Catalyst

by Kristin Smith

  “Sienna? Do you have a minute?”

  Trina’s eyes widen, and she grins. “You go girl,” she whispers before closing the door behind her.

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I try to slow my heart because it feels like it’s about to thump right out of my chest. I turn to find Trey leaning against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. Avoiding looking at his biceps, I focus on his face instead.

  “I wanted to make sure we’re cool. I mean, I hope you don’t think anything about what Nash said—”

  I shake my head. “Of course not. He was just blowing off steam. I get it.”

  “Because I’m older than you, and it would never work out—”

  “Never,” I agree. My breath catches as he moves closer.

  He raises an eyebrow, a smile half-curling his lips. “Why do you have to agree so readily?”

  I swallow hard. “I thought that’s what you wanted me to say.”

  He stops when his face is only inches from mine. “No, it’s not.”

  My head spins. What is he saying? That he doesn’t want me to agree with him? That it would work out?

  “You’re confusing me,” I say, which is probably the first honest thing I’ve uttered in a while.

  Trey laughs and takes a step back. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure we’re good.”

  “We are,” I assure him. “Thanks for everything you’re doing. I’m sorry I was such a brat before. If I had realized—I would have given you more time.”

  “Instead of an ultimatum?” He grins.

  “Exactly.” Silence follows. My eyes shift awkwardly around his room, which is significantly nicer than mine. At least his doesn’t look like it belongs to someone in a straightjacket. His mattress rests on a frame with a sleek wooden headboard and several pictures hang on the wall, one of the city at the highlight of its wealth, and another of a field with a massive tree. The cinder block is painted a cool blue, very different from the stark white of my room.

  “You have a nice room,” I say.

  He cocks his head and looks at me like I might be crazy. “Pardon?”

  “Your room. It’s cozy. Mine makes me feel like I’m in an insane asylum.”

  Trey chuckles. “How about this? We get your mom out and don’t get killed in the process, and I’ll help you paint your room.”

  My eyes narrow. “Why are you being so nice to me? Do you have an ulterior motive?”

  Trey raises an eyebrow. “Like?”

  “You tell me.”

  He winks. “I guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” Crossing the room, he opens the door. “See you tonight. And don’t forget to wear black.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Trina and I arrive together at the tunnel at twenty-two hundred hours. I’m wearing borrowed black pants and a black, sleeveless Quik-dry shirt, courtesy of Trina. Unfortunately, the one thing I didn’t throw in my backpack before I left my house was my black shadow outfit. Such a shame because it would have been put to good use.

  I’ve hiked the pants up as far as they’ll go and rolled the pant legs so they don’t drag on the ground. Trina promises she’ll take me to the Pavilion tomorrow, the place I can stock up on clothes. A used clothing store inside the Compound, people donate old items and “trade” for newer ones. When I indicated to Trina that I didn’t have anything to donate, she assured me that the first shopping trip is free.

  Trey and Curly are already in the tunnel, waiting for us. Trey has a large duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He leads us to his black pickup, throws the bag in the back, and hands a set of keys to Trina.

  “You two take the Silver Bullet. Sienna and I will drive the truck. Follow us closely.”

  I watch Trina sashay to the silver Verita, a car so sleek and close to the ground that the two passengers sit with their shoulders and head exposed. She is wearing her red “hooker” shorts—as she calls them—that barely cover her rear, and tight, black, four-inch heeled boots that extend above her knee. Her black tube top shows a tight, bronze midriff and tone shoulders. She looks good, and it’s intentional. As a major component of our plan tonight, she will be required to produce a distraction. I suppress a smile as I think of the men who will be rendered helpless.

  I notice Trey also watching Trina cross to the car, and my stomach tightens. I don’t like the look on his face—appreciation and…

  Desire?

  “Would you put your eyeballs back in your head?” I growl as I move to the passenger side of the truck.

  Trey climbs in beside me and laughs. “She did good. Real good.”

