Sanctuary (the Affliction Trilogy #2)

Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

T he resounding voice of my father carries throughout the Sanctuary. He tells a heartbreaking tale of betrayal. His daughter had lovingly sacrificed her life for five selfish Giranians, who attempted to kidnap her from the safety of her home. They wanted to use her as ransom to pay for their passage back to Giran, but her brave brother had derailed their diabolical plan and saved his little sister. Four of the captors had escaped, but their ringleader was tried, judged, and executed on the spot.

The crowd cheers at the heroic story.

William continues explaining how these horrific actions have so negatively impacted his beloved daughter. How she has chosen, for the time being, to remain tucked away in her house. The systems put in place had failed her, and she lives in dread that the escaped criminals will return to carry out their plan. He encourages the community to be on high alert, watch for any suspicious activities, and report them immediately to the proper authorities.

He finishes by saying, “This community must stand together against acts of terror threatening our way of life. We must make this a place where your children and my own can grow up knowing they are safe and cared for, where they can continue to thrive. This is crucial for the future of our continent.”

The crowd again erupts into applause as my father takes his seat. One of the high-ranking military officials moves to centerstage and briefs everyone on what they should be on the lookout for.

I bypass the medical facility and take the direct route into the military building. As Ridge promised, there's nobody around. I jog the long hallways toward the section I toured a little over a week ago. When I get to the first secured door, I swipe my keycard and reach for the handle with damp palms. It opens and I feel my first burst of hope in hours.

I set into a run, knowing I have less than thirty minutes to find the cure and administer it to Ryland.

Continuing past the empty offices and conference room, I head for the second set of security doors—the ones leading to the containment cells and the testing room. I squeeze my eyes shut and rush past the cells, not wanting to see who or what is trapped inside. When I reach the observatory room door, I turn in circles, searching for a way to get down to the operating room. A door sits in the far corner. I pry it open and rush down a set of stairs, taking them two at a time.

The door to the procedure room hisses as I unlatch it. The air is sterile with the slight reek of death. It's only been in use for a few days, yet it’s already contaminated by its true purpose.

I cover my mouth with my shirt and move to the industrial refrigerator I saw the staff removing vials from when I watched from the observatory. For a split second, I panic. The inside is stocked with bags of human and Z blood and on the shelf above them, tiny tubes of purple and green liquid, each marked with cryptic coding. I rationalize through my confusion and focus on the vials containing the green liquid. Several of the trays are labeled test with a sequence of numbers behind them, but one reads antidote . I grab a handful of the lidded tubes and gently place them in my backpack between my clothes, praying they don’t clink together and break.

Laying out on a metal tray are the instruments used during the procedures. I stuff alcohol swabs in my pocket, a big square bandage in the other, and take the intimidating syringe needed to administer the cure.

I bound back up the stairs and one by one, peer through the cell windows. Each is a little different from the next. The first is an empty cell—no toilet or bed, just the hard ground with a drain in the middle. The next is a padded room with the dark purple blood smeared along the walls and floor. I stand on my tiptoes to get a better look, and out of nowhere, the deranged and filthy face of a Z presses against the glass. It snarls and beats on the door. I scurry back, tripping over my own feet and landing with my back to the wall on the other side of the hall. My heart pounds as I stare at the sickly face of the woman who I watched the doctors administer the cure. She's past the week threshold, and the next time they inject her with the antidote, she'll most likely die. I wish I could take her from this place, but even if the cure would work, there's no way I'd be able to support both her and Ryland as they recover.

The heavy weight of knowing I can't save her and those who are oblivious to what truly happens here presses down on me as I rise to my feet. There will always be casualties of war, but this woman never suspected that she was walking straight across enemy lines.

I whisper a quiet apology and move on to the last room.

Ryland sits on a bed against the wall, dressed in his fatigues with his hair standing on end. He contorts his face while chewing on the side of his index finger. Bright, red blood drips from his thumb onto the front of his jacket. Thankfully, it hasn’t turned into the dark, gooey purple of the fully infected. For now, my Ryland is still somewhat here.

I bite down on my lips and unlatch the door.

With the pure instinct of a Z, Ryland jerks his head up. Hunger radiates from his stare as he looks me up and down. There isn’t an exact science to when the need for someone else’s flesh will kick in. Could it be a week or twenty-four hours? I’m sure every transition is different. What I do know is that when that need hits, Ryland will be absolutely dangerous.

It takes every ounce of my courage not to take a step back. Holding my hand out like I'm approaching an injured animal, I say, “It's okay. I'm going to help you.”

“Quinn?” His voice is raspy as if he’s spent hours on end screaming.

“Yeah, Ry. I've got the cure.”

He shakes his head and shoots back on the mattress. “You have to get out of here. The cravings are setting in.”

“We don't have a lot of time, Ryland. I need you to stay with me for just a few more minutes. Can you do that for me?”

He nods, licking the blood from his lips.

I roll the sleeves of my jacket and huddle in the far corner of the room, shuffling through my backpack for everything I need to cure him. I divide my attention between the items in my hands and glancing at him.

“I thought I lost you, and I was so ripped apart by the thought that I even lost track of the days. Can you believe it's only been a day?” I say, trying to anchor him to his conscience instead of his hunger.

“No, it feels like I've been locked in here for years... starving.”

His confession makes my breath hitch. It hurts to know that the man I love is being suffocated by an unnatural need. I fight past my anguish and say, “Stay with me, Shaw. Don't let your mind wander off where it shouldn't go. I'm talking about being with you, holding you, and kissing you.” I plunge the needle through the rubber top of the vial and extract the antidote. “Let's try to keep this sexual, all right?” I smile at him from under my lashes.

“Okay,” he says, sounding unsure.

“What do you miss?”

“Holding you. Sleeping with you curled up next to me every night. I like to listen to you breathing. It reminds me that I have another day with you,” he says like he's in a trance.

“I love all my days with you. I’m looking forward to many more.” I lift the needle in front of my face and push the air out of the syringe. Taking one of the alcohol wipes from my pocket, I get to my feet. “I'm going to need to approach you. Do you think you can handle that?”

“I don't know,” he quietly says.

“You don't have a choice, Ry. I need you to keep it together.”

I move closer, and he slides back on the mattress until he’s pressed against the wall. He draws his legs under him, holding them to his chest. I reach out and brush my fingers along the side of his face to show him that he has nothing to worry about. He closes his eyes and turns his nose to the inside of my wrist and inhales.

“I can't do this, Quinn.”

I ignore him. It doesn’t matter if I have to tie him to the bed. We will get through this and leave. “Can you lie down for me?”

He follows the pressure I apply to his cheek until his head hits the pillow. I pull up his shirt and tuck it under his chin, revealing his tattooed torso. My hand quakes as it moves in circular motions around his heart, trying to find the perfect spot, the one the needle will have no problem penetrating through. With the alcohol packet between my teeth, I use my free hand to rip it open. I remove the wet cotton square and clean his skin.

Ryland's hand shoots up and wraps around my forearm, holding it in place. I jerk to pull back, but his grip is too strong. My legs wobble and I stop breathing when his tongue slides over the inside of my arm.

With a shaky voice, I say, “Ryland, you're scaring me.”

His tongue presses flat to my wrist, and he looks at me, gauging my reaction. He holds tight and slowly laps his tongue over my pulse point.

He’s still here lost inside of his warring body, and that’s all I need to know. “Do what you need to do. I trust you to keep me safe,” I say.

His gaze wavers, slipping to my eyes.

“I trust you,” I say again.

Something sparks inside of him. He blinks several times and looks down at where he holds me. He slides his tongue back into his mouth and presses his closed lips to my arm with a kiss before letting go. “You need to do it now, Quinn.”

Both of my hands grip the syringe, and I raise it over his heart. The thought of hurting him has me trembling, making me question whether I can hit my mark. I close my eyes and steady my aim. For a fraction of a second, I hesitate and Ryland's hand slams over mine. The needle drives into his chest.

He cries out as I push the green fluid from the syringe into his body. His head tilts back, his spine bows, arching off the bed, and the veins in his neck angrily throb.

“Stay with me. Breathe, we're almost there,” I plead, injecting the last drop into him and yanking the needle from his chest. Brushing the sweat from his brow, I shower his face with kisses. “Fight through it. I need you to stay with me. Please stay with me, Ryland.”

