Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
nyx
It's been nine staggering days since Graves landed in the US. He's gone completely dark again, not a hint of smoke left behind. The man knows how to hide. He’s planned for this eventuality, hence the precision in his disappearance. He’s had years to plan his ascension, so naturally, he'll have planned the fall too, probably thinking he’d never have to use it.
I’m patiently hoping we find the gap in his armor.
We’re working with every source available at our fingertips to locate him, across the entire country, but still.
.. Nothing. And it’s not a good sign. Noc’s unease grows by the day.
And I’m filled with a burning agitation, more sinister than what I felt that first day I discovered Noc was alive. This time, I know what lies ahead.
As soon as I hear the soft snores coming from the man beside me - small rumbles that are far too adorable for an animal like him - I take that as my queue to slink out.
I slide a pillow beneath him to replace my form, then head to slide my trainers on.
It's less than a nine-minute walk from our quarters, and there's regular nightly patrols who’ve picked up on my new routine.
None of them would dare say a fucking word anyway.
I push through the double doors, eyes zoning in on my usual machine, but the room is cloaked in darkness.
“Shit.” I can't work out where the damn light is, my fingers patting the side of the interior walls.
I head back out and search the outer walls, hand skimming for a light switch.
Just as I head further down the corridor, I hear the dim buzz of bulbs whizzing to life behind me.
I swing my head back, seeing the faint illumination of a white light bleeding out from underneath the doors.
The lights must be censored, so I guess they just took a while to come on tonight.
The treadmill I use is over at the far end, nearest the window that shows the rolling distant hills, and when it’s a clear night like this?
The stars are always visible. It’s an image I know so well.
My feet would pound hard against the rubber belt, staring into the night sky with longing; it used to make me feel close to Noc when I lost him, and now, it’s bringing a different sense of calm knowing I have him back.
I step up onto the treadmill, the button beeping loudly as I begin a slow walk to warm up the muscles in my legs.
I connect my earbuds to my phone and shove them in, scrolling for this evening’s perfect song.
Just Pretend by Bad Omens shuffles on. Perfect.
My hand reaches out to place my phone in the holder, the other jabs at the speed, increasing to get ready to slam it for the chorus starting.
But my phone doesn't go in the holder, there’s already another one placed inside.
My hand grips around it; someone must have left this earlier.
I lean over to place it on the other machine, but something makes me pause.
The darkened screen lights up on the lock screen with the movements, and a bone chilling breeze sweeps over my entire body.
The screen is black, but there’s bold, red text sparking to life with a message, and the first thing that I notice is my name: ‘Open me Nyx’
My hand slams the emergency break, skidding the whizzing band beneath my feet to a halt.
My eyes fly over the empty gym, but there’s no one here, and I don't feel that unwanted prickle over my neck when I know I'm being watched.
I walk myself backward to the far wall, eyes scanning over the room a million times until I feel the cool plaster connect with my back, ensuring I have a view of the entire floor.
The tremble in my hands starts to increase, thumb flicking up the screen to find that it isn't password protected.
A small red circle glows above the messages along the bottom banner, indicating a message – but it feels like a subtle warning.
My finger hovers over it, eyes snapping up to do another scope of the room.
When they lower, I open it. A video plays, the static filling the empty brick room of the gym, the loud thump of footsteps mixes in as the camera points to the ground.
Five footsteps… ten footsteps, then they stop at twelve.
The black boots freeze in the camera as it slowly tilts to reveal a figure slumped over in a chair.
It appears to be masculine figure, they’re dressed in civilian clothing, a dark woven bag over their head.
Their arms are restrained behind them on a chair, and blood dampens the color of their clothing.
The only reason I can tell they’re alive is by the small visible dips of their head, trying to remain calm and controlled.
A hand reaches out, dragging the hood harrowingly slowly from their victim’s head.
My joints fuse together. The familiar profile of that face, a face I last saw almost four years ago, one I only imagine as I speak through letters. It's my dad.
His face is full of shadowed bruises, mixes of blues and purples forming along the creases.
I take inventory of the blunt force trauma to the back of his head, going by the dried blood that streaks over his forehead.
It carves downwards bands from his head, cutting across his tanned skin.
He's awake. But he doesn't acknowledge the camera. His face from this angle gives nothing away, but that’s dad.
Never shows pain, never shows fear. Never, shows weakness.
The voice that expels from the phone has my knees buckling from beneath me, and my back slides down the plaster, ass hitting the ground with a thump whilst my heart collapses along with it.
“Daddy dearest here, seems to be as idiotic as his wife. One little message to him, that his poor daughter was in jeopardy, had him running to me like the fool he is.” My teeth clench hard as the sound of Graves's voice gnaws through my nervous system.
“And of course, a father’s love knows no bounds.
He didn't even hesitate. I must say, I thought it would take a little more convincing to get him to come to me. But it seems as though a simple threat that I had his precious Brodie in my hands was enough to have him step out of the shadows.”
My fingertips turn white with the violence of their grip on the device, so tight that it shakes in my hand, the image of my father tied up rattling in a frenzy.
“You have two options here, Nyx.” Graves walks off, shifting the camera to face him as he positions it atop an object, giving me the full view of him and my bound up father.
He lazily strolls back to stand before him.
“Option one: I can either give you the location of the weapon, allowing you six hours to reach it, save that state from being wiped of all its civilians and military forces.
Or…" He drags the last word out, taking a couple steps back. He pulls a Glock from within his disgraced military jacket, aiming the barrel right at my dad. A shot rings out, shattering the silence. It rips a frantic scream from my throat, and I grip my mouth with my palm, fighting to contain it as my fingers bite into my cheeks. Watching my dad jerk backwards against his restraints, the shot piercing his shoulder. But dad doesn’t make a sound, not even a grunt.
