by E. R. Arroyo
Dylan lifts a single shoulder, lowering his weapon. “It’s possible. They had unthinkable resources. I can’t even begin to guess where, though.”
Tyce, looking a million times more himself without a box full of explosives in hand, says, “We can track ‘em. If the spy tipped them off, he didn’t get that much of a head start. They can’t be far.”
“Track them?” Max asks.
Tyce pushes his shoulders back, his chin slightly in the air. “Of course. We’re hunters.”
“All right then,” Max says. “Lead on.”
Tyce whistles and the elders move forward, slinking past soldiers from the colonies. Tyce cocks his head for them to follow him, and they do. He guides them through each topside building one-by-one, letting them smell the mattresses and any remnant of Antius’s citizens.
Meanwhile, Dylan tinkers with the keypad to the underground elevator.
“Can we break in through the hatch that leads to the staircase?” I ask, glancing around the compound. It feels distant, familiar like in a dream but not like the place where I actually grew up. My eyes land on the Underage building where I first met Dylan. The only good thing that came out of my time here was him. A small smile touches my lips at the thought.
“It’s only accessible from the inside,” Dylan says, jarring me from my thoughts.
“There has to be another way in. A fail-safe in case the elevator was compromised.”
“If there’s a hatch, can’t we just bomb it?” Tyce pops off. I didn’t even know he was standing here.
Dylan’s careful to answer, but his annoyance is evident to me. “I believe it’s still our intention to locate and engage Antius, so I’d say we need to save the bomb for its intended use.”
“You want inside that building or not?” Tyce scoffs then walks away.
“How important is it that we get inside?” I ask.
“If they left in a hurry they could’ve left things behind. Maybe even meds.” Dylan rubs his temples. One thing about him—his mind is set on fixing all those sick people. He’ll never quit trying.
“Max is going to want to move soon. Looks like the elders are ready to start tracking.” I glance across the yard at the gate leading outside of Antius. The elders are hunched over inspecting tire tracks.
“I need a few more minutes. They could all be inside.”
I shrug, nervous from idleness, and he goes back to tinkering with the keypad, punching in codes and at one point he even takes off the faceplate and messes with the wiring. The men have all begun to gather in clusters, waiting.
“We need to move,” Max tells us.
Then Dylan does something to the access pad and the little green light turns red. Then the red begins to flash. An unsettling tremble emanates from the ground beneath my feet, something I’ve never felt before. It makes my stomach queasy.
Dylan’s eyes grow wide. “Run… Run!”
Utter chaos ensues as we all attempt to switch gears from lounging to running for our lives. I don’t even know which direction to go. I rely solely on Dylan’s lead.
My balance falters and I stumble but Dylan grips my arm to pull me up. He pauses when the earth’s rumbling seems to cease, only for a violent jolt to shake us all. More rumbling, then another jolt, and the pattern continues, growing stronger each time, until a thunderous explosion bursts up from the underground building, shooting fire into the sky, seemingly miles high until it mushrooms up into a puff that blends with the night clouds.
Grown men all around cry out and I can’t even tell where the sounds are coming from over the ringing in my ears. My watery eyes dart all around me, trying hard to focus through the smoke. Having fallen on my hands and knees I’m stunned—too stunned to move. The scent of burnt metal sears the back of my nose.
I place both palms flat on the grass. I try to get my bearings. Prepare myself to get up and get moving because the fire is spreading toward me. Dylan grabs my arm tighter, reminding me that he’s there. For a moment, I’m not sure what to do until he hauls me to my feet and suddenly we’re moving again.
My head swims in orange and red flames and black smoke and screams and panic. It’s as if I’m not in my own body because I don’t even feel myself running, don’t feel my arms swinging at my sides.
I spare a glance over my shoulder in time to see the fire spreading to other buildings, triggering even more explosions. The underage building, the women’s … gone.