  Facing forward, I cross my arms over my chest. I shouldn’t care what he thinks about Trina. He’s known her a lot longer then he’s known me. And yet, flames of jealousy lick my insides, warming me to the point of boiling.

  Trey doesn’t say anything until we pull off the road a quarter mile from where we think the bunker is located. When he turns the truck off, he glances back to make sure the Bullet is behind us. His eyes lock with mine. “You ready?”

  A wave of nausea passes over me when it hits me what we’re about to do. I lean forward, my head between my knees. If something goes wrong, if something happens…

  It will be my fault.

  Trey’s hand rests on my back. “We can do this. If we stick to the plan, no one will get hurt.”

  An image of Garrett flashes in my mind—all smiles and freckles. I quickly sit up. “But what if someone does?” I inhale sharply. “I should do this alone. I can’t be responsible for—”

  His fingers move to my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes glow in the moonlight. “You won’t be responsible. I will.” Turning away, he hops out of the truck.

  The truck bed creaks open, and I slide out of my seat. Hiking Trina’s pants practically up to my armpits, I join the others at the back of the truck. Trey unzips the duffle bag and hands each of us a gun, a small, black piece that looks like a handgun, but I know instantly that it’s not.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “A stun gun. This is our first resort. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?” Curly asks.

  “That’s why we have these as backup.” Trey pulls out two Beretta pistols and hands one to Trina and the other to Curly. They begin to load them with the bullets from Trey’s bag.

  Trey turns to me. “You’ve shot a gun before, right?”

  I nod, thinking of the few times my dad took me to the desert for some target shooting. He always said we were hunting snipes, but I knew the truth. Since he never had a son, he at least wanted his daughter to learn to shoot.

  Trey hands it to me, his fingers lingering next to mine longer than necessary. He watches as I load the bullets into the magazine. The piece is heavy in my hands, especially compared to the stun gun. I’m hoping I won’t need to use the real gun, but I will if I have to. When it’s fully loaded, I tuck it into my waistband and pray I don’t accidentally shoot myself.

  Using my Lynk with the coordinates as guidance, Trey, Curly, and I walk the quarter mile to the area where we think the underground bunker is located. We crouch behind a strand of thin bushes. Trey dials Chaz while we wait for Trina to drive down the road.

  “Okay, we’re here,” Trey says in a low voice. “How long will it take to deactivate their alarms and cameras?”

  Chaz’s voice comes through the Lynk. “A few minutes. But remember, you’ll only have ten minutes before their system comes back online. In and out. Fast.”

  “Got it,” Trey says.

  At that moment, headlights appear, moving toward us. We watch as Trina drives down the road in the Silver Bullet. The car slows and gradually stops, but not before she turns the wheel so her headlights rest on the open expanse in front of us.

  Cursing as she gets out of the car, she kicks the tire with one beautiful, booted foot. She sidles over to the hood, props it open, and seductively leans over. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I stifle a giggle. The car’s headligh
ts cast a glow over her legs and make them appear endless. Sticking her butt out, she lets her chest graze the engine and other innards of the car.

  My eyes shift to the open expanse. Come on, take the bait.

  But there’s nothing.

  “What if this doesn’t work?” I hiss.

  “She needs to take it up a notch,” Trey whispers back.

  “What do you want her to do? Get naked and dance on top of the car?”

  “Now, I wouldn’t mind that,” Curly admits. Trey remains silent.

  I slug Curly. “That’s from Trina.” Then I pinch him hard on the arm. “And that’s from me.”

  “Ow, that hurt,” he whines.

  “Children, cut it out,” Trey snaps.

  I turn my attention back to Trina, who must recognize that it’s time to up the ante. She glances in our direction, a panicked look crossing her face.

  “Come on, Trina, you can do this,” Trey mutters.

  Trina’s forehead wrinkles in determination, and she wipes invisible beads of sweat. I look on in horror as she struggles out of her tube top, revealing a strapless bra and overflowing breasts.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Curly murmurs. “So glad I didn’t back out. So glad.”

