54. Remy
Chapter fifty-four
Remy
If he doesn’t seal us in here to fucking suffocate to death, I am absolutely going to murder him.
The steel of the bunker may be reinforced, but the area over the steps where the rock transitions is not. If he’d shot just a little further to the right, we’d be swimming in rock right now. Never mind the fact that he’s a fucking sniper and wouldn’t miss unless it was on purpose. It’s a stupid chance to take.
“What the fuck?” I growl, turning to him once I’ve checked that Claire wasn’t struck by a piece of the camera lens. “Reckless motherfucker! You could have trapped us down here.”
“I don’t miss.” Kent snaps. “Now get into formation.”
I stare at him, not sure exactly which formation he’s referring to since there’s nowhere to go. But apparently, he wants the usual, so I take up at his side, the two of us forming a barrier shoulder-to-shoulder. I ensure that Claire is firmly behind me, Michael and Rich out at the sides. I don’t see a door, or even a seam in the steel wall, so I’m guessing that wherever the entrance is, it retracts into the roof.
“Get in the back.” Kent demands, turning to glance at me. “Switch with Rook.”
“What?” I sneer. “No. Fuck no.”
“You don’t have a vest, you beautiful fucking idiot.” Rich says. “If the door opens and they open fire, you don’t even have a chance to protect your girl. Back of the line.”
I laugh despite not being the least bit amused, and switch places with Rook. He’s big enough, at least, that his body shields more of Claire, who reaches a hand back behind her. I grab it, giving her a gentle squeeze.
Not being in front of her makes my entire body tense, and I wonder how hard her heart is pounding right now. She doesn’t turn to look at me, doesn’t waver, but this is different from anything she’s ever done. This is a different type of danger… one that’s well-past stupid. We have no clue how many people are in the shelter. We could be outnumbered a hundred to one. It’s impossible to say how big the shelter may be, though no matter how large it is, I’m sure it doesn’t hold more than a thousand. You can’t gather that many people in one space without expecting trouble, no matter how well-regulated conditions are. Any businessman or politician worth their weight in shit knows that.
“Old rules apply,” I tell Claire. “Safety off.”
She nods, and I realize she’s already done it. “Shoot first?”
I don’t know how to answer that, because I don’t know who or what is on the other side. But Kent doesn’t hesitate the way I do. “Yes.”
Claire nods again, though he can’t see her. Next to her, Michael rolls his shoulders anxiously, Rich scans the space as if someone may appear behind us, and I drop Claire’s hand to position the scope of my rifle in the space between Rook and Kent’s heads. I want so badly to tell Claire to run rather than let her stand here, in the middle of what could very well turn out to be a shoot-out, but the truth is, she’s safer here right now.
“Head down.” I warn her, wishing suddenly that we had full uniforms so I could have put a helmet on her.
Claire nods, tipping her head down.
And then we wait.
And we wait.
“What if there’s no one in there?” Michael asks, after what feels like an eternity of silence.
“They are.” Rich says calmly. “And they’re going to break before we do, because once you rely on something like a camera to monitor a space, you need to know what’s going on in there when the camera goes out.”
“Any minute now.” Kent warns.
They’re right, it turns out. And so was I, because a few moments later, there’s a rumbling sound that seems to shake the space over our heads. I hear rocks falling loose above us and hope there’s more than one way out of this bunker in case the mine shaft fails. The wall retracts slowly, rolling up inch by inch, but Kent holds his fist up, telling us to wait to fire until he gives us the all-clear.
Shots don’t immediately come from the other side, so as it peels back, revealing more of the space beyond it, we stand at the ready, my finger poised over the trigger, ready to lay it all on the line if that’s what it comes to.
But the shots still don’t come, and the feet on the ground don’t belong to men. They’re small, bare. And as the door reveals more and more, we realize all together, that they’re children .
“The fuck?” Michael growls, at the same time Claire gasps.
Kent stays stock-still, clearly as shocked as the rest of us.
There’s about twenty of them, in varying heights, boys and girls dressed in innocuous pajamas, some holding teddy bears or blankets. Most of them look like they were pulled from sleep, blinking tired and confused eyes at us, but a few of the older ones are wide-eyed, watching us with shock or fear.
Movement over the shoulder of one of the shorter ones catches my attention, and I look up to see the man stationed behind them with the gun in his hand turned sideways. I don’t have to look long to know he has no idea how to shoot the thing, and though Kent’s fist is in the air, commanding us to hold fire, I see the fat finger of the man shaking against the trigger.
And I see his barrel—not aimed at one of us, not at a threat, but at the back of a small girl’s head.
I squeeze the trigger, dropping him in a single instant, though not without creating chaos. The screams of the children echo around the walls as Kent yells for us to hold our fire. The kids turn into a mass of bodies, running in all opposite directions—a few drop to the ground in front of us, covering their heads with their hands, while others run deeper into the shelter.
Claire is the first to gather her wits—or the first to do something incredibly stupid. She breaks out from in front of me, darting past Michael before he has a chance to stop her, and pushes past Kent, who is focused on guiding us forward.
I hear another shot somewhere, though I have no idea where it comes from, and panic fills my lungs instead of oxygen as I move to the last spot I saw her before Claire dropped. The others push forward, sweeping the room for the source of the shot, but I can’t focus on anything with adrenaline flooding my veins and blurring my vision, panic dropping me to my knees, where I find her cradling a child against her chest, whispering something I can’t hear over the blood pounding in my ears.
Once I make sure she’s safe, I command her to stay down, and she doesn’t argue. I’m not even sure she heard me, she’s so engrossed in comforting the small form against her chest. Another moves toward her, seeking the same comfort, so I rise and look around the space.
It’s vast—like a giant studio apartment, with an industrial kitchen tucked in one corner and a massive couch in another. Despite the fact that it is still glaringly a bunker, it’s bright and clean, with a richly dyed rug covering the floor where the man I shot is laying in his own blood.
Rich, with his fingers on the side of the guy’s neck, shakes his head, assuring us that he’s dead. Kent’s already taken off in one direction without anyone at his back, and Rook goes the other way. As Rich gets to his feet, his eyes catch mine. I expect accusation, anger, but he bites his lip so hard it draws blood.
“What the fuck is this?”
I don’t know, and we don’t have time to figure it out. We’ve got to sweep the place .
“Keep your eyes out.” I tell Michael, nodding at Claire, who’s now got a child in each arm, and another wrapping its little arms around her neck. “Anything happens to her, and I’ll slit your fucking throat before you can say sorry.”
Michael only nods his understanding, but despite the shit I give him, he’s still by my side for a reason. Michael is capable, and he’d rather slit his own throat than intentionally let me down, which gives me the resolve I need to follow down the hall Kent disappeared into.
The corridor is long but lit enough by the lights overhead that I can see there are approximately ten doors on each side… at least. It’s going to take some time to clear this place, so I run to catch up to him. I double-check the rooms he’s already passed—they’re comfortably accommodated, but relatively bare, with no closets. It makes quick work of clearing the first few rooms, and then as I catch up to him, I spot the hair poking out from under a bed.
There isn’t time to coax him out, so I just drop down so that he can see my face, and hopefully the sincerity, when I tell him, “We aren’t here to hurt you.”
I don’t stick around to see if he tries to say anything, running to the next, repeating the process. There’s an older boy—maybe twelve—standing in front of two girls in one of the rooms with his arms out protectively.
“There’s a woman out there.” I tell them. “She’ll take care of you. You can trust her.”
It’s as I’m checking the last room, opposite Kent in this thankfully empty hall, when I hear his sob. I’m at his side in seconds, gun at the ready, but he’s dropped his at his side.
Standing against the wall with her hands over her face, is a woman. Her hands obscure most of her features, but I can tell she’s an adult, and by the way Kent’s staring at her like he’s seeing a ghost, I’m guessing this is the woman we’re here for.
“Libby?” His voice breaks after her name, and he dissolves into tears as he steps toward her .
Dressed in a nightgown, there’s nowhere for a weapon, but I don’t trust her implicitly, so I train my scope on her head as Kent gets closer, unable to ignore the sudden twist in my gut. I feel the strangest sense of déjà vu and realize this must be how he felt when I was chasing who I thought was Claire up the steps.
“Libs,” he tries again, drawing up in front of her.
I watch as her hands slip an inch, allowing her to see him, and allowing me to see the tears streaking her face.
“It’s okay,” Kent promises, holding a hand out for her to take. But she doesn’t move… not when he steps in front of her, not when he places a tentative hand on her shoulder, and not even when he grabs her in his arms and holds her so tight that I wonder if he’s trying to keep her from breaking, or himself.
I want to allow him this moment, and I want to allow her a chance to acclimate to her husband, but we don’t know what the fuck is going on here. “We gotta go.”
Kent nods, tucking her under his arm without a second of hesitation and leading her to the door. She doesn’t look up as she passes, but my gut twists again as they brush by me, and I get the sense that danger is near.
A little girl comes running full-speed at them, attaching herself to Libby’s calves, but even that doesn’t make her look up. Desperation hangs in the air, which has decidedly calmed down since the initial shot, and Rich sprints toward them, mouth open in shock. “You got her?”
“Come here,” Rook says softly, taking the hand of the small girl and pulling her off of Kent’s wife, who she still reaches for.
“The place is clear, other than them.” Rich nods at the children, most of which are sticking to the walls, keeping a safe distance away from us, watching with curious, and scared eyes. “What do we do?”
What do we do?
I have no fucking clue. I don’t know how many of them there are, but I know it’s more than the jet can accommodate, even if all of the adults stayed behind and I simply told Simon to take them somewhere. Even if the jet would fit them all, where the hell do we go? I don’t know who these kids are—they look too clean and wellcared for to be captives, and the fact that Libby over there isn’t interacting with them makes me wonder why the fuck she’s here.
I scrub a hand over my face, wishing Kent was capable of rational thought right now. None of us know the first thing about children… the closest we can get is that we all were one, at some point.
Rook’s eyes meet mine over the shoulder of the girl he picked up, desperate for a command. But I have none to give. It’s Claire who breaks the drone of sniffling and whispering.
