Chapter 71
“Poet!” Rook shouts, catching me just before I crash to the floor. A moment later, he’s hauling me onto his shoulder, and then he’s running. I bounce against him, my stomach digging painfully into bone.
Why can’t I move?
I can hear and think and see, but my bones have been sucked out, leaving me as limp as Teddy.
I want to do something, but all I can manage is a helpless whimper as Rook finally reaches the staircase leading to our room and pounds down the steps.
He bursts into our dorm room and lays me on the bed.
“You’re awake,” he says, his brow furrowing, his breathing labored. “Their stunners must work differently on us.”
He doesn’t wait to figure out what it means before disappearing from my view. I hear him moving around the room, and it becomes obvious he’s packing a bag. I hear the rustle of clothing. The crackle of paper.
He moves to my side and appears above me again. I blink uselessly at him, trying to make my tongue cooperate, but it just comes out as a groan.
“Poet, I need you to trust me. We have to get out of here.” He watches me. “Please blink three times and tell me you understand.”
Indecision wars in my gut. I know he’s right, but he’s been deceiving me. I wish I could speak. I need to know when he realized he was there the night Raine was taken.
Did he lie to my face?
The rest I can understand, I think. But not Raine.
Rook was there . . . Meaning he was at least partly responsible when I lost one of the most important people in my life. My stomach lurches, but I can’t curl into myself because I can’t fucking move. I wonder what would happen if I threw up.
“The Shield is lying to all of you,” Rook says. It’s not the answer I wanted, but at least it’s something. “And if they get ahold of you, then you will wish for death. Do you understand me? You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
He drops to his knees and takes my limp hand. “Please, they’re coming. We don’t have much time.”
I inhale a sharp breath and . . . I blink.
Once. Twice. Three times.
“Thank you,” Rook breathes, kissing my fingers before he’s up again. I hear him shuffling through my drawers and closet, stuffing more items into a bag. I don’t know what he’s taking, but I suppose it doesn’t matter much.
“I’ll keep you safe, Poet.” He says it like it’s an oath. I want so desperately to believe it.
He’s still talking, but I can’t follow what he’s saying as my thoughts pile up on top of one another, draining together like grains of sand.
He tosses a few more things into the bags and zips them up before hoisting them on his shoulders. How is he planning to carry all that and me? His movements are stiff and jerky as he approaches. That’s when I realize he’s bleeding.
A bloom of red spreads across his white shirt, revealed by his open jacket.
I make a strangled sound in my throat. What happened?
It’s then that I remember the blood on Knox’s knife.
He hurt Rook.
I’ll kill Knox.
I want to ask if Rook is okay, but I can’t. How bad is it?
I watch as he strips off his shirt and quickly wraps a thick bandage around his midsection. Then he finds a clean gray shirt and tugs it over his head before pulling on his jacket.
He scoops me off the bed. I dangle from his elbows like a newborn kitten as he kicks open the door, pausing to listen. When everything seems quiet, he hauls me against him, and then we’re leaving.
“I hope this will wear off soon,” he says.
He sounds almost panicked. Nothing like the coolly composed man I’ve come to know over the last several months. Is he worried about me? Himself? Or something I can’t even begin to imagine? Why doesn’t he just leave me behind?
He took a knife for me.
Instead of turning back up the stairs, he heads deeper into the building.
“We’re going through the tunnels,” he says, anticipating the question I can’t ask. “There’s a secret entrance that leads into the Wastes.”
What?
“They’ll spot us if we try to leave over land,” he says, still talking. “We’re too exposed out there.”
If I thought I had questions a minute ago, now they come rushing at me like water through a shattered dam. I whimper, frustrated that I can’t voice a single one.
“Don’t worry,” he says, breathing heavily. “I don’t think they know where we went.”
No. I want to scream. Tell me what’s going on.
Rook grunts as we turn another corner, arriving at the entrance we’ve used before to access the tunnels. He sets me on the ground and drops the bags to the bottom, where they land with heavy thumps.
He places his hands on his knees, assessing me. “I’m not sure how to do this.”
Just as he finishes the thought, he’s hauling me up and approaching the ladder.
Anchoring me to his front with one arm around my waist, he uses his other, jumping between the rungs to lower us.
I hear his pained grunts. See the wince in his features.
He’s badly hurt, while I flop in his arms and hate how useless I am.