With Dylan’s hand under my arm we reach the fence and I try to look back again but Dylan keeps moving, dragging me along.
I cling to him—the only reason I even make it out of there. I’m disoriented and unstable, and he might be too, but I’m too out of sorts to know.
Once we’re far enough away that we’re not surrounded by dust and smoke, we finally turn back to take in the view of what used to be Antius … completely engulfed in flames.
Chapter Seventeen
We don’t have time to recover. We don’t even have time to check for survivors. More bombs than I’ve kept track of have gone off and all we can do is run. As we pass the poles of the outer perimeter I instinctively tense up, remembering the mine bots that took out so many of us last time.
It takes us half an hour to regroup. I stand on my tiptoes searching for familiar faces as soldiers surround me. A little relief comes each time I see someone I know. I spot Gavin to my right, Smitt and Greg to my left.
“We need to move the bomb,” Wayne says. I turn to see he and Amy are unharmed.
Anxiety begins to build for the faces I still haven’t seen yet. A lump forms in my throat at the prospect… I can’t even finish the thought.
I keep looking, starting to push my way through the crowd. As soon as I see Max I sigh and jog to him. I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. So I keep moving.
I push past two guys and stumble over someone. Recovering, I whip around to find Tyce bent forward with his hands on his knees. When our eyes lock, air whooshes out of my lungs.
Tyce stands, fighting to keep his face tough. I grab his shirt, relieved to see him. I had no idea where he was in all the commotion. No clue if he was—
“Noah’s gone,” he says softly, shaking his head.
I grip his shirt even tighter. “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling the too-familiar pinch in my gut as I process the loss.
Tyce nods and pulls my hands off to go check on his guys. Most of us are shaken up but the elders are ready to go.
Flex jogs toward Max. “Tire tracks…”
Max snaps out of his stupor and a small group of us follows Flex to the tracks he found. I don’t know how long it will take to find the people of Antius, or how long they’ve been gone, but I know none of us are giving up.
With the elders and the City boys up front, I fall in right behind them, as does Dylan. Still reigning in my emotions, I tighten the straps on my backpack.
On our way to Antius there was a lot of chatter from the men—small talk mostly—but there’s none of that now. Not one word is said until we’ve been moving for half an hour, following the treads left behind by Antius’s military trucks.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Wayne finally says. “We need to make camp or head back to the vehicles.”
We begin to slow and Tyce jogs back to us from the front of the group. “Tracks end on a street.”
“Does that mean we’re done?” I ask. “Can we still track them?”
Max weighs the new information. “Let’s get back to the vehicles. I know this area and we’ll be a lot faster on wheels.”
On Max’s orders we head back, leaving Tyce and his crew to keep a look out by the road. On the way, we pass the burning remains of Antius, the place where I spent the last ten years of my life. I wonder if the sight should make me sad, but it doesn’t. It was never home.
I wonder if the effect is different on Dylan since he was born and raised there. I would understand if it saddened him. I slide my hand into his, and he squeezes, not letting go unt
il we reach the perimeter where we left the bomb with Smitt.
Dylan and Wayne retrieve it and carry it to Max’s truck, tying it down in the bed for stability. Amy and Wayne ride in the cab with Max while Dylan and I ride in the back.
The remainder of our militia piles into the other vehicles following Max’s lead. We take a few wrong turns, but eventually Max gets us to where we left the City boys.
Max rolls his window down and Tyce steps up to speak to him. “I know a place we can camp just up the road,” Max says, pointing ahead. “You boys want a lift?”
“We’ll walk. Lead the way.” Tyce slaps the top of the truck and Max pulls off. I glance back at Tyce as we go, watching him and Flex corral their men alongside the street as vehicles slowly lumber past.
After only a few minutes’ drive, Max turns off onto a dirt road surrounded by woods. It eventually leads to a clearing with a large parking lot and a tiny brick building covered in vines. The two entrances have narrow windows and blue signs with faded white pictures designating the women’s and men’s facilities.
