“There’s not, no.” I need to change the subject. Fast. “So. How’d you know I was stuck in here? I assume, since you know of my plans to go to Compound Ten, that it was Maggie who tracked you down.” I cross one foot over the other and lean backward onto my desk.
His eyes graze my hips. “You assume correct. Can you put some clothes on?” He shifts, and his gaze pushes sideways. “Please.”
I tug my sweater over my head, smiling. “So she tracked you down, and you happened to know the passcode?”
“Not quite.”
I close my eyes as I understand. “Addison.” She had mentioned it enough times—her father’s office oversees security. Jeffrey Sitwell, lord of the guards that I loathe so deeply.
He nods, and jealousy ripples through me.
“She agreed to let me into her father’s office.”
“In the middle of the night.”
“Something like that.”
“I’m surprised she would do that for you after seeing us together at the party.”
He frowns but says nothing more. Immediately, I know why she did it. She knows we broke up. Deep breath, in and out, I remind myself. I am leaving. I am leaving Compound Eleven. How Wren chooses to spend his time from here on out is none of my concern. It is none of my business.
“Did Maggie mention how my plans to go to another compound were leaked in the first place?”
“She didn’t, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
I twist away to hide my shame. Pull on my jeans instead. “Yeah, well, I must be quite the fool, because I didn’t think in a million years he would do that.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to see the flaws in people we love.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” I mumble after a while. I sit beside him on the bed and draw on my boots, shove my gun into my waistband.
When I am finished, he strings his hands through mine, and they are impossibly warm. For a moment, I feel almost mended. The hole that Hunter’s betrayal left in my heart doesn’t ache right now. Nothing aches. I stare at Wren, and as I watch him take a deep breath, I see something strange sweep over his eyes. A flash of emotion, and then it’s gone, and I wonder what is passing inside that great mind of his.
“I have something for you,” he says finally. Every word seems strained, unnatural. Not like Wren at all.
“Okay…”
“I don’t want to give it to you, because…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head. “I’m going to give it to you because it’s the right thing to do, and because I know it’s what you want above all else.”
My hands, which are twisted in his, clench. My spine draws me upright. “Okay,” I say again, this time in a whisper. I can barely breathe.
“Freedom. It’s…freedom.”
“What—”
“I used my connections for something good for once. I found a way for you to get aboveground.”
I am perfectly still, but the edges of my cell seem to quiver in my peripheral vision. I can see Wren, but I can’t; the world is both crisply defined and a blur.
Slowly, I pull my hands free from his and coil them around his neck. Our foreheads touch, and tears fall from my eyes to the bedsheets below. Freedom. I am going to have freedom. I am going to reach the oasis; I am going to reunite with Jack.
I hug him so tightly that I think I might press his chest into mine and our hearts will beat truly as one. “Thank you, Wren.”
He nods. “We should go. Now.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Once we are in the Lower Mean hallway with my knife and flashlight tucked inside my boot, Wren’s hand grabs mine. “We need to go to the storeroom.”
I look at him in surprise, and his face is full of sunken shadows under the glare of the neon light that hangs across from my cell. “I can get to it through the kitchen.”
He nods. “You lead the way.”
I guide him down the hall with my hand snug in his. The dark may not scare me anymore, but since these hallways are ripe with danger—especially now—his presence next to me is welcome. “I thought we would be heading to the Oracle,” I say.
“You thought wrong,” he replies under his breath.
“Care to elaborate?”
“There’s another exit.”
“What?” I stop in my tracks and stare at him through the darkness. “You’re kidding.”
He looks at me. “Not one that’s easy to access, mind you. But it definitely won’t be guarded, and it won’t require a passcode or a handprint to get outside.”
Another exit. My heart thumps with excitement. “Where is it?”
“Remember where the controls are for the solar panels?”
I do. In the outbuilding at the foot of the hill.
He looks past me as he speaks. “Inside, there’s a trapdoor that opens onto the top net of the storeroom. It’s for the engineers—so they can access tools.”
“But the storeroom is four stories high.”
“Like I said, getting out won’t be easy.” He glances at me, and a shiver runs along my spine. “But somehow I think you’ll find a way.”
Another exit. Not one intended for humans to pass through, but that is what makes it so genius. So perfect. “How did you find out?”
He exhales noisily. “I spent the afternoon yesterday touring my mother’s office.”
“Wow, first the security office, now energy. Decided that politics is your thing after all?”
“Very funny. It was a ruse, as if you couldn’t figure that out. When she finds out my intentions were far from serious, she won’t be happy. I’m fine with that, and you should be, too.”
“You mean you toured her office for the sole purpose of—”
“Of finding a way for you to fulfill your dream of breathing fresh air?” He pulls his hand from mine and shoves it into his pocket. “Something like that.”
He is conflicted; I know that. He is giving me the gift of freedom, but we both know it is probably a death sentence. I want to tell him that it’s okay, but I can’t bear to. Because if we discuss it, I might be forced to say that I would rather die than be with him, and that isn’t something I can handle right now—or ever. Because it isn’t true. It is true, but it isn’t.
