inDIVISIBLE

by Hunter, Ryan

  Wasn’t he coming with me? They’d see him when they ducked inside. They’d kill him like Cray.

  “Jones said he dragged the body into the woods,” one said.

  “Good. Animals can take care of the evidence for us.”

  I stopped just shy of the tractor. T motioned for me to go and hide.

  “Won’t take them long. I hear the cougar population is growing around here again.”

  “About time,” the first responded.

  I saw their feet now in the yellow square of sunlight, blocking our escape. Both wore black boots, their green pants tucked inside. One dropped a cigarette and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot.

  The other ducked to enter.

  T backed away, into a shadowed corner and crouched while the men sauntered to the boxes we’d left scattered across the floor. “Jones was right about someone snooping around in here.”

  One man kicked at a box while another descended into the cellar. “Looks like they’re set up for war.”

  “That’s what’s in the boxes?” I heard, unable to see what happened now that I’d eased closer to the front of the tractor, where I could peer around and see T. “We’ve been guarding this area for months and I never thought to look inside. I think I’ll take one of those knives with me. We’ll just leave it off the inventory.”

  The other man laughed. “Leave off two, would you?”

  Feet shuffled and boxes slid. The creaking of the ladder followed, and I peaked around at T. He made a tiny motion to stay still and I froze. It didn’t take long, however, for my thighs to cramp, and I stepped forward to release the cramp when the board squeaked.

  T’s eyes widened. I caught my breath.

  Sounds of movement ceased.

  More boards creaked as they started my direction and I crouched, prepared to run.

  T didn’t move, his body nearly concealed in the shadows. I wanted to tell him to hide better, that they’d see him now that they weren’t focused on the boxes but he didn’t even flinch, and I knew they must be focused on the tractor.

  What now? I wanted to know. Run or cower? My head wanted to cower but my legs insisted on running. When T gave me the motion, I let my legs take over and shut down my brain. My legs knew what to do and they wouldn’t quit until they succeeded or I was dead.

  I shot through the opening at the same time as the yelling started, two shots ripping through tin as T sprinted out the hole behind me. He grabbed my hand and tugged me beside him, and I stretched my legs, knowing I could never run as fast as T but also knowing I had to try. I stretched my legs out, knowing T could easily leave me—easily make it to safety before me but he stayed just close enough to drag me beside him, to force my legs to move at speeds I didn’t know they were capable of. I held his hand in mine like a lifeline, knowing that if I left him I’d be dead.

  A bullet bit the ground at my right and I squealed even as I dodged left. T pulled me up, pushed me ahead of him as another bullet tore bark from a tree just ahead of us.

  The shadows of the trees mocked me just out of reach but I pushed to meet them—to become lost in them. I burst through the leaves of the first tree as bark shattered to my right, spraying my face like a dozen stinging bees. I ducked beneath a heavy branch and jumped over a thorny bush, recognizing a hand lying lifeless beside it. I slowed, my breathing becoming labored, nearly panting. I hadn’t expected to find Cray in our escape. T grabbed my hand and yanked me beside him as another shot fired, more bark scattering. I allowed him to drag me again as I struggled to take long enough strides over the rocks, around fallen logs.

  More shots rang out but I no longer noticed their marks. I simply ran, my heart pounding in my throat as my ears rang—my knees threatening to buckle. I haven’t done anything wrong! I wanted to shout. And neither had my father.

  T grabbed my pack and took it from my back, throwing it over one shoulder. Relieved of the burden, my feet lifted higher, avoiding the tangled limbs. I sighed with relief, let go of his hand and fell into step immediately behind him, allowing him to break the trail for both of us.

  Deep into the woods, we slowed to a walk, carefully placing our feet on rocks, solid tree trunks or barren earth. We couldn’t afford the smallest sound, the slightest alert that we’d be overheard. I wasn’t as good at is as T, but I tried to mimic each move to keep our location secret, preserving our lives.

