33. Thomas
33
Thomas
A s I adjusted the makeshift bandage on my shoulder, a sharp sting reminded me I wasn’t fully healed. Will moved ahead, a silhouette against broken walls and a jagged skyline, his movements careful but quick.
He turned back and signaled us forward.
There was no room for hesitation.
I clutched my coat tight around me, not for warmth on the summery night, but to conceal the blood that had seeped through everything I wore. Will’s plan—if one could call it that—was barely more than gut instinct. The first step was to head west, weaving through the maze of rubble-strewn streets and avoiding patrols.
Beyond that?
It was hope, pure and simple. Maybe a prayer to the god of luck, too.
A floodlight swept over the road a hundred yards ahead, its harsh beam illuminating skeletal remains of buildings and piles of debris. We ducked into an alcove, pressing against the crumbling brick. My breathing was labored, each intake of air pulling at the wound. The morphine was just taking hold, keeping the worst of the pain at bay, but we’d dared not give me enough to do any real good. We would never make it across the border with me passed out.
Will’s hand gripped my arm.
He held up two fingers, then pointed to where shadows moved, then held up a fist, then sliced the air with his palm in the direction we wanted to go, signals I knew meant, “We wait for the two soldiers to pass, then we cross.”
I nodded.
Being the rock, everyone else’s shoulder, the one from whose strength others drew, that was my role. It was who I was raised to be. It was all I knew. When Will and I first met, I found myself again playing that role.
Then I was captured, and he became my protector, my savior.
Now, with me again wounded and needing help, Will claimed the mantle of guardian. His calm in the face of the night’s danger was a kind of magic, a role reversal sent from heaven to guide us on our way. I drew from it, let it comfort me, even as I felt my legs might buckle at any moment.
The guards approached, their boots crunching over gravel. I caught snippets of conversation—a complaint about the rising summer heat, a quip about the sector, a shared laugh.
Will’s face was set, his jaw tight.
One of the guards paused, lighting a cigarette. The glow from his match flickered across his face, revealing a young man with tired eyes. His exhaled smoke mingled with the swampy air.
Then they moved on.
Will gave me the signal, and we darted across the street, keeping low.
Every step was agony, but I bit down on the pain, drew it in, tried to turn it to fuel for strength. Mostly, I gritted my teeth and just carried on.
“Are you okay?” Will mouthed. His hand brushed against my cheek, a fleeting moment of tenderness that made my chest ache in a different way.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Keep going.”
He didn’t argue, though his eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary.
We crept deeper into the labyrinth of the city, one foot in front of the other, exhaustion and pain threatening to drag me down.
The rumble of a truck’s engine snapped me back to attention.
Will froze.
We threw ourselves behind a crumbling wall. The truck roared closer, its headlights cutting through the darkness.
I held my breath. My shoulder screamed.
The engine idled.
Voices shouted orders, the harsh cadence of Russian filling the air.
I risked a glance around the edge. Soldiers spilled out of vehicle, rifles out and ready. They fanned out, flashlights flaring to life, and began searching.
“They know we’re here,” Will muttered.
I swallowed hard. We had to move, to find a way to slip through their net before it closed too tightly about us.
“Follow me,” Will signaled. An air of command settled over his features.
Pride swelled in my chest.
We crept along the wall.
The voices grew louder, closer.
I heard the metallic clink of their equipment, the unmistakable sound of boots on stone.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through me. It was all that kept me upright.
Will led us into a narrow passageway, so tight we had to move sideways. The walls pressed against us, their rough surfaces scraping against my coat. It was claustrophobic, but it offered cover. I focused on Will.
He is my anchor. I repeated it over and over in my mind.
He was the thread keeping me tethered, keeping me moving forward.
We emerged into an open courtyard, its expanse daunting.
Will scanned the area.
“We need to cross this plaza,” he said. “There’s no other way.”
“They’ll see us.” My voice was tinged with panic I tried to suppress.
“Not if we’re fast.”
Fast wasn’t something I was capable of, but I nodded anyway.
Will didn’t wait for me to second-guess, darting out in a blur of movement. I followed, my legs and shoulder screaming in protest. The open space felt endless, every step exposing us to unseen eyes.
Halfway across, a shout rang out.
My heart seized as a spotlight flared to life, its beam sweeping the courtyard.
It caught us in its glare, and for a moment, time froze.
Will grabbed my arm and yanked me forward.
“Run!” he shouted.
I did, pain be damned.
Bullets ricocheted off the stone around us, each sharp crack deafening.
Will ran toward an archway, its dark maw promising safety.
I stumbled, my footing unsteady, but Will turned back and grabbed my good arm, his grip keeping me upright and stumbling forward.
Another volley filled the courtyard, as a second floodlight joined the first.
Engines, too close, roared to life.
We reached the archway and dove into its shadows as bullets tore through the space we’d just occupied. My chest heaved. Every breath was a struggle. Will crouched beside me, his eyes scanning ahead.
“We have to keep moving.”
“I can’t,” I confessed, the words tasting like defeat. My side throbbed, and I felt the warmth of fresh blood soaking through the bandage.
Will’s face hardened. He kneeled beside me as his steady hands checked my wound.
“You’re tougher than you think, du Pont,” he said. “And I’m not leaving you.”
His words gave me strength, or maybe it was his faith in me. Either way, I pushed myself to my feet and bit back a groan.
Will slipped an arm around my waist. “Let’s go.”
A block later, we found a sewer grate, half hidden beneath a pile of debris. The metal groaned in protest as we pried it from the street. The stench that wafted out was nearly unbearable, but this was our best path.
“In,” Will said, helping me down. “Keep your shoulder out of the muck.”
“Oh, God.” I choked back bile. “I’ll try.”
The sewer was oppressive, the air thick with the smell of decay. Thankfully, the water was only ankle-deep. As hot as it was outside, I was surprised how the filthy river chilled my toes.
Will led the way again, flicking on his flashlight. A few rats who’d been curious enough to check out their home’s intruders scattered.
“The soldiers won’t follow us down here,” Will said, though it sounded more like a hope than a certainty.
“Probably not. It would violate some communist protocol for equal work or something.”
I couldn’t see his face with the light pointing in front of us, but I was fairly certain he’d turned and grinned.
The pain was a constant now, a throbbing reminder of how fragile our escape was. I was certain my shirt was now crimson from neck to tail. The inside of my coat was probably ruined, too.
One hour, maybe two, later—it was hard to tell underground—we emerged above another street. I couldn’t understand it, but the world felt less hostile, though no less dangerous. I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air.
Will helped me stand and pointed to a silhouette fluttering in the distance. I squinted to make out the shape. A cloud parted, and the full moon reflected her glory on a blue, white, and red banner, the most beautiful sight I’d seen in a very long time.