Rook groans as he bears his weight and mine, his forehead shiny with perspiration. I’m not sure I’ve actually seen him break a sweat before.
What a strange thing to notice.
Maybe I am losing my mind.
Somehow, we make it to the bottom, where he again sets me on the ground and wastes no time closing the hatch, then slinging the packs over his shoulders. A moment later, we’re delving deeper into the tunnels, lit only by the occasional dim light.
If the power goes out, we won’t be able to see anything at all.
A few minutes later, I curse my prescient thoughts because the lights flicker, and we’re plunged into the darkest black.
“Shit,” Rook hisses as he nearly stumbles.
I wonder if this is a real outage or if they’ve purposely cut us off.
“I’m going to set you down again, okay?” he asks.
I blink, but I don’t think he can see it. Nevertheless, he gently places me on the ground, leaning me against a wall. A light flares a moment later, courtesy of his phone. He uses one of the backpack straps to attach it to his shoulder.
Then he picks me up with a wince, and we continue through the tunnels lit only by a small circle. The darkness presses in on us, and my breathing turns shallow as I imagine us buried alive.
“It’s okay, Trouble,” Rook says softly. “I’m getting us out of here. Not too far to go.”
I want to nod. I want to hug him, but also punch him, because I’m so confused and turned around. I want him to keep talking. He said he’d tell me everything, but he grunts and strains against the weight of our packs, his injury, and my limp body. He needs to focus on getting us to safety.
But where is that? And is safe even a possibility?
The Wastes. He said he’s taking me to the Wastes. My mind screams with the possibilities of what that means.
We keep walking, and I’m not sure how long it takes, but everything feels like it’s taking too long.
Rook is sweating, his arms trembling beneath me, his breathing labored as he presses forward. He’s always seemed so formidable, so unshakable, but Rook is only human, too.
He stops every few minutes to ensure we aren’t being followed. The path behind us remains quiet, but I don’t trust it. I’m not sure I can trust anything ever again.
That’s when I notice I can finally wiggle the tips of my fingers. I whimper, trying to signal that the stunner’s effects are wearing off. He looks down at me, and I blink and blink.
“What is it?” he asks. I groan again, wiggling my fingers and then my whole hand.
Relief softens his features. “Thank fuck,” he says. “I was worried . . .” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be okay soon.”
He says it firmly, like he’s trying to convince himself, and I frown, my eyebrows drawing together. It’s instinctual but also like stretching sore, unused muscles because I can move again.
“Almost there,” he reassures me as he walks.
The sawing sound of his breath echoes against the walls, and I’m not sure if I imagine his pace slowing.
I estimate another ten or fifteen minutes before Rook stops and places me back on the ground.
He moans as he drops our packs and stands up to stretch his back and shoulders.
Sweat drips down his temples and his throat, soaking the tips of his hair.
He must be exhausted. I can’t believe he carried me all that way.
He faces the far wall, pressing his hands to the surface as he takes a minute.
My limbs are tingling, slowly regaining feeling.
I shuffle my leg, sliding it across the ground, and Rook spins at the sound, dropping into a crouch.
He’s pale, the color leached from his skin, dark circles ringing his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I nod, and despite everything, we both nearly smile, because I can fucking nod again.
“We have a little way to go until we reach the exit,” Rook says, pointing into the dark. “We’ll rest a minute. Hopefully you can walk soon.”
He sinks to the floor, leaning against the far wall. His eyes slide closed as his breathing labors. Even from here, I can see that he’s shaking. I need to cast off this paralysis. If we have any hope of surviving, I need to walk. He can’t possibly carry me another step.
I focus on my useless limbs, willing them to move. My hand clenches into a fist, and I slowly lift my arm, like I’m breaking out of a lacquered shell.
“Rook,” I manage to whisper, though it comes out garbled over my frozen tongue.
His eyes snap open. He crosses the tunnel in an instant, fully alert again.
“It’s wearing off,” he says, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles. “Fuck, I was so worried.”
I realize all his assurances were as much for him as myself. We wait a few more minutes as feeling returns to the rest of my body. I’m weak and shaky, but I think I can finally walk.
“We should keep moving,” Rook says. “I know you’re confused and have a million questions, but we can’t do this here.” Every word comes out of him like a stone pushed through a wall.
“You need help,” I say, gesturing to him where fresh blood has started seeping through his bandages and his shirt.