Maybe I am just as conflicted as he is.
“Why would you do that for me?” I finally ask. My voice sounds weak. “After everything…” After I broke up with you, is what I mean to say.
“Maybe I’m the fool.”
I grab his arm; I stop him. “Not to me. You’re brilliant. And selfless. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”
He laughs an impossibly shy laugh. “I’ve never known you to be so full of compliments, Eve.”
I want to tell him how much he means to me, but instead there comes the sound of heavy footsteps fast approaching, and I am distracted by them, by my muscles clenching.
A bright light erupts from the end of the corridor—a blinding one that could only come from the flashlight of a guard. My hand finds Wren’s, and I drag him backward, away from the light.
“Stop right there!” the guard yells, and his voice sounds tinny in the tight corridor. Just as I have always done, I listen to what the man in power orders and do the opposite. My legs burst into a sprint, and my hand pulls at Wren’s. Around the corner we go, and only just in time, because I hear a gunshot blast behind us, and it sounds too close, too close.
We run in silence, but my mind screams. It was strange for the guard to fire his weapon so soon. Usually they wait until you punch them before they try to shoot you dead. But these are desperate times.
I can tell by the echo of footsteps that the guard is in the same corridor as us now. Ten more paces and we can turn the corner, taste a sliver of safety until he nears again. Nine. Vulnerability makes my ears ring
. Eight. Seven. I wait for a bullet to rip through me, or worse—through Wren. Six. Five. Four. Please don’t let it hit him. Three. He has done so much for me. Two. He has risked so much. One.
The blast is thunderous as I dive. My fingers slip from Wren’s, and as I fall to the ground, they snap backward, snatch at nothing but air. Where is he, where is he, where is he?
As soon as I land, my feet are under me again, and I rush back, toward the line of fire. I will find Wren, no matter the cost.
But my hand is grabbed, and he is there, here, and whole. He gives me a strange look through the darkness, and then we run on, but now I am smiling. I force him to take a quick right, then another. The beads along the crevice where floor meets wall stream into long lines of light, and for a moment I feel like I am flying.
“Are you laughing, Eve?” he asks through heavy breaths.
I am too winded to reply. Relief has flooded my veins, because I can lose the guard now. These are short corridors and ones I know well. And because for a fraction of a second I thought he had been hit by the bullet. Now I feel like I do after a nightmare: joyous to be awake.
I didn’t know I would die for him, but I know that now. I know, too, I have never been willing to die for someone before—not seriously—aside from Jack.
With my brother, it’s easy—I love him. Always have, always will, whether he beat the odds and survived up there or not. So with Wren…does it mean that I love him, too?
Am I in love with Wren?
I try not to think about it as our pace slows. We walk, no longer seized by panic, no longer pursued by the guard. He is probably out there somewhere, ready to shoot again, but for now, we are safe.
Wren wraps his arm around my back, and his thumb touches bare skin. “You realize that unless that was Ben, there was no reason for you to run?”
“Ben?” The laughter is gone.
“He’s the one who put the lock on your door. None of the other guards on duty right now would realize you should be in your cell.”
“I guess old habits die hard,” I reply bitterly.
He walks close enough to watch me, then stops and pulls me to his chest. I know we should be moving, putting more space between us and the trigger-happy guard, winding our way back to the kitchen. But instead I loop my arms around him and let my palms rest on his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this bullshit your whole life.” His voice is low and rumbly, just like I remember it.
“It was worth it, getting to spend these last two months with you.”
His eyebrows lift at my words, and quickly I turn away, lead him into the night. I have said too much.
“What exactly does that mean, Eve?” he asks from behind me.
I walk in silence for several seconds as I try to think of something to say that doesn’t give me away. “It means I like hanging out with you.”
He laughs to himself. “Sure. Well, if it helps—I like hanging out with you, too.” We hold hands again, and I turn in the direction of the kitchen, more careful this time, listening for the sound of footsteps.
“What are you going to do once you’re out?”
“I’m going to run north.” I say it bluntly. Matter-of-fact. “I’m going to run as fast as I can. I’ll sleep somewhere safe and shaded during the day, then I’ll keep going. On and on, until I find Jack. Until I find paradise.”
He looks at me, confused. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or serious.”
“Does it matter?”
Instead of replying, he squeezes my hand. The magnitude of what I am about to do begins to sink in, so I squeeze his hand in return and feel calmer. I focus on him walking next to me, the rhythmic sound of his breathing, and feel calmer still.
I pull him around the last corner before we reach the kitchen and freeze.
A figure up ahead, and I can see by his uniform that it’s a guard. Not the one we just ran away from—another one, one that is faintly familiar to me. Old habits die hard indeed, and right now I fight every instinct in my bones to turn and run. But Wren is right; there is no need to run from the guards right now unless that guard happens to be Ben. And the man ahead of us certainly is not.
I take a deep breath. We are out for a walk, nothing more. Frowned upon, yes. But not strictly prohibited. He will ask us what we are doing, and we will tell him, and he will let us walk on. I will be inside the kitchen, then the storeroom, in a minute or two.