“They brought these kids here somehow. There’s got to be a car or something.”
“A car?” Michael repeats. “A car isn’t going to fit them all.”
“We’ll have to take trips.”
“It’s three hours by car to a town with more. There’s not enough room on the jet.” I work through my thoughts as I speak them. “Even if we have multiple cars, I don’t think we have enough space. I don’t know how to get to the next town. Kent?”
Kent turns to take me in, as if he forgot I was even here. And then he nods, turning to his wife.
“Do you know a way out of here?”
Libby’s nod is quick, but she seems to pull herself together enough to lead him out the way we came. Something uneasy flickers at the base of my consciousness, but I can’t pinpoint what the source is. We’re in an underground bunker in a remote part of the country with children who were clearly brought here so that they could be sold. Everything about it feels wrong.
“Stay with the children and her.” I tell Rook and Rich, whose arms are crossed nervously over his chest as though he’s scared one of them might come bite him. And to be fair, they might. There’s a few on the smaller side, the ones in Claire’s arms, who very much look like they could still be cutting teeth .
“If anyone shows up who isn’t one of us, take them out.”
They both nod, and Michael joins my side.
“Something feels off.” I tell him, earning a grunt of agreement.
“I don’t like it.” He says. “One man and woman—a missing woman—and twenty kids? This isn’t an orphanage.”
I don’t tell him that I think that may be exactly what this is. An orphanage isn’t the word I’d use, but I suspect it’s something of the sort. I’ve barely even gotten a look at these kids, but I can tell they’re different races, ages. They have no more in common with each other than being children. I’m fairly certain they’re all stolen, but I don’t dare say that out loud.
I press a kiss on Claire’s forehead as I pass her, and Kent and Libby stop just inside to wait for us. I see Libby fall to her knees, and Kent drops down to console her. I don’t even know what to say to Claire when her eyes meet mine—they’re so full of so many things that neither of us can put into words.
We’ve seen horrors—endured things no one should—but using a bunch of kids as a line of defense must take the cake for the most despicable thing either of us have witnessed. I see the tears in her eyes, buried behind stubborn resolve, and she doesn’t need words to let me know exactly what she’s thinking.
She won’t abandon them. And neither will I.
“I know.” I assure her. “We’ll make this right.”
She only nods as one of the toddlers burrows deeper against her, trying to get closer despite the bulk of the vest.
“I love you.” She tells me. And it’s enough to encompass all the other things that don’t need said.
“I love you too.” I kiss her lips this time as she tilts her head back for me, and then I let her go to follow Kent and Libby, my gun still at the ready… just in case.
They turn right, the way Kent came, and I follow them with Michael at my side, our lights illuminating the space for them. Something still nags at the base of my skull, but I put it down to the fact that we just stumbled into a hellhole. Regardless of how good those kids looked, there’s no saying how long they’ve been there, where they came from, what’s happened to them. And I’m sure whatever potential trauma they’ve got, me shooting a gun over their heads and killing the adult with them didn’t help.
“This is sick.” Michael whispers, leaning toward me as we follow the ground until we come out at the fork, where they lead us forward through the uncomfortable tightness of the mine shaft. Each step we take away from Claire makes my heart pound harder, and my palms are sweaty on the trigger that I ghost my fingers over.
When we step out into the night air, my nerves ease a little, though not enough to discount the fact that everything about this space has seemed off.
Libby leads Kent, and subsequently us, around the canyon, to an alcove we didn’t pass by when we first came down here. The shadows divide as we turn our lights into the space, and then Libby steps aside so that we can see the tour bus parked in the nook.
It’s massive—the kind you can fit dozens of tourists on. As the light glances over the faded letters peeling on the side, I see ‘Canyon Caravan’ printed on the side.
“Can you drive this thing?” Michael asks, sounding reasonably doubtful.
Driving a fucking tour bus is not something I’ve done—it isn’t even on my bucket list, but it can’t be too hard as long as we don’t have to back up… like to pull it out of the space it’s parked in.
“You have keys?” I turn to Libby, suspicious. I didn’t see her pick anything up on the way out, a fact that’s just now occurred to me.
Michael glances at me, realizing the same thing I just did, and then turns to sweep the space behind us, making sure no one is sneaking up on us.
“They’re inside,” she says, gesturing to the door.
I don’t bother asking how she knows, or why if they’ve been there the whole time, she’s never made an escape. I know Stockholm syndrome is a thing, and I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt .
The doors open easily, a wave of hot, musty air hitting me in the face as I part them and step inside. True to her word, the keys are there… sitting on the driver’s seat that looks to be covered in nineties bowling alley carpet. I turn the scope of the flashlight, letting it bounce around the empty bus.
I realize, a moment too late, that it’s not empty.
The sting in my shoulder immediately steals my breath, and I stumble backwards, the door lever catching me in the back.
There’s another shot somewhere, and everything in my body tries to pull itself together, tries to get me to my feet so that I can get back to her.
I make it up on one foot before losing my balance and toppling forward.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, and maybe there’s something to that saying. Because she is my entire life at this point, and as I lay on the filthy ground, my blood pooling around me, I swear, all I see is her.
That alone is enough to take the pain away.