes back to take Pip, shooing Judd and Emma to keep running. Then a gunshot rings out. My eyes dart all over trying to figure out who’s shooting. Then blood seeps onto the back off Judd’s shirt and he hits his knees.
“Emma!” I scream, running to catch up as Judd’s body falls on top of her. I have no idea if she’s been hit too.
Another gunshot.
I keep running…
Until I’m on my knees, sliding into Judd and pushing him off Emma. I scoop her up, wrapping my arm around her waist and making for the exit.
I arrive at the door just in time for Dylan to get it open. He ushers me outside into the paved space within the compound’s fences. I glance back in time to see Mesa and Hank slip outside. Dylan moves to close the door and then Val pops through. Without Pip. I grit my teeth, wanting to scream.
Bullets riddle the steel from the other side but cease once the door locks into place. More gunshots come, but this time from behind us. I tighten my grip on Emma then whip around to see Hank engaging two Fort Burke soldiers who must’ve already been outside.
A particular shot gets my attention, one that doesn’t match the guns the soldiers are firing, and then one of the soldiers goes down. My gaze drags to the fence line where Max stands holding an AR-15 assault rifle. Next to him stands Tyce. The rest of the militia advances downhill and out of the woods toward us. And I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.<
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My heart leaps in my chest. It really was all a ruse, an elaborate plan. They were in on Dylan’s scheme all along. I rush toward the gate but pause when I remember that it’s electric.
“Wait,” Dylan shouts, holding up a hand while he punches in codes. A loud buzzer echoes across the lot and Hank drags the gate open. The men swarm in, Tyce leading the pack. He reaches me before anyone else, falling to his knees as he takes Emma into his arms and squeezes her so hard I’m afraid he’ll hurt her.
“Little Em,” he cries, kissing her face in between checking her out from head to toe, making sure she’s okay. Tears stream from her big blue eyes as she grips his shirt so hard her tiny knuckles turn white.
“We don’t have much time,” Dylan yells from the access pad.
Four men carry in the bomb and set it down about twenty yards from the door. Soldiers whisk away Val and Mesa.
“They’re overriding me!” Dylan calls out.
Tyce gets to his feet. “Wayne and Amy are gone, I have to help him with the bomb. Take Emma and get her out of here.”
I glance back at the door, anticipating when it’ll open. I pull my gun, chamber a bullet, and wait, already taking aim. “I can’t,” I tell him. I gesture to my broken arm and my gun in the other hand. No way I’m putting the gun down. Not now.
“It has to be you, Cori—please. Just take her.” He grabs my shoulder, his eyes desperate and pleading, brimming with tears.
“Okay.” She was the whole reason I came here to begin with. I won’t risk her safety to stay behind and fight even though everything within me wants to be right here on the front line with Tyce and Dylan. I’m a soldier. But I’m wounded and Emma needs my help. “Okay,” I say again, finally having convinced myself. “But I can’t carry her, especially not up that hill.”
I untie my sling and hand it to Tyce. “Here…” I take off my backpack and give that to him too. I hold the strap of the pack tight before letting him have it. “Keep this with you—put it on. Tie her to my back, the way the girls in the Pitt do it. I’ll meet you at the top of that hill!”