by E. R. Arroyo
“So you violated me in my sleep? For what? Science? Medicine? You’re a monster just like your father.” I spit at his feet, but miss. Soldiers all around the room stare at me through sleepy eyes, no doubt awakened by my screaming.
“That’s enough, Corinne,” my father shouts as he grabs my arms and drags me down the hall. I look over my shoulder about to yell again when I see Dylan in the hall, kneeling with his head in his hands.
Around a few corners and down a few halls, my father shuts a door behind us. His bedroom. “You can sleep here.”
The bed is unmade, I assume because he’d been trying to sleep before coming to the common area. I cross my arms and stare at the floor, still fuming. Is there a single person who won’t betray me? Did Vance and Titus?
Did Cornelius?
I’m completely humiliated at the thought of Nathan and all his threats, him knowing all the while that he would never follow through with them. I actually feared him.
Regardless of how angry I am, one piece of information sticks: if they catch me, they’ll put me under and keep me there. I would rather die. My knees go weak, and my father catches me and eases me onto his bed.
When my head hits the pillow, tears fill my eyes again. My father pulls the blankets up around me, pressing them down at the sides so I’m snug and warm. When he kisses my forehead, I whimper as dread consumes me because this moment should be a happy one. I’ve missed my father, and even if he’s disappointed in my outburst, I’m glad to be near him.
I use my sleeve to wipe my face, and I stare at the ceiling until Dad leaves. Then I turn on my side and curl into a ball until he returns in the morning.
“Breakfast,” he says.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I figured you’d want to eat in private.”
I look up and he’s holding a plate of food and glass of water. He sets them on a night stand while I sit up and situate the blankets. “Thanks, Dad.”
“It’s really great to have you here, you know. I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too.”
He sits at the foot of the bed, crossing his arms. A grimace contorts his features, like there’s something he wants to talk about. I have a feeling what it might be.
“Please, don’t.”
“We just need to clear the air. We’re heading to battle today. Lives will be lost, things are tense enough.”
“What are you suggesting?” I cross my arms before I realize I’m doing the same thing as him. I uncross them and drop my hands to my lap.
“Well, it’s up to you, really. We just can’t have another outburst like that.”
“Do you have any idea how betrayed I feel? How stupid and naive?”
“And hurt, too, I’m sure. I can tell you guys care a lot about each other.”
“We were best friends.”
“Do you love him?”
“No, Dad,” I say, too defensively. I clutch at the bed sheet and tug it up over my knees.
“If you decide you might, you’re going to have to forgive him.”
“Not today.” I steel my face and finally meet his eyes.
He kisses me on the forehead before leaving me alone with my breakfast and the coldness in my heart. I don’t need Dylan, just my objective. I know the mission, and if we didn’t need him to breach the Underage building, I wouldn’t even want him to come.
I shower and dress myself in clothing Karen gave me. I pull my hair back into a tight ponytail to keep it out of the way, but I put it higher on my head than the Antius women do.
When the troops gather to leave, we meet up in the front lawn of Mercy. There are several buildings clustered together, all made of bricks and rocks. Trees and even some flowers decorate the grounds. None of the buildings are taller than a single story, but they’re deep and wide.
A long line of vehicles--all equipped with black solar panels--leads all the way up to a rusty gate on the stone walls. The walls aren’t as tall as Antius’s fences, but I’m sure they serve some purpose.
I’m surprised to see there are actually a handful of female soldiers to my left. They must have slept in another building. Two of them are small, but the others are pretty beefed up, and they look alike. Sisters maybe. The eldest of the three appears to be barely in her thirties, the others probably in their twenties. They have long, straight, blonde hair braided down their backs.
I glance over my right shoulder and spot Dylan standing next to my father, who’s showing him how to reload a gun. Dylan’s eyes drift to me, and I turn left and join the blonde women.
I don’t bother introducing myself, I just check my weapon again and then the extra clips in the pouch slung across my chest.