Trails lead away from the pavement toward open spaces partitioned by trees and large brush, perfect for camping, but in the interest of safety we all stay out in the open on the parking lot.
We’re in the process of setting up camp, as minimally as possible to make for a hasty retreat, when Tyce ushers the elders off to the side and promptly dishes out dried meat—though I know they prefer it raw. Many of them groan in protest.
They unsnap their muzzles revealing their hollow cheeks, sunken dark eyes, and dark teeth. All the motion around me seems to slow, if not coming to a complete stop, as the milling soldiers watch the bestial faces of elders tearing into meat. The grunts and groans they make as they eat come off as disconcerting, but I know they’re simply frustrated with the meat being cooked and dried. If the soldiers think this is bad, I’d hate to see how they’d feel if the elders were eating fresh the way they normally do—usually resulting in a bloody mess.
I’m used to it now, but these men have never seen the elders like this. I try to take the lead in getting back to minding my own business. Eventually the others do likewise, though they certainly keep their distance.
Minutes later, people all around are shifting to get comfortable and soon fall asleep. All except me. Dylan’s chest rises and falls under my head, his hands resting behind his head, his ankles crossed. He’s a picture of calm and I love watching him sleep. And hearing him breathe. And his heartbeat.
“Pst.”
Something hard hits my forehead and lands on Dylan’s chest. I pick it up, then look up, squinting. Tyce is a couple yards away, squatting by a truck. He waves for me to join him. Despite it being a bad idea, I do.
“Did you throw a rock at me?”
“A pebble,” he says. He reaches for my hand but stops short, tucking his hands into his pockets. Instead, he cocks his head for me to follow him away from the group, over by the woods. “Just trying to get your attention.”
“I heard you. The rock wasn’t necessary.”
“Sorry, doll face.” He shrugs.
“I thought you were going to stop calling me that.” I grimace.
“I want to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“For what we’re doing. A lot’s at risk, ya know? I’da never been able to put this together.” He rubs his bare upper arms as if cold, though it’s plenty warm.
“Same here. Max did it.” I gesture back toward camp.
“Still,” he insists. I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t.
“Try to get some rest, Tyce.”
“Wait.” He steps toward me. “I need to hug you. That’s all, I swear.”
I nod before I have time to think about it. He cups the back of my head and pulls me close, my cheek against his chest, his jaw against my forehead. I keep my arms at my sides, only his hand holding me there. After a few moments I relax into him. Then he slips his arms around my waist. I stand up taller to hug his neck, my chest swelling with emotion.
“Why does this feel like goodbye?” I whisper.
He squeezes tighter. “‘Cause you’re not staying ‘round when it’s over. I know that.”
I don’t know what will happen when it’s over. I’ve barely even considered it, my sole focus being on this last stand we’re making together. Fixing this one last thing—getting Tyce’s daughter back. Despite the other hostages and all the reasons Max and I pitched for going after Antius, Tyce’s daughter has always been my primary motivation. But I never thought about what would happen after.
I nod, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away. He catches my hand.
“I loved every minute with you. I don’t regret a lick of it.”
I nod again, swallowing down my rising emotion. “Ditto.” I smile sadly.
When I return from speaking with Tyce, I snuggle up to Dylan. He wakes enough to wrap an arm around me, and I’m not sure if he noticed I’d left or not. Either way, he doesn’t say anything. He falls right back to sleep and I follow suit.
The darkness weighs heavy on my consciousness, and I’m not ready yet but something is tugging me awake. I listen for it again, allowing my eyes to open just enough to take in the dim, morning light. Then the sound comes again. A growl. It’s familiar somehow—maybe an animal.
My eyes open farther. I’m instantly aware we aren’t in The City and there are no animals here. I sit up quickly, looking around. Across the lot all the elders are on their feet, crouched and breathing rapidly, tipping their un-muzzled noses up in the air and periodically taking long, deep breaths.
