by E. R. Arroyo
“Who, brother?” Flex says laying his hand on Noah’s back.
“Nash. He’s dead and it’s my fault. I fell asleep again while Nash was taking a break. I never saw the guy coming.” He pants a few times before taking a deep breath to continue. “I just woke up to the sound of Nash shouting.”
It’s only then that I realize there’s smeared blood on Noah’s arms and hands.
“Couldn’t do nothing, he was just gasping and then he went still, too still.” Noah collapses, crying into his elbow. “He’s gone.”
Flex kneels with him.
“I’m sorry,” Noah says, over and over.
“No, brother,” Flex says, touching his back. After a moment of staring blankly, Flex snaps out of it and looks up at me.
“Someone came to break Jayce out,” I say.
Flex nods, knowingly.
Just then, the others catch up to us.
“Could they still be here?” I step toward Eli. He shrugs, all eyes on him. “What about the bomb?” I ask. Flex meets my gaze, intensity in his expression growing just as much as the urgency and panic in my chest. Without a word, we dash in the direction of Tenth Street where they have the bomb.
If Jayce was aided by another spy or more than one, they could easily sneak up on Dylan and the others and possibly overtake them. I hope with everything I am that’s not the case. As I run the air burning in my lungs only propels me forward and I won’t stop until I see Dylan’s face.
As we round the corner onto Tenth and the warehouse is in sight I pick up speed, telling myself he’s fine. That he’s right there inside that building. It’s in sight, not even a minute away. And then I’ll see him and he’ll be just fine.
As I close in, I try to see signs of the intruders—signs of a struggle or anything. Squinting at the building’s entrance, I notice a flare of orange and my heart stops. My breathing stops. Time stops.
Then there is a loud burst of sound as an explosion rips through the front of the warehouse. Flames and smoke puff out around the gaping hole where the building’s entrance should be. Fire laps up the stone exterior, smoke clouding the windows.
Flex catches me by the elbow when I falter. It’s everything I can do to keep the tears from coming. He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay, I tell myself. They’re all okay. It seems my feet aren’t even moving, that the building draws nearer to me, not me to it. Nevertheless I arrive there somehow with Flex and a host of others not far behind.
Dodging a falling scrap of metal, I run straight for the flames until Flex stops me. I fight against him, but he affixes his arm around my waist with a grip so strong my struggle is pointless. Every ounce of hope pours out of me in one fell swoop. I can’t go on without Dylan.
I can’t go on without Dylan.
The glass on the right side of the building shatters, and Tyce climbs through the broken window, coughing and batting at smoke. I finally break free of Flex and rush Tyce, gripping his shirt in both hands.
“Where is he?” I demand, sounding frantic even to myself. I shake him, waiting for an answer, but he’s too stunned. “Tyce, where is Dylan!”
He shakes his head, trying to pull himself together. He looks back over his shoulder, his eyes desperate, distraught. Still holding his shirt, I jerk harder. “Where—”
“Cori,” Dylan’s deep voice calls. I whip around to face him. Coughing, he climbs out of the smoke and onto the street.
In the time it takes him to take another step my way, I close the distance and launch myself at him. I throw my arms around his waist, coughing on the smoke in his clothes.
“I’m here,” Dylan whispers into my ear.
“You scared me to death. I thought…” I shake my head, unable to finish the sentence. I pull away to meet his eyes. “Jayce got away from Eli. We think another spy helped him. We thought maybe he came here, then the explosion—”
“The explosion was an accident.” Dylan coughs. “We haven’t seen any signs of … Jayce or anyone.”
“Where are Wayne and Amy?” I ask right as I realize they’re missing.
“They’re trapped—”
Tyce slams a pipe through the window to the far left of the entrance. Flex helps him clear the shards of glass. Dylan rushes to help them when Wayne begins to hoist Amy through the opening. While Flex and Tyce reach in for Wayne, Dylan carries Amy away from the fire and sets her on the ground. She pants and coughs, hand hovering close to a nasty burn spanning the length of the upper part of her left arm. Gritting her teeth, she bites back a scream.
