Betrayed

by Francine Pascal

  The prisoner narrowed his eyes as Four Five Seven silently raised the glass wall by remote control and entered his cell. Before he could formulate some kind of reason for this unexpected visit, Four Five Seven drew his gun from his holster and leveled it at the prisoner’s heart.

  “What’s going on?” the prisoner asked calmly.

  “You’re moving,” said Four Five Seven as he lifted the gun half an inch. “Now step out into the hall and make a right. I’ll be right behind you and there’s nowhere to go but straight, so don’t try running.”

  The prisoner’s pulse was racing like a thorough-bred’s. Was this actually happening? Was he going to move outside the four walls of his tiny cell? He tentatively stepped past Four Five Seven, never taking his eyes off the gun until he was in the hall. It was colder out here. The air was crisper. Sweeter. It was a whole new smell and his nostrils actually prickled. He almost closed his eyes to savor it, but stopped himself.

  “Move it,” Four Five Seven ordered.

  He walked down the hall, past the other cells. Some were empty. One held a girl, a redhead, who cowered in the corner, rocking back and forth. One held an older man, stooped and tired. He looked up as they passed, his blue eyes hopeful. Why were these people here? What was their offense? Was it merely loving someone, too? Was that all they had done?

  The hallway opened onto a larger room where Five Oh Three was just struggling to his feet. A bruise was already forming on his left cheek.

  “I thought I put you down,” Four Five Seven said to the smaller man, still keeping his gun trained on the prisoner.

  Five Oh Three looked the prisoner over. His eye twitched once. “Just let them go,” he said again.

  The prisoner looked at Four Five Seven, who tightened his grip on the gun. “We can’t let them go,” he said. “We have orders.”

  “Fine,” Five Oh Three said. Then, faster than the prisoner ever would have thought possible, Five Oh Three ripped his gun from his holster and blasted off a shot, sending Four Five Seven reeling backwards.

  The prisoner stood there for a moment, stunned and free, as Four Five Seven’s gun clattered to the floor. The wound was in his shoulder, but it was bleeding like a geyser. The guard didn’t even shout out. He simply looked surprised.

  “Well?” Five Oh Three said, the twitch wild now. “Run, you idiot!”

  That was all he needed. The prisoner took off through a door at the far end of the room. There was another hallway and a guard came running toward him from the other end. He raised his arms and kept running, ready to give the man a swift elbow to the jaw if he tried to stop him, but the guard sped past him as if he weren’t even there.

  The next door opened up into a brightly lit room that was three stories high and made almost entirely of glass. He blinked against the harshness of the light, momentarily incapacitated by it. Until he realized it was sunlight. Until he realized that those appalled things on the other side of the glass were trees.

  Salivating now, he careened toward the exit door, across a marble floor dotted with black speckles and trimmed with gold. Every second he expected someone to jump out and tackle him to that floor. Every moment he expected to hear a shot ring out or a voice call for him to stop. But nothing came. There was no one. And in moments, he was tasting fresh air.

  Outside he found himself feeling almost drunk. There were birds. There was wind. There was grass and asphalt. A fast-food wrapper skittered across the pathway in front of him, its bright red color one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

  A slam sounded from the compound behind him and he realized that he had to keep moving. He wasn’t safe yet. He ran toward the woods that bordered the building. Ran until the branches had ripped through the soles of his soft slippers. He spotted a large rock and collapsed behind it, pressing his back up against its cool, uneven surface.

  His breath was harsh and ragged. He hadn’t had this much exercise in months and it made his heart pound dangerously. He sat for a moment and waited, gasping as quietly as possible. Listening. Waiting for the army that he was sure would be sent after him. They couldn’t really all be gone. Most of them had to be there still. And when they realized what Five Oh Three had done, they would deal with him and come after the refugee.

  He waited. He waited until his breathing normalized. Until his nose stopped running. Until his fingers were so cold he could barely curl them.

  But no one was coming.

  He stood and started to run again, cutting through the woods, just hoping he was going the right way. All he needed was a road. That, at least would be a start. He almost laughed when he heard traffic up ahead. He was on his way. He was on his way back to her.