42. Forty-Two
I let my hand drift to the knife at my side as two sets of feet move directly towards us. Two men, talking quietly, casually.
The rubber handle of my knife feels wrong, distant against my fingers when my eyes dart to where Dane’s stopped just a few feet ahead of me. He holds up a fist, the clear instruction to stop entirely. I lock up, my muscles vibrating with energy and the intense desire to start running, to abandon the plan and find safety.
I squash those instincts and stