Chapter 40 #3
His muscles were flexed, their cords defined, the layers steepled onto themselves. So broad he was that he obscured the whole of me, and I disappeared.
“They’ve found us,” he said, and I became lightheaded. “On my signal, run like hell and don’t look back. Down this passage, first two rights, then hang the second left. The door to the bunker is at the end of that hall. Damn, I wish I could tell them we’re here.”
I worried about my ankle, but I didn’t say it out loud. “What’s the signal?” I whispered.
There was mirth in his tone. “You’ll know.”
“Where will you be?”
At this he angled his head slightly. “Watching your six. Now and from this point on.”
His muscles tensed and grew bigger in size. The swing of a pendulum swayed in my head, counting the seconds with a portentous toll. The quiet was doomy, the air unmoving so much that the dust stopped floating, hung heavy, and fell.
Cyrus’s leg shot out in front of him, the force of his heel annihilating the door with one swift kick.
Splintering off its hinges, it was demolished into kindling.
The rain of wood disoriented the figures who stood on the other side—three men, anonymous in masks, just like before.
Cyrus flicked his wrist, and his dagger saw itself wedged in a throat.
He let them come to him. His center did not move, keeping me hidden, but his attacks were lightning fast. The men were no match, with their guns nor their skills.
After disarming one, he used him as a shield and sent him flying into the other, taking out the other two in one strike.
Cyrus held the man’s blade, should more come.
I was on alert for his signal, having no clue what it could be, but then his free hand twisted behind his back, his middle finger held up.
The bastard.
It was grounds for laughter, but the occasion did not allow for it.
I burst into the hall, limping, stumbling, and blindly running… not looking when I heard the footfall of those called to join the pursuit.
Two rights, then left. It was my mantra. I repeated it again and again, over the commotion at my back. I knew Cyrus was there, holding them off. Where I trekked, the chase followed, echoing my path. Taking the second right of the two, the scene past my shoulder brought me to a halt.
Cyrus was besieged. Out in the open, there were too many for him to take on.
The bodies grappled, he dismantled a pile of limbs, breaking through, almost free.
I waited for him to come to me, but a rigor set in.
He went still, contending against a force I could not see.
It turned him to stone, pulling the wolf down to his knees.
His eyes rolled back and a cloudy film settled over the whites.
My fingers gripped the wall in frustration, knowing I could do nothing.
Cyrus was frozen, mouth half-open. His head snapped back, neck bent at a painful degree, he spoke with the last dregs of a voice that’s traveled many miles and was about to fade away.
“She’s in trouble.”
I called to him, my own voice pitched in panic, beseeching him to come to.
The fog lifted and heart hopeful, I saw a secondary return of his wits, but it was too late.
They fell upon him. There was a flash of metal, not of chains but something bigger and they threw the object on his back.
The warrior was slammed to the ground, howling as they held him and trapped him underneath.
It took four men and a net of silver to bring the lone wolf down. He did not stop fighting. Even as it burned holes in his skin, leaving it raw and bloodied, he screamed at me to run.
Tears sprinkled down my cheeks, not understanding his fate, but with the assailants momentarily occupied, I broke into a run.
My sobs slowed my feet, my ankle had no strength, and I gasped, gulping to breathe.
I did not want to think what could be trailing behind me.
If they’d followed, I didn’t see or hear.
The road ahead was open, and I pushed through the pain.
I rounded the left, and just as Cyrus had said, at the end of the corridor, fluorescent and clinical under the bulbs of halogen lights, the door of the bunker stood tall, armored in steel.
I hoped against hope that someone would recognize me, and I wouldn’t be turned away.
The hall itself was dark and grey, and into its bleakness I ran, my entire body awash with a cold sweat.
The door was so near, yet so far. My legs would cave every few feet, desperate for reprieve.
I massaged a stitch in my side, which burned, along with my lungs.
The door loomed closer, and I raised my fist, ready to pound into the steel.
Tears made of pure relief ran down my face.
My lips were curling, giving into the joy, until a hand closed over my mouth and silenced my smile.
My fist, still raised, missed its mark, swinging at nothing but stagnant, dead air, and I was dragged from my salvation through the hall, reunited with the grey.