And so we continue forward, hand in hand, and even though Wren’s presence steadies me, it isn’t enough. The guard looks familiar; I know that.
I don’t know why until we’re within feet of him. A shudder grips my shoulders, and my boots stall. I have to run—I know it is risky, but I have to. Yet Wren’s hand holds mine too tightly—I couldn’t go even if I tried, and he pulls me closer and closer to the man who tried to kill me. The man whose nose I broke.
I see the outline of a gun in his holster, and I shudder again; my feet drag. He turns to look at us, shines his flashlight over us, and I shield my face from the light, from his prying eyes. If he recognizes me, I am dead.
“Odd time to be out of bed, isn’t it?” he says, and the sound of his voice makes me tremble. Black bead eyes glare at us.
“Not if you feel like going for a walk,” Wren replies levelly. My hand is still held over my face, even though the flashlight is pointed at the ceiling. We are almost past him, but then he moves quickly; he stands in front of us, and we are forced to be still.
“You look familiar,” he says to me. I try not to look at him, but I can’t help it, and I see the recognition dawn quickly across his features.
“I know you,” he spits at me. “You coldcocked me, you bitch.”
“I think you have me confused,” I say, and I am surprised by how bold my voice sounds. It doesn’t betray how fast my heart hammers.
“I don’t have you confused,” he hisses, and quickly his free hand grabs his gun and digs it into my stomach. Panic flares inside my brain. “I’m good with faces. Now, turn around and walk to the elevators or I’ll shoot you. Happily.”
Wren’s hand releases mine, and I close my eyes. Less violence. All I want is less violence. And so it brings me no pleasure to slip my hand to the back of my waistband, to dig my hard-earned weapon into the guard’s side before he knows what I am doing.
“You don’t have the guts to shoot me,” he snarls.
“Sure I do,” I reply, even though I don’t know whether I mean it or not. But then I remember the journey to this moment. I remember the despair I have endured down here in Eleven and the desperation to find a way out. I remember the soaring highs I experienced as I crafted plans to escape and the crushing lows as those plans were dashed. Now…against all odds, I hold the threat of death over a guard. And that guard is the only thing standing between me and a future of my choosing.
I have come so far; I am so close to finally tasting freedom, to having a shot at finding Jack…and suddenly I know I mean what I say.
Sure I do. Sure I have the guts to shoot him.
“She does,” Wren confirms, as if he can read my mind. “But she doesn’t need to.”
“What are you talking about?”
I expect Wren to pounce, to disarm him. Instead he says, “Jeffrey Sitwell. Does the name ring a bell?”
The guard’s muscles contract. “My boss,” he says between clenched teeth.
“Your boss’s boss. The Head of Security. He’s a family friend. That’s how I know your name is Dennis Grove. Your wife is Penny, middle name Lynn. Your mother is Gertrude Grove, though she goes by her maiden name, Frank. Your father is Evan. You and your wife reside on the fourth floor in hallway 16K. Shall I continue?”
The face of Dennis Grove is paper white, and I’m not sure if it’s from Wren’s words or the weapon I press into his side.
“Drop your gun and wal
k away,” Wren commands. “Don’t look back. Don’t come back. Don’t do anything that would make me give the word to Sitwell.”
“Give the word,” he repeats slowly. Then he smirks. “What, you’re going to get me fired?”
Wren smiles in return. “Not quite.”
The guard stares at him. He peers at me. One eyelid twitches ever so slightly. But then slowly, against all odds, the gun pointed at my hip drops to the floor; the metal clatters loudly against concrete. With a stony face, he walks by and into darkness. I listen carefully as his footsteps fade into another section of the compound, and I breathe once, twice, three times.
Wren picks up the discarded weapon. “You okay?”
My chest heaves, but otherwise I am still. I don’t know if I am okay or not. I just had a gun pointed at me; I just pointed one at somebody. I don’t know why it bothers me, other than the fact that the same type of weapon slaughtered hundreds if not thousands of innocents just yesterday, including Avery’s mother. I hate it. I hate them.
“Why didn’t you attack him?” I ask. “Force the gun away when he was distracted by mine?”
Wren looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I guess I didn’t feel like more violence would solve anything,” he says carefully.
I grab hold of Wren’s hand at this, press his palm tight to mine. Then I lead him to the kitchen door. We are close. We are so close.
My fingers enter the code under Wren’s watchful gaze, and the door swings open.
Inside, a man I recognize from the job tour chops onions at one of the cutting boards. I saw him at the party, too, with Hunter. My stomach squeezes at the thought of my old friend. Now my enemy.
The man stares at us. “This room isn’t public access. How’d you get in, anyway?”
I step forward and let the door swing closed. “Hunter,” I reply, and I try but fail to suppress a smile from stretching across my mouth. “Hunter sent us. He told us to get him some lemon squares.”
The man looks affronted. “That isn’t allowed. Hunter should know that. What—he gave you the passcode for the kitchen?” He stands up straighter. “I told him that in confidence, and only because he’ll be starting soon, so long as his application is accepted.”
Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy) Page 31