His body shudders with the pain as he stares Graves straight in the eyes - not backing down.
“Option two: You come to me within three hours, to ensure I don't make you an orphan.”
My pulse constricts, my heart beating so fast that I don't think it takes time to release before hitting the next beat.
“And before you go alerting any of my team, Nyx.” Graves turns to face the camera, venom oozing from his words.
“You can't choose both.” The hand with the gun slowly rises, aiming back at my father.
“You even attempt to do so, there will be nothing left to save… for either option.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Make your choice.”
Graves stares straight at the camera, another shot firing off as I flinch, my breath stolen as the video blurs with my vision.
The bullet whirling inches above my father's head. But my dad remains strong, rooted even with the danger that taunts him. Graves leisurely strides towards the camera, but my dad finally speaks up, his words rushed, yet there’s not an ounce of fear in them.
“Don’t come here, Brodie, Don't-” The video cuts, my dad’s frozen plea etching into my membrane as his face stills at the corner of the screen, mid shout.
The phone vibrates in my hand, and with shaking fingers, I pull down on the screen to exit out of the video. My eyes dart to read the menacing words that begin to blur, angry tears scorching my stinging eyes.
Unknown:
Choose Nyx. The state. Or your father.
You have sixty seconds.
Panic starts to claw its way up inside me, trying to hold me prisoner as my body vibrates, my mind starting to collide with all the possible solutions and outcomes.
My mouth fills with a metallic taste as I bite my lip hard, trying to level myself.
I inhale a breath so deep, my lungs burn until I can no longer force more air in.
Goddammit! The choice is already made in my mind, but I've no time for any remedies.
I may be damned to hell for an eternity, stripped of everything I've built for choosing it, may even see my own execution for it.
But there is no other choice. My shaky hands fly over the keys, no hesitation when I hit the send button.
Nyx:
Option two.
My eyes watch the phone, waiting for the outcome.
They begin to dry up as I don't blink, afraid that if I do, I'll miss the response and it'll be gone forever. An address pops up, and when I click on it, I see it’s in an abandoned industrial estate, exactly three hours and four minutes away.
A further ding on the phone, signaling another incoming message from Graves
Unknown:
No weapons. No support. No army.
The timer starts now.
I rush to my feet, shoving the phone in my hoodie as I blast through the doors of the gym, feet pounding as I head out inside the cold night air.
I stop. Mind rambling with thoughts on how the hell I'm getting out of here without raising an alarm.
My head swings back and forth, looking for the nearest patrol.
I dart towards him, and he falters for a brief second, staggering back as I peel towards him.
Only the patrols are aware we're special ops level, and to not engage or question us, unless spoken to. “Nyx, ma’am, are you alright?” I look over him, trying to get my breathing under control.
I steel my spine and decide to flex my clearance. “I need transport, can you take me to the closest convoy?”
He falters. “I’m sorry wh—”
I drop the bass of my voice, my eyes clouding over with the same haunting vision I would adopt if I were about to snuff the light out of him.
“I need a convoy, Sergeant. Do not make me repeat myself again.” I take a step closer, and I watch him steel his spine.
“Or are you obstructing a superior officer?” His jaw grinds, taking in my attire.
I'm in trainers, leggings and a hoodie. Hardly geared up for something relating to a mission.
My knuckles crack at my sides, but his hand reaches up to the radio attached to his vest. A bleep splitting the tension between us.
“Gatekeeper, this is patrol eight. Be advised, we have VIP movement near checkpoint eight. Request convoy access to the main gate for immediate exit. Over.” In any other scenario, a devilish smile would be creeping over my face.
But it doesn't. Instead it's relief that unpicks a small thread of stress from my rigid form. The gate responds that a convoy will be delivered and is three minutes out. My feet shuffle with anticipation, I left my phone behind, and I don’t want to pull this one out because of the screensaver.
I have no idea of the time and how much I have left to get to my dad.
Headlights expand in the distance, the beams glow like halos as my ticket out of here approaches.
A woman gets out of the convoy, leaving the engine running as she slides into the passenger side, whilst I get behind the wheel.
“Gatekeeper this is Patrol one. Enroute with VIP, prepare for exit. Over.” My foot hits the gas, then eases up when I feel her stare on me.
I fight the urge to plow through the roads to the exit gates - I can’t draw attention with a convoy flying through the base at this time; I’ve likely already raised eyebrows.
When I approach the gate, I stop to let the female patrol out, who shouts signals to the gate as the barrier raises.
Two patrols who stand guard on the road step aside, allowing me to move forward.
I grab the phone from my pocket, and it feels like a hot piece of coal in my grasp, fingers burning around the device that holds the key to keeping my closest remaining family member alive.
My fingers slam the address into the convoys navigation system, the tips sliding over the screen with the sweat build up.
It takes a second for it to calculate the route, then shows I'll reach there in two hours and fifty-seven minutes.
I type a message out on the text exchange with Graves, leaving it unsent.
With the split decision in my mind, and the heavy weight of the device in my hand, I make a quick flick of my wrist, throwing the phone out onto the road.
My foot slams onto the pedal, the tires of the convoy screeching as I surge forward, water and spray following behind me.
I need to do this alone. But I hope that leaving a small trail might help the team get to the chemical weapon, if they receive the video and message in time and are able to decipher the data within the time frame Graves hinted at.
The patrols in my rearview mirror shrink to small figures, almost resembling plastic children's toys in size the further I go.
I chant a prayer that one of them either saw or noticed what I threw out, and can save the people I couldn't, because I likely won't make it out of this alive.