  Still we heard them, their deep voices a grumble in the distance, and we kept our pace hurried, pushing deeper into the woods, higher into the mountains where the air thinned and the slope turned to shale.

  We climbed until our calves burned and our lungs ached, until the shale became too unstable. Shale and slick rock dominated the hillside now, pine trees pushing through the patches of crackled rock. T stopped, crouched and looked around for what must have been the fifth time. Standing, he clutched my hand and led me forward again, this time down the hillside to the cover of thicker pines and oak brush. The ground pitched away, and I knew that tripping over one small rock would alert the officers, no matter how far from us they searched. I picked my feet carefully up and over the ground, placed them even more so, searching for solid ground so I wouldn’t leave prints or dislodge anything that could cause an entire rockslide. Thirty feet across, T stopped. Three small pine trees blocked the pathway, nearly growing into a rock wall rising beside us. He moved the branches and paused before turning back around and searching the rock wall where the limbs bent away, growing in tandem with the stone. His lips curled and he motioned me forward where he held the limbs aside and coaxed me into a narrow cave. Cool and dim, the ceiling stood only a few feet tall so we both had to stretch out on our stomachs to avoid scraping the arch above. We pulled our packs in with us, arms draped over them—our only chance at survival.

  We listened but heard nothing. No footsteps. No talking. No twigs breaking.

  “Cray knew about the revolt,” I whispered.

  T nodded but didn’t speak. He lay near the entrance to the cave, watching through thick branches for any movement on the hillside. The trees limited his view but they would also limit anyone trying to find us.

  “How do you think he knew?” I asked.

  T shrugged but crept back into the cave, careful to keep the silence. “Most of those supplies came from the Alliance building where your father worked,” he whispered, “where his father also worked. He must have told Cray, maybe he had Cray help him transport the stuff—maybe Cray followed his father. I don’t know, but why else would he have a jammer, unless he was already informed and helping somehow?”

  “The Alliance knew,” I whispered. “They were going to kill Cray no matter what. I should have looked up his name on the watch list …”

  T didn’t have to confirm my fears. We both knew that Cray had just become another target to them, another glitch in their plans, someone who had too much potential to expose them.

  I suddenly felt too hot—stifled—and my legs itched to move.

  T placed his hand on my arm, begging me to be still.

  I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, closing my eyes. “Do you really think they were part of a revolt or were they just trying to get away from One United?”

  T licked his lips thoughtfully before asking, “Was your father the type of man to ignore problems?”

  My father was the type to silently plan, to scheme, until he found a way to fix things. My father was planning a revolt. I turned the thought over and over in my head before asking, “Do you think there were others involved, more than the men killed with my father? I mean there were a lot of people on his computer and that name—Oliver—”

  T pulled a map from his back pocket and shoved it across the ground, stirring up dust that tickled my nose.

  I swiped my nose across my arm and opened the map, T immediately stilling me and giving the sign for silence.

  I stared down at the map as rocks rolled down the steep hillside, dislodged by unseen feet.

  Murmurs turned to di
stinct voices, their words worse than not being able to understand them at all. “They disappeared somewhere in this area,” a deep voice yelled out.

  “I may have tracks,” Another said.

  “Follow them,” A third joined. “If, by some miracle, they escape us—we’ll just call in a dog.”

  I flinched. They’d already gotten backup. Maybe that’s why we’d gotten so far ahead of them, they were waiting for him. I closed my eyes and forced a slow, deep breath.

  I focused on the map, on the yellow X marking the old shed and other symbols in various colors scattered across the paper. Some looked to be in a line, leading somewhere to the south while others were just random dots on the hillside. I looked up, out the entrance of the tiny cave to find the shadows of the trees and the assurance that yes, we had run north—were close to that first dot—if I read the map correctly. When we got out of here, we should follow the map, find out where my father and Cray’s father were planning on going—if we could figure out what the dots meant.

  I folded the map, determined to be ready if we had to make a run for it and froze when the paper crinkled. Their footsteps ceased. No one spoke. T took the map, holding it silently in one hand while the other indicated silence.