When the men begin loading onto vehicles, I follow the girls, but my father grabs my elbow. “Ride with us.”
I pull my arm from his grip and stomp toward the second vehicle--a sports utility with three rows of seats. Dad opens the back door, and I crawl into the middle row and slide across, then he follows. Dylan sits behind me.
We drive through the day and the night. When we get to the location Max and the others agreed on, we set up camp and sleep in shifts well into the afternoon.
When I wake up, Dylan is near, readying my pack. He worked on it nonstop for two days and has revisited it a few times since. He’s not used to the materials he had to work with.
I sit up, rub my eyes. The sun is almost set, so I know I don’t have much time left. I wish I was going in with all these brave soldiers to have my back, but the first and most critical step in this plan requires me to go alone. I should be used to that, right?
I put the sling over my shoulder and put it in place across my chest. It has a pouch for my clips near my hip, a snapping holster for my knife, and zipper pockets for the other supplies Dylan wanted me to have. I have a separate holster across my hips for my gun--I’m still using the one Dylan got off the dead guard. I like this gun. When I snap the buckle on my gun holster, I look up and Dylan stands in front of me holding the pack. I think back to the last time I climbed with one of his packs knowing, this is going to work.
Dylan puts the bag on my shoulders, adjusting it until it’s perfect, and I snap the buckles myself. I don’t meet his eyes, and I don’t speak. He tugs on the straps in a few different places.
“Some movement?” he asks just loud enough for me to hear.
I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet. I grab the straps and jerk my body weight one direction and the other. It stays in place, and there doesn’t seem to be any slack. It’s a perfect fit.
I wear a fitted t-shirt, cargo pants, and shoes Dylan modified. They are all the same dark gray color as the cloud bank. The strap, holster, and pack are all gray, too. I should blend into the night. That’s the idea anyway.
I want to ask how I look but decide against it.
The look on Dylan’s face is that of wonder. Or marvel. So I take the pack off and leave it at his feet. I head to find my father, but Max intercepts me.
“Ready to move out, Cori?” Max hasn’t addressed me directly before.
Ready or not, this is happening. “Yes, sir.”
“Let’s go then.” He claps me on the shoulder and flashes a crooked grin.
Chapter Twenty
We leave the vehicles packed and facing Mercy at the campsite. A few men stay to guard them while the rest of us head to Antius on foot. We can’t risk the noise of engines any closer, and the woods are too dense for trucks, anyway.
As we grow nearer the compound that was my prison for so long, my heart beats faster. My father flanks my left side, Max my right. Dylan is somewhere behind me with my pack, which he insists on carrying.
When the spotlights sweep through the trees ahead, the three of us kneel, and the others silently follow our lead. We’re close, I think, with a lump in my throat. I try to swallow it, but I’m too anxious.
Staying low, we advance. After the routine sweeps are done, the spotlights disappear. Sweat covers my neck and forehead as we st
op about twelve feet from the tree line, everyone drawing their weapons.
Dylan approaches me with my pack and gestures for me to put it on. I turn my back to him, and as he places the straps on my shoulders, he leans toward me and speaks quietly. “I understand you’re angry, but I need you to know something.”
I don’t want to hear any more lies, so I don’t respond.
“You want to know it all, right? The whole truth?” As many secrets as he keeps, I could probably never know it all.
He steps back in front of me, glancing at my shaking hands. When I don’t move for the buckles, he snaps the first one and his hands linger on the material. “So, here’s your full disclosure. I love you. And I’ll do anything to protect you. Anything.”
I take a few deep breaths, but keep my face blank. And I won’t look at him, I never do when I feel something.
“So if there’s any part of you that still cares for me at all, please, be careful. And don’t get caught.”
Click. I snap the second buckle and back away. He grabs my hand, and I know there’s more he wants to say, but it’s too late. I don’t want his full disclosure anymore.
“Let go.”