I grip Dylan’s arm, shaking him until he wakes. He must see the alarm on my face, because his eyes narrow and he’s on his feet in a heartbeat. Getting to my feet as well, I meet Tyce’s gaze—he holds up a hand for us to be still.
The pack of elders grows more and more restless, looking more like a pack of animals than one of humans.
I hear another snarl but it doesn’t come from the elders—it comes from the woods, sending chills across my skin. A few more follow and I realize whatever is in the woods, there’s more than one. The sounds grow louder until Tyce finally throws his hand toward the woods and the elders charge, the City boys right on their heels, blades drawn.
“Max,” I call out, pulling my own blade and taking off after them. A good ways into the woods I stop short at the edge of a bloodbath. And I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
Real savages.
The same sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, the same gnarled teeth but no muzzles, no clothes. No weapons unless you count their long, black fingernails. Their bodies are scarred up from top to bottom and they’re absolutely feral. Monsters.
Unnerving snarls fill the forest. Savages and elders alike tear into each other, all of them drawing dark blood. By the time the boys catch up to the fight half the monsters are down and the elders rage on.
A few kneel over their kills, seemingly to make sure they’ve finished them off. The elder closest to me claws at his victim’s neck until it stops moving. Two more savages tackle him, thrusting their jagged nails into the flesh of his side.
I rush in, stabbing one beast in the back and kneeing it away from the elder, giving him the opportunity to get the better of his other attacker. When both creatures are down the elder and I make eye contact. It’s the first time I’ve been able to recognize a distinct emotion in one of them … gratitude.
Together, we rejoin the fight still taking place. I’m surprised he stays fairly close to my side. Like he wants to be fighting with me.
Alongside every slash and stab of my knife my comrade uses his bare hands, inflicting just as much damage. The manlike beasts are fewer in number but wilder, and it takes what feels like an eternity to get the advantage.
I drive my blade into a savage’s head from below its chin. Then I turn and come face to face with another. He snarls and lunges. I try to dodge him but he’s faster than me. His claw-like fingers dig into my shoulder an
d searing pain radiates from the wound. He draws his other hand back to strike me.
I try to steady the grip I have on my knife but the pain in my shoulder paralyzes my arm, rendering my hand useless. Staring into the creature’s eyes, I struggle against him as his claws come for me. But they don’t connect.
My new comrade pounces on him, taking him to the ground along with bits of skin from the flesh around my shoulder. As I bite back a scream of pain, the elder wrestles with the monster, digging into his torso. When he’s finally satisfied he has killed his foe, he leaps to his feet and grips my shoulders harder than I think he means to. He grunts, his eyes filled with concern for me. I put my hand on his wrist, willing him to stop squeezing, but trying to assure him, “I’m okay.”
Finally he lets go and hoists me over his shoulder to carry me back toward camp. I try to resist, but glancing around I notice the last of the savages have fallen and the elders and City boys are catching their breaths.
We only get a few steps before the soldiers finally catch up to us and the elder carrying me halts.
“Stop!” Dylan yells. “Put her down or I’ll shoot.”
The elder does as he’s told, setting me roughly on my feet.
I rush Dylan, grabbing his gun and pointing it downward. “Stop, he was helping me.”
The elder puffs his chest, panting, and it becomes evident now where Tyce and the others get their attitudes.
Dylan backs off finally. He throws an arm around me and ushers me back to camp. Somehow I can tell he wants to scold me. “You couldn’t wait a minute longer? Danger presents itself and you just have to go running toward it, don’t you?”
“I was just doing my part.”
“You were being reckless. You had no idea what they were going after.” He fishes out a first-aid kit from Max’s truck and tends to my shoulder.
“It was instinct, Dylan. I’ve been running toward danger with them for months.” I start to tell him that I trust them, that I feel connected to them. But I know he doesn’t want to hear that. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?”
“It’s not about trust. I don’t want to lose you.”