  A twig snapped, and my jaw clenched until my teeth hurt and my head screamed. Neither of us moved, our muscles cramping. Another snapped, closer.

  Silence followed. Why couldn’t they speak?

  A bead of sweat worked from my hairline, crawling down my temple to my cheek before pausing on my chin. I wanted to scratch the pathway it left, but I just lay there instead, another bead forming, following the same trail as the first. The first dropped from my chin to the map, a plunk so quiet I barely heard it. The second hovered on my cheekbone.

  A smothered cough.

  I flinched.

  T grabbed my arm.

  I stopped breathing, waiting and listening for the men to capture us. If they found us, we were trapped in this cave. They’d slaughter us and leave us for the animals—like Cray. I dug my fingers into the sand. They’d not murder me like they did Cray.

  One set of footsteps passed by the cave and more rocks rattled. A second set followed. Where was the third?

  “They know,” I mouthed to T. He scooted forward where the cave opened a little higher. He sucked in a deep breath and touched my arm. I raised my head, afraid even that subtle movement would be heard.

  “On three,” he mouthed.

  My forehead scrunched. “What on three?”

  He pointed away from the men, toward the shale rock that littered the hillside. We’d fall for sure.

  I shook my head.

  He held up one finger and tucked the map into the back of his pants.

  “We’ll fall,” I mouthed.

  He held up a second finger.

  My heart raced and my throat tightened. I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead and caught my bottom lip.

  “In here, we die,” he mouthed.

  I knew he was right, but what chance did we really have against three men with guns?

  A footstep crunched just beyond the cave entrance.

  T held up a third finger, brought his knees up under him and bolted from the cave. I followed half a second behind, my backpack snagging on rock and whipping me to my knees. I pushed myself up, blood trailing down one shin and pain ripping through my right hand. Not fast enough. The man had a hold of my backpack, his voice raised in a screech that brought the others running. I tried to shake him off but his fingers were secured around the strap, and I knew if I were to survive I had to leave it behind.

  I slipped my arms out of the straps and leapt over a scraggly bush, my feet sinking upon landing. Rock and sand buried my shoes and sent me skidding downhill so fast I teetered, crashing back on my butt to ride out the avalanche of stone.

  It slowed, and I pushed myself up again, not risking a look behind but scanning in front of me instead to find T. He had nearly made it to the bottom while I coasted halfway up the hill. He turned, saw me and his mouth dropped open.

  That could only mean he was close, the officer who’d stolen my pack. I jumped downhill, starting the landslide again as I struggled to stay upright while running down the steep hillside. My shoes filled with gravel but I didn’t care. I just wanted to live. I wanted to be free.

  T picked up a stick about six inches across and three feet long. He tried running back up the hill, but the sand slid down with each step, moving him backward faster than he climbed. He darted sideways, halfway hidden in branches and waited. My heart hadn’t slowed, my adrenaline still surged, and I pushed forward, hurtling toward the tree and T.

  A final jump and my feet tangled on solid ground, throwing me to the earth. I caught my weight on my hands and shrieked as my wound tore deeper. I didn’t have time to complain. I pushed up, barely slowing.

  “Run,” T yelled as I neared—I didn’t question him. I just stretched my legs out further, the air burning my lungs, my heart threatening to break through my ribs. I ran—but where?

  I dared a glance back to see T step from the tree and swing. The branch made contact with the officer’s face and he dropped backward, landing flat on his back. The crack was so loud I wondered if he’d broken the man’s face. I decided it didn’t matter and charged ahead. The others followed, their shouts echoing, footsteps pounding. I wondered if T would fight them all or join me. I hoped for the latter, sure if he stayed he’d be captured.

  A gunshot rang out. I ducked before realizing they’d aimed at T, not me. He turned from the men and followed me, easily catching me and grabbing my hand to pull me along beside him. My legs protested and my throat burned. No wonder they wanted him for the Olympics.