Thick smoke billows out making the air around us hazy.
“Is there a way in through the back?” Dylan asks Tyce. “We can salvage the bomb, but we have to do it now.”
Tyce tips his head toward the alley and Dylan, Flex, and I follow him. Tyce busts through a side door and we spill in to the warehouse. Smoke assaults my lungs, instantly making it harder to breathe. From inside, the fire doesn’t look nearly as bad, contained mostly to the area closest the door.
Tyce and Flex, under Dylan’s orders, grab the main section of the bomb and carry it out. Dylan points to the smaller pieces, “Grab those.” And I obey, growing fatigued by the sweltering heat and smoky air. I dip close to the expanding flames retrieving the metal parts. Outside we carry the parts well away from the burning building and Dylan is running back in before I realize it.
“There’s no time!” Flex shouts. The fire is spreading, but Dylan doesn’t stop. By the time I reach the door to follow him, he’s back and shoving me away from the building. Flames are quick to follow, narrowly missing us and now lapping out the door he just came out of.
He puts the final pieces on the sidewalk near the other metal, plastic, and wire, which is all it looks like to me. Leaning forward, hands on his knees, he coughs—a lot—making me cringe for him even though I’m wheezing myself.
“What happened?” I ask, kneeling beside him.
“We were going out to find somewhere to test a compound we found at the Burke place.” Dylan’s coughing keeps him from finishing. Finally, he sits on the curb.
“The bottom came off the box and the vials fell out,” Wayne says, his arm around Amy’s shoulder. “I can’t believe no one was killed. If it hadn’t been for the carpet in the entry, they would’ve exploded on impact. Lucky for Dylan, most of the vials bounced on the carpet and probably exploded once they struck the tile. By then Dylan had backed away. He’d have been a goner otherwise.”
Dylan looks over the items we salvaged, scouring each piece, pointing as if connecting them in his mind, not seeming to care that he could have died. I sit beside him looping my arm through his, thinking there’s a real possibility I’m never letting him out of my sight again.
“Did we get everything?” I ask, nervous for his answer.
“Yes,” he tells me, and I’m relieved. But only for a moment.
“What about the actual explosives. Did we lose them all?” Max asks. I didn’t even realize the crew had finally caught up with us.
He shakes his head. “We can get more from the Burke building.”
“Done,” Tyce says.
“Be careful,” I call after him as he jogs away with two friends on his heels.
“If the kid is anywhere close, he musta heard that,” Flex says, crossing his arms.
“He’s been questioned,” I say. “At minimum, he knows we’re interested in what’s happening in Antius. Besides that, he shouldn’t know anything. No one spoke of our attack anywhere near him. Right?” I look to Eli and Gavin for confirmation. They both nod—they’d be the only ones to know otherwise.
“If you’re wrong he could alert them. Tell them we have explosives. That might incite a preemptive attack,” Max says.
“What are you suggesting?” Wayne is breathing much better now, unlike Dylan.
I grip Dylan’s arm tighter willing his lungs to clear.
Max wipes his face. “I’m suggesting we don’t have any time to waste. We need to go now. We might not be
at your prisoner there, but we can get there before they have time to react.”
“Sounds a li’l reckless, friend,” Flex says, looking just as confident as they do, as if he isn’t twenty or more years younger than them both.
“We need the rest of Smyrna, not just our men but our gun power. We should at least wait for the others,” Wayne says. It’s weird seeing him try to talk sense into Max who is normally the voice of reason. He’s the wisest man I know.
“Soon as they arrive, then,” Max finally decides.
When Tyce returns with the explosives we waste no time at all. The pieces to Dylan’s bomb are partially assembled and wrapped in canvas with ropes tied on the ends to make them easier to carry.
Tyce keeps the explosives in his hands, the bottom of the carton reinforced with wood, while trailing behind, leaving plenty of space between him and us. We cross the river in the shallows and load the bomb parts into the trunk of the car we brought. Max, Wayne, Amy, and Dylan ride in the car. I hang back to walk with the City boys and the elders. Dylan tries to protest, but exhaustion and smoke inhalation convince him not to walk with me. His breathing has improved but it still sounds painful when he coughs.
No one had time to take Eli to the city where we dropped the others, so we agreed to let him come with us under the condition that he would stay behind with the vehicles and not go with us into battle. He’s in no condition to fight, not to mention he’s young and I care for him deeply. I don’t want anything to happen to him. I’d never tell him so, but he’s not like his brothers from the Pitt. He’s tender and I hope nothing ever changes him. And that’s exactly what war would do.
We arrive at Havenwood a little after nightfall, and Smyrna is already there. Max quickly has the men rallied and from the looks of them they’re ready. The atmosphere is somehow both electric and reluctant.
We’ve had an intense day, those of us who were in the Pitt, and I’m terribly uneasy about going to war with none of us having rested. But I trust Max’s judgment. If he says we should go now, we’ll go now. There’s no way I could sleep tonight anyway. I learned that last time.
We load everyone up in trucks, cars, vans, jeeps, and even a few buses, then head toward Antius, parking far enough away to go unnoticed. It is well into the night by the time we’re standing in the woods outside the compound. A prickly feeling seeps across my skin as I look at it from a short distance, remembering all the oppression people have suffered here.
This seems to be happening too fast though, and something’s not right—but I’m not sure what it is.
“Hey,” Dylan says, holding me to the side while the others file past. He takes out a small flashlight illuminating a cylinder attached to a chain. “The detonator,” he says. “Flip this open, slide this over… Press this button.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He closes it back up, then slips the chain over my neck.
I tuck the device beneath my shirt. “Got it.” I turn around to keep walking but he catches my arm.
“Wait,” he whispers. “One more thing.”
“Don’t get caught?” I ask, grinning at the memory.
“No… I was going to say don’t blow me up.” Before I can respond, he plants a quick kiss on my lips then we’re on our way to battle. Again.
Just like before, we split up to take out all the towers at the same time. The snipers have synchronized watches so they know exactly what time to strike. The difference is last time we were shooting smoke bombs to knock them out. This time, we’re shooting to kill.
Smitt, a sniper from Smyrna, is harnessed and attached to a lead, an M-24 sniper rifle firmly in his grip. He nods for us to begin hoisting him up into a tree which should give him a direct line of sight into our designated tower. Two men and I pull his rope, helping him scale the tree.
Once Smitt is in place, I expect at least three shots to go off. I expect to possibly even hear shots in the distance from the other snipers. What I do not expect is Smitt’s utter confusion.
“Uhh, boss. There’s uh … there’s no one there,” he says in a loud whisper.
“What?” Max says from a few feet away.
“Tower’s empty.”
I scrunch my face up, trying to make sense of it. I look over my shoulder at Dylan, who stands with Wayne, holding the poles to the canvas sling they made for the bomb. Amy is nearby with the fuses and the power supply they didn’t want to install until they set the main unit up. Several feet farther back stands Tyce, who was somehow designated to carry enough explosives to kill the entire lot of us.
Dylan cocks a brow, puzzled.
Max steps closer to us. “No signs of them at all?”
“No, sir. None.”
“Come on down then,” Max tells him. He glances over his shoulder. “I need runners.”
“Yes, sir,” Aaron says, stepping up. Two others join him.
“Let’s find out what’s happening at the other towers. Make sure our guys are okay.”
“Yes, sir,” they say, taking off, one to the left and two to the right.
And then we hunker down and wait…
And wait…
Smitt ticks nervously, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his gun. He rubs his hand over his buzzed hair then returns to the tapping.
I’m about to ask him to stop when the runners return with all the snipers and their crews. They all report empty towers.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Dylan says.
“Let’s proceed,” Max tells us, resolute. Something has changed in him since this attack was set in motion. Now he’s a hunter with prey in his sights and he won’t back down.