His muscles relax, and his body slumps into the mattress. He gasps for air like he can’t get enough. The pained expression marring his face kills me.

I slide into the bed and lay my arm over his waist, tracing a rose above his hip. Resting my head on his chest, I listen to his pounding heart. The steady beat that has calmed my worries so many times before is absent, replaced by an erratic thump. It is so fucking fast, dangerously so. I close my eyes and pray that Ryland will make it out of this hell alive.

With a shaky exhale, he shifts under me and a sure hand presses to my back. “I’m all right,” he says.

I run my fingers along his jaw. The toll that the antidote took on him is obvious. He looks drained, but he’s alive.

I sit and remove the bandage from my back pocket before placing it over the bleeding prick on his chest. He runs his thumb next to my ear as I work, pulling away with blood on the tip. I touch the same spot and realize from where I laid my head over the injection site.

“You don't want to eat me anymore, do you?”

He sticks his finger in his mouth to clean it and winks at me. “No, not like that at least.”

I shake my head and glance at my watch—seven minutes to get to the front door.

“You said to keep it sexual. I'm just following orders, love.”

For the love of all that's holy, this man doesn't know when to quit. He was on the verge of morphing into a people-eater, and now he's right back on track with the sexy little remarks.

I put my backpack on and say, “It’s good to see your libido is still intact, but how do you think your legs are going to hold up?”

His arms quiver as he pulls himself upright and swings his legs over the side of the bed. As if it was the most tiresome thing he's ever done, he rests his face in his hands to catch his breath.

I kneel in front of him and lift his head. “I know you're exhausted, but I need you to stand up. We're running out of time before the alarm goes off.”

He nods. “I can do it.”

I stand, extending my hand to him. He grips it as I help pull him to his feet. Losing his balance, he stumbles to the side. I wrap his arm around my shoulders, and we take the smallest step forward.

I check the time again—five minutes.

Opening the cell’s door, I execute some slick maneuver where I prop it open with my foot while squeezing the two of us through the door frame. I feel drained already and we haven’t even made it down the hallway.

Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I say, “Do you remember the other night when you promised that you were going to marry me one day?”

“Yeah,” he pants.

We move past the first set of security doors and into the office corridor. “Well, I don't know if you fully thought this through. I mean, if we don't make it out of here, I don't think William is going to give you my hand in marriage,” I say, grunting as he leans more of his weight on me.

“Slight oversight on my part, but I'm trying to rectify the situation as we speak,” he says with a moan.

“And you get an 'A' for effort, Ry. But do you recall the part of your ingenious escape plan where we had to run out the front doors?”

His discomfort is so bad that I get nothing more than an affirmative hum.

“That's still in play, so please don't make me drag your ass out the door because, one, it's going to slow us down at a pivotal moment in our heroic escape, and two, I'd hate to scratch up that perfectly chiseled face of yours. I was looking forward to immortalizing it in our wedding pictures.”

He chuckles and says, “Stop, Quinn. It hurts to laugh.”

I smile and open the final security door to this wing of the facility. “I want to give you something else to focus on other than the pain.”

He tips my chin with a curled index finger. “Thanks, love, but I've got this. We’re going to make it out.”

We step into the final hallway that leads to the guard station. Ryland drags his feet, and my body aches from the added pressure. I power through it, concentrating on the last corner we need to turn.

A loud bang, like a chair hitting the ground, comes from ahead. The quick stomping of feet set me into a panic. I turn my wrist to see my watch reading that our time is up.

Ryland reaches for the door behind us and pulls me into a dark room with him. He leans against the wall, looking out the crack he left in the door. I hold my breath as I press my front to his and listen as someone rushes past us.

As soon as the soldier checking the security breach is gone, Ryland grabs my hand, ready to leave the room.

“Wait,” I whisper.

“He's gone. Let's go before he finds out I'm not in my cell.” He pulls me, but I plant my feet. “What are you doing, Quinn? We need to go.”

I can’t move, not until I say what’s on my mind. “No more sacrifices. No more picking between each other. I know you would give your life for me, and I'd do the same for you, but we leave together or not at all. Promise me that we go together.”

He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. “I don't know if I can make it out of here, Quinn.”

“Then I stay with you, and we face the consequences. Together.”