  I turn to glare at him, and then realize he can’t see me in the darkness.

  “What the hell is she doing?” Trey mutters, turning his eyes away.

  At least one of them has sense enough to look away.

  Trina bends back over the car, using her tube top to unscrew the cap off something hot.

  “Genius,” Trey says, his eyes trained on Trina again. I can’t help but notice the admiration in his eyes.

  “We’re in,” Chaz says from the Lynk in Trey’s hand at the exact moment that a movement to my left catches my attention.

  “Look,” I hiss.

  About thirty yards to the left of Trina’s parked car, the ground opens up, a twenty-foot-by-twenty-foot space that slides back to reveal a black hole. Two military men creep out and sneak to the road.

  “Let’s move,” Trey says without hesitation.

  “What about Trina?” I ask, glancing back at her. She must have seen the men coming. Her tube top is now clutched in front of her chest.

  “She’ll be fine. As long as she sticks to the plan.”

  We crouch low and run toward the black hole in the ground that is quickly closing.

  “Hurry,” Trey says urgently, gripping my elbow.

  Curly gets there first and jumps in. I hear a soft thud and a groan.

  The hatch is closing too quickly. I stumble, but Trey steadies me. We’re almost there when Trey hisses, “Jump!”

  I propel myself forward and slide through the opening, my shirt catching on the lip of the hatch as the door closes behind us. When I jerk my shirt free, it tears slightly, exposing my stomach. I land hard on a concrete floor, my butt taking most of the impact. When I rise to my feet, pain shoots down my leg.

  Overcome with the smell of damp earth and something metallic, I take a moment to get my bearings, my eyes sweeping over thick rock walls, a curved ceiling with a long strip of lights, and metal pipes running the length of one wall. A paved “road” complete with road paint runs down the center of the passage and gives purpose to the metal ramp hanging overhead. A ramp that must lower to allow military vehicles to enter and exit the bunker.

  Trey stands up and brushes himself off, then moves to a control panel on the side wall. It’s next to a metal ladder I assume the two men used to leave the bunker. Trey presses a few buttons and the hatch slides open overhead.

  “Let’s get going,” he says, already moving down the corridor. His hands curl around his stun gun, and his pistol is tucked into the back of his dark jeans.

  I follow his lead, keeping my arms locked, the stun gun pointed in front of me. Curly brings up the rear.

  We turn a corner, pausing to make sure we’re clear. Surprisingly, this part of the corridor is empty. Where is everyone?

  An earth-shattering scream pierces the passage behind us. I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. It’s Trina.

  “Help me! Somebody, please! Help me!”

  I’m about to turn and run toward the sound of her voice when I remember. It’s all part of the plan.

  I breathe deeply, trying to ignore her sobs and screams. But it all sounds so real that I start to wonder if something bad did happen. Is she really crying out for help?

  “Is she okay?” I ask.

  Before Trey can answer, we hear footsteps pounding the pavement. They echo in the cavernous space, making it difficult to determine from which direction they’re coming.

  “Hide,” Trey hisses. He pulls me behind a set of oversized oxygen tanks with the symbol of a flaming O inside a triangle stamped on the side.

  We sit crouched, breathing the same air, and I wonder where Curly hid. My heart pounds louder than the feet on the pavement. For a moment, I worry that the men will track us by the beat of it alone. Trey places his hand on my head and forces it down as four men run past.

  Four. That’s a lot. More than we expected. My throat closes when I think of Trina dealing with them by herself.

  Trey must have the same thought. He pushes himself up once the footsteps have faded and whispers to Curly. “Go help Trina. Sienna and I will continue. Meet us by the cell block.”

  I take a deep breath to steady my heart. Wiping my sweaty hands on my too-big pants, I step away from the tanks.

  “Let’s go,” Trey says.

  We start to round another corner, but Trey stops me with his arm, pressing me back against the wall. He lifts a finger to his lips before peeking around the corner, his stun gun up by his chin. Pulling back, he whispers in my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin.