He releases me, and it’s almost too dark to see his expression, but not dark enough. I think of my father telling me to clear the air, but I have nothing to say. I tug my gloves on and shake my hands out, bouncing on my feet to get the blood pumping.
One of Max’s men, Jason, sets up next to a tree with a large gun. We gave some soldiers a head start, and there should be four more guns just like this one near the other perimeter towers. We don’t have any way to know, we just have to hope we gave them enough time to get in place.
I take deep breaths in, then out. In, then out. It’s just like the escape trial, I tell myself. I can do this.
Max steps back from Jason and waves for everyone to back up. Jason takes aim and releases a breath as he pulls the trigger. The gun launches a silver canister at the guard tower, echoing a soft boom. The spotlight fires up and my heart races faster, panic stricken. Before the light comes near us it goes slack, shifts skyward, and freezes, shining on the gray clouds.
“Go!” Jason shouts.
I spring from the tree line out into the open, and I don’t hear a thing, not even my own footsteps. When I’m almost to the tower, I see smoke coming out of the opening around the spotlight. It worked.
I reach around the metal post and climb quickly. This tower doesn’t have a deck like the interior ones, so I have to climb in through the window.
Once inside, I whip around, relieved to find every guard unconscious in the floor. Most of the smoke has dissipated but I pull a bandanna from my neck anyway, just in case. I find the man who grabbed the spotlight handle on his way down, rush to him, and pull his arm away. If the other guns were not in place, I don’t want this spotlight to tip off the other towers.
I aim the light at the ground until I figure out how to turn it off. I find a switch on the top, which I have to tiptoe to reach. I flip it, and the light powers down.
I briefly check the computer screen for evidence that I’ve set anything off, but I don’t see flashing or alerts, not that I know enough about computers to tell more.
I head back to the window, stand on the ledge, and reach for the roof. I have to get on my tiptoes, which is unnerving this high up. Just as I feel a little breeze, my fingers connect with the roof, and I latch on. I pull myself onto the roof in seconds before focusing on the compound. Without another thought, I run a few steps and leap off.
Midair, I pull the cords and my wings expand. I can’t see the perimeter, nor do I know its height, but Dylan seemed confident this would work. He better be right, unless he really is trying to get me killed.
I feel like I’m dipping too low, so I tuck my feet to my chest as one of my wings tips and hits the forcefield. The blow forces my wings to sway the other direction while I descend unevenly and rapidly toward the ground, trying desperately to right myself.
Hitting the ground hard, I flip over the wings, releasing them from my pack then rolling forward with one knee on the ground. When I touch the grass with my finger tips, I propel myself into a sprint. With nearly a mile to the inner fence, I pace my breaths but run as quickly as I can. To my surprise and relief, no one shoots at me, which is a good sign that our guys took out the other towers.
Finally reaching the fence, I drop my bag and tug it open, removing bolt cutters and thicker gloves. One piece at a time, I cut a hole in the fence. Even though electricity shocks and sparks on contact with the cutters, between the rubber grips and the padded gloves, I don’t feel it. Every muscle in my arms are tensed, and my face is contorted with anxiety for a shock that I hope doesn’t come.
Once the hole is large enough, I put the pack on and climb through, careful not to let the edges touch my skin. Halfway through, my pant leg catches on the fence, and I writhe to get it free. The jagged fence edge jams into my thigh. I panic and yank my leg away expecting to be electrocuted--but when I’m clear, I realize it’s a scrap I cut off, not the live fence. And the scrap is still in my leg.
I have no time to waste, so I take a deep breath and jerk the metal out, tossing it on the ground and ignoring the pain. Hopping to my feet, I whip around and spot the back of the Underage building. My heart explodes with anxiety and joy. This is happening. I can really do this.