  We dove down another embankment as a second shot fired, biting into a tree on our left.

  Skidding, we made it to the bottom in seconds before we ran again, my legs like rubber.

  T knew I couldn’t last, I saw it in his eyes when he looked at me, in the way he encouraged me to go “just a little farther.”

  I wanted to do it, to show him I could keep up, but my body grew weak and trembling. I stumbled and nearly took T down with me, but his strength sustained us.

  Another bullet bit into the ground to our right but I couldn’t even scream, barely even noticing the debris scattering upon impact.

  “You can do this, Brynn,” T said, his voice normal as if he was at no more than a walking pace.

  The back of my head throbbed but I pushed forward, my toes catching in the loose rocks and gravel. Still, T held me upright as he sprinted ahead. He glanced back as another shot bit the dirt at our feet.

  We’re going to die.

  We darted left and dropped further into a ravine, the dried riverbed in the bottom, stretching up between two foothills. The steep ground on either side of the ravine forced us to stay in the bottom. We made better time, but had confined ourselves to a trap. If they got behind us, they’d find us—shoot us without resistance. A rugged trail to the left beckoned and we scrambled up it, scurrying around scrawny oaks, clinging to pines that smelled like butterscotch.

  The hill topped out, covered with waist-high bushes so thick we could no longer see the ground. We skirted the bushes and crawled in from the other side, delving between dark limbs to disappear in the foliage. Stretched out on our stomachs, I dropped my head onto my arms and closed my eyes.

  Neither of us spoke.

  Neither of us moved.

  My heartbeat slowed, closer to normal than it had been since morning, and I looked up when T pressed a knife into my palm.

  He held the shaft so the blade pointed upward, laying with his elbows under him so he could propel forward when he needed. I copied him, holding it upright, staying low enough we couldn’t be seen.

  One man climbed the hillside, his footsteps sending rocks tumbling. The other two mumbled further away, most likely headed up the river bed. My heartbeat adjusted again, now matching the thud, thud, thud of the approaching man.


  My hand trembled but I gripped the handle tighter, waiting—waiting to do what, I still had no idea.

  The footsteps slowed, and I risked a deep breath. T crept his head up and over the leaves long enough to see the man and drop back into his hiding place. He pointed ahead and to our right. So the man had seen our trail and followed it.

  T tensed and looked around, his eyes wide.

  The brush rustled as the man stepped through the bushes. What if he came up behind us? T must have wondered the same because he twisted to watch our back trail. Limbs crackled, the officer’s heavy boot smashing the bushes into the ground. My fingers whitened on the handle, and I knew if it came to it, I could use it to save my life and the work my father had died for.

  The man crept closer, this time behind us, and I pulled my knees up to make a smaller target, sure that from above he’d spot me too soon.

  He stilled. T shifted. I held my breath.

  Three seconds passed before T lunged to his feet and swung the knife. A man groaned.

  I stood.

  The man lifted his knee into T’s abdomen, doubling him before T came up with the knife again, catching the officer in the stomach.

  He released T, his hands going to his stomach. He removed them with bloody streaks from wrist to fingertip. One hand hung limp while the other reached for his gun. T plowed into the man, knocking him on his back before twisting the gun from his hand. He shoved it in his waistband while I darted away, staying high but keeping to the bushes. T fell into step beside me, the thick brush tangling around our ankles and working to take us out. I lifted my feet higher, pushing past the limbs to the ground that was only interspersed with shrubs—reeds and oaks becoming more prevalent.

  We crossed the top of the hill and eased down the other side, taking refuge in the shadows of a narrow canyon. A rock wall lined one side of the ravine, the other a sloping hillside that gave way to sandstone one hundred feet above. Dimples in the rock wall provided false hideaways, and we passed them by until we found a huge stone propped against the wall, a narrow gap beneath. We slid under and leaned against the cool stone, calming our breathing so we could hear if the other officers resumed the pursuit.