  “There are two more guards down there. You create a distraction, and I’ll stun them.”

  Distraction? What kind of distraction? My eyes narrow. If he thinks I’m ripping off my shirt like Trina, he better think again.

  “No,” he says in exasperation, as if sensing my thoughts. “Not that kind of distraction. Just think of something.”

  My mind is blank, like a freshly washed blackboard. And then it hits me. I rise and put the stun gun in the back of my pants next to the real one.

  I place my hands in the air in a gesture of surrender and round the corner. “Hey boys, remember me?”

  The men snap into position and raise their guns, aiming at my head.

  “Well, you might not remember me, but I’m sure Radcliffe does. How’s his face, by the way?”

  “Don’t take another step.” The men keep their guns trained on me, stone-faced. These are military men, skilled and dangerous. If threatened, they will take the shot.

  I venture another step closer, and Trey hisses behind me.

  “I’m here to see Radcliffe. If you need to tie me up, go for it.” I hold out my arms.

  The two men exchange a look. I’m sure they’re wondering why I would offer myself up to Radcliffe.

  They move slowly toward me, their guns never wavering. I panic. How am I supposed to do this? How do I get them to lower their guns so I can stun them?

  “Arms behind your back,” the one with the blond crew cut says in a crisp voice.

  I move my arms behind my back, and the hard gun presses against my flesh. My heart races as they surround me, and I pray that Trey will move at the same time. My fingers close around the stun gun handle and I whip it around, pressing it into Crew Cut’s chest. At the same moment, Trey charges from behind and fires at the brown-haired man with the thin lips.

  Crew Cut is the first to collapse, followed by Thin Lips. Their faces are contorted in an expression of surprise, their eyes wide open.

  I nudge Crew Cut with my steel-toed boot—another borrow from Trina—but he doesn’t move.

  “Can they hear us?” I ask as Trey bends down to grab their guns.

  “Yeah, but they’ll be unable to move for a while.” He hands me the extra
gun, an M-16 rifle, and I sling it over my shoulder. “The venom attacks the central nervous system. They can see and hear, but their muscles have shut down, similar to a stroke victim.”

  He pulls out his Lynk and studies the data map. “The cell block should be coming up around the next bend.” His eyes flicker around the passage. “We should get moving. I’m sure Trina and Jeb will catch up soon.”

  Footsteps pound behind us, and Trey tenses. He pulls me against the concrete wall, in the shadows of an overhang. My body is pressed tight against his, and his hand on my back forces me to remain close. I hardly dare to breathe, partly from fear, and partly from the close proximity to him.

  The footsteps draw closer, and then stop.

  “Are we interrupting? ‘Cause if so, we can always come back later,” Curly says.

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I push away from Trey.

  “We thought you were guards,” I mumble, refusing to look at Curly.

  “Right,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  I focus on Trina, who is now wearing her tube top and a triumphant smile. “How did it go?”

  “Piece of cake,” she says. She strikes a pose. “I should use my assets more often.”

  Curly coughs and slings an arm over her shoulder. “You can practice on me. Any time. Any place.”

  She punches him in the shoulder and makes a face. “No, thank you.”

  Trey gives them an annoyed look. “You’ve done well so far, but it ain’t over yet. We still need to get past the cell block. So, let’s focus.” His eyes fall on me. “Sienna, I’m gonna leave it up to you to get us through that cell block. Your distraction worked well. Maybe something similar?”

  I nod.

  We move down the passage, Trey and I in front, Trina and Curly bringing up the rear. We round another corner, and this hall looks just like the ones before it, except for the stainless-steel doors that line the wall every ten feet or so.

  Trey’s Lynk buzzes, and when he glances down at it, he curses. “Three minutes, guys. Three minutes until the cameras are back online.”

  Fear makes my blood run cold, but I keep moving.

  We near another hallway, and Trey moves ahead, motioning for us to hang back. He peers around the corner, shakes his head, and then rejoins us. We crowd around him in a huddle as he whispers commands.