I sprint toward the building, anxious to get clear of the open space. While I slide alongside Underage, I make sure to check every direction--I can’t get caught. Reaching the corner, I spot the supply building, just like before. I check the area for guards then rush across the divide and duck behind the shed. I step back a few yards and get a running start toward the building then leap up the side. It might be easier to get traction if this building was made of wood instead of concrete, but I make it up nonetheless.
I grip the ledge of a high window and slam my fist through. I climb in without bothering to clear the glass shards. My arms shake until I’m inside and kneeling on a high shelf of stock.
After landing on the floor with a thud, I search up and down the aisles for the black panel Dylan told me to find but don’t see it. I’m wasting time. I’m going to get caught.
Refusing to give up, I whip around in desperation. I pace the whole place again, looking closer. Then I see it--a large crate that seems out of place, protruding from one of the lower shelves, and I move it onto the floor. Relief ripples through me as I lay eyes on a black, metal case, attached to the wall, like an electrical panel.
Taking a deep breath, I pry it open with the bolt cutters then reach in my pack. I pull out a small device with a blue screen and power it on. I clip wire coating from the inside of the panel before attaching wires from the device to the exposed ones. With a small flashlight in my mouth, I match the colors like Dylan showed me. Then I punch in a numeric code, exactly as I rehearsed with Dylan. Actually, numbers are almost the only things I’ve said to him lately. But I can worry about that later. For now, my mind is a hundred percent on Go, and I can’t think about why or how or anything other than my objective.
I have to try the sequence three times before I get it right. And when I’m sure I’ve done it correctly, nothing happens. I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen, I just have to trust it’s right.
When I close the panel and stuff the gear back in my bag, I hear the door open and close, then boots on the floor coming toward me. I hear a few muffled voices outside, and I know I’m busted. But I won’t go down without a fight.
My heart rate seems to double while I listen for an alarm, but I don’t hear one. I tuck my legs so I’m totally inside the bottom shelf, but the crate is going to catch his attention. Did he hear me break the glass?
I grow too nervous to stay down here, it’s the worst possible position. I peek out and don’t see anyone, so I jump out and climb the shelving. The noise of my movement draws the guard’s attention and he barrels toward me.
For a split second I feel fro
zen in time as he charges at me. I’ve had plenty of encounters with guards, but none like this. And not one-on-one. This is real danger. Pushing the fear of him away, I pull my gun and leap from the shelf, wrapping my legs around him. He struggles against me, but I slam the butt of my gun into his temple. He goes limp on top of my leg, and I almost scream but stifle it.
I slip out the door, checking for more guards before running back for the fence. I slide through the hole with ease this time, and it’s pure adrenaline that keeps me going.
As I make the trek across no man’s land, my lungs burn and my hurt leg throbs. For the first time, really, I’m grateful for all the hours I spent on treadmills over the years. An eternity later, I find the first bronze pole I can and kneel in front of it, barely noticing the shadows waiting for me in the tree line nearby. I point the device at the pole and punch “transmit.”
Holding my breath, I toss a rock at the force perimeter and it goes through. A deep sigh escapes me--I opened an entrance. I wave toward the woods and the cavalry runs toward me. As I see them getting close, I smile, happy and proud to have pulled it off. That was the hard part, I tell myself.
But I hear a familiar sound, one that I’ll never forget. Something electronic buzzes inside the pole and a slot opens, releasing a device just like the mine that got me when we escaped. It slams hard into my chest, knocking me off balance. I land on the trigger device and the first soldier to cross the forcefield doesn’t make it through. The tip of his gun ricochets off, knocking him back. Shocked and defeated, I stare at my comrades not more than ten feet away, but they can’t come through.
Panic surges through me while I clutch at the device on my chest trying to pry it off. I attempt to keep myself calm, but I feel the chemical piping in and know I’m running out of time. I draw my weapon and weasel the tip between my chest and the bot and angle it outward. I search the men’s faces for my father’s, trying to garner the gumption I’ll need, but I don’t find him.
This is the dumbest thing I’ll ever do.