Ryland hits his head against the wall behind him. “You and your stupid promises. You don't know what you're asking. The virus rips you apart from the inside. It burns you alive as it fucks with your mind. You're trapped in your body, drifting in and out of consciousness. I won't let them torture you with it.”

I wrap my hands around the back of his neck and pull his head down until his forehead rests on mine. “Then you better find it in you to run. Don't stop, don't look back. I'm following you.”

He releases a long puff of air. “Don't let go of my hand because I swear, if you do, I'm finished.”

“Together,” I promise.

“Together.”

He takes my hand and pulls me out of the room. I match his pace, sprinting through the corridor. We round the corner, and the guard station comes into view. No one is there to stop us, and the realization sends excitement bubbling inside of me.

Ryland bounds through both sets of doors meant to safeguard the Sanctuary from anyone they deem unworthy to enter. Cold air whips across my face, and I take a fraction of a second to bask in it. Red warning lights flash along the concrete tunnel leading out of the mountain while our feet pound on the pavement.

“The contamination alert has been activated. They know the main door has been breached,” he says.

I up my speed. “Just don't stop.”

We step into the sunlight, and someone slams a door into a wall and barks orders out behind us. I take the lead and turn toward the trail to Grasser’s Dome. The snow covering the ground makes it hard to find a firm grip. Keeping upright is a laboring feat, and Ryland has fallen behind me. I don’t let go of his hand, pulling him along. I warned him I'd drag him if I had to, and I'll do exactly that.

Ryland isn’t the only one losing energy. I am too. I haven’t overexerted myself in months, neglecting every skill I used to hone. With the danger we are in, I’m more of a liability than an asset.

We slow down and frustration builds in me. The base of the mountain is massive. We won’t be safe until we reach the end of the miles-long trail. Not to mention that the only weapon I have is a large kitchen knife. The soldiers searching for us will have guns. We're at a complete disadvantage.

Ryland squeezes my hand, and I look at him, stopping when I see his serious face.

“If we're going down, I want to know we fought until the end,” he says.

“We will. I’m not giving up.”

He presses his hand to the side of my face and kisses me. His cold lips are gentle and meticulous—void of passion or warm tingles. It's a simple expression of our love—a silent vow that no matter what the outcome is, we'll always hold the heart of the other.

We separate, and I slide my hand into his again.

“Run,” he commands, and we charge toward the other side of the mountain.

It's inexplicable where our adrenaline comes from. It has us leaping over rocks and fallen tree trunks. Neither of us gasps for breath or shows signs of slowing down. Something otherworldly seems to fuel us.

As we come to the last bend, my muscles feel like they are locking up. I push through the pain, keeping focused on our goal. We just have to make it a few more yards and we can disappear into the thick forest, using the trail to find our way back to the dome.

We clear the mountain, and everything comes to a screeching halt. A military truck blocks our path.

Ryland steps in front of me, and I yank him back to my side with a warning glare. “No heroics, Ry.”

“You're one to talk.”

The truck’s passenger door opens, and a pair of camouflage pants tucked into black boots hit the snow. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. This is the end.

“Took you long enough. What the hell are you waiting for? Let's get out of here,” Wes says.

Fatigue wins, and Ryland drops to his hands and knees at my side. I squat next to him and say to Wes, “We're going to need help.”

He hits the backside of the truck, and Noah jumps out and runs with him over to us.

They take Ryland's arms, draping them over their shoulders, and carry his limp body to the back of the vehicle. I climb into the covered bed and with River's help we, hoist Ryland in with us. We get him onto the floor with his head in my lap. River reaches into her backpack, pulling out a first aid kit and getting to work.

She rubs antiseptic cream on the ends of his fingers where he's gnawed them to the point of bleeding. “They infected him,” she says with a sigh.

I brush his hair from his face. “I gave him the cure, but it took its toll on him.”

A mixture of shock and sympathy blanket the faces around me. None of them, not even me, can imagine the hell he’s gone through. But each of us wishes we could take some of Ryland's anguish and carry it for him.

With no hesitation or fear, River continues to tend to his wounds, and the truck's powerful engine roars to life. Aiden opens the sliding window separating the cab from the back and yells, “We’re headed south, to the island, right?”

I keep my attention on Ryland's face and reply, “Anywhere but here.”