Dylan looks no less baffled, but he, Wayne, and Amy move to the Antius force field perimeter. Gently, they set the heavy cylinder down a couple inches away from one of the force field’s poles. Dylan told us before that if we took out one pole it would shut the entire thing down. It’s a good plan—I hope it works.
Tyce and I wait about twenty yards apart, hiding in the tree line as they assemble the bomb. It’s too dark to see his expression, but every time I’ve gotten close enough to him, he’s seemed confident. Unshaken.
I didn’t expect to be, but I am shaken. Why would the towers be empty?
I glance around at the men close enough to see in the darkness. Most of them are also in the woods, hidden by the overgrown trees and shrubbery.
To my far right, a couple yards behind Tyce, the elders and City boys wait, knives in hand. Like me, they can’t stand still. Some gently bounce on the balls of their feet, others sway ever so slightly. One thing’s for sure, the colony soldiers are careful to keep distance between themselves and the elders. They are muzzled and perfectly focused on Tyce, Flex, and Gavin, having learned over time to take their lead. They haven’t set one foot out of line since we all gathered. But it’s clear people are still wary of them.
We have bigger problems than elders, I’m certain.
Dylan now has Amy’s bag. Slowly he takes out the fuses one at a time and hands them to Wayne who inserts them carefully. When they’re done, Amy takes her bag and backs away to join the others, standing close to Max who watches with crossed arms.
Wayne inserts the power supply while Dylan waves Tyce over.
Tyce pauses a moment then takes a careful step forward. His eyes find mine. He swallows hard. Nods. Mirth nowhere to be found for once. He takes another step. Two more.
Max shifts his weight, then cracks his neck.
Over the next few minutes Tyce removes vials and unwraps them from the cloth buffers he made to keep them from clinking together. Dylan and Wayne take turns inserting the chemicals, and it’s the most careful I’ve ever seen a person be. Even with such little movement they both seem winded and their moist foreheads glisten under the light coming off the small lantern Tyce holds for them. Dylan pauses to cough and I go completely still, fearful that a single wrong move would be the last one Dylan makes.
I pull the detonator from under my shi
rt, so very carefully, and press my hand against it, waiting.
When Dylan closes the main chamber of the bomb, my heart rate kicks up a notch. He and Wayne move toward the activator keys, and are just about to flip the switches, then…
“Wait!” I call out, tucking the detonator back under my shirt. “Wait,” I say again, and they do. I break off a small stick from a shrub nearby and jog to the perimeter. I take a deep breath and toss it at the force field.
But there is no force field. The stick goes right through.
A collective exhale whooshes from the group of ready soldiers.
Max and I reach Dylan at the same time. He’s hunched down wiping sweat from his face. He stands up and hooks his elbow around my neck, kissing my temple.
“Pull the keys, leave it here. You guard it,” Max says, pointing to Smitt. “Let’s move.”
Within seconds everyone’s weapons are out and ready. I’ve opted for my Glock, though my knife is on my thigh and Karen’s spare is strapped to my lower leg. Dylan and Wayne return their activation keys to their necks just like my detonator.
The mile stretch leading to the Antius fence feels eternal, and I’ve got even more adrenaline pumping as we near it. The giant holes we left last time are still there, but roped off. It takes only a few slashes to reopen the passages and in small groups we file through.
And I don’t see a single light anywhere.
Again, we split up and go for the interior guard towers first.
And all five of them are empty. A shiver creeps down my spine, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. It’s a ghost town and it’s eerie. I never liked this place one bit but there were always signs of life. Always guards, always cameras.
“They’re gone,” Dylan says, looking around. “I don’t understand. Where could they go?” I shake my head in reply, obviously not having an answer.
For the sake of due diligence we check all the topside buildings and don’t find a single soul. Even the storage has been gutted.
Part of me is relieved. Part of me is utterly confused. And another part is still uneasy … because none of this makes sense.
“Did the Burkes have other bunkers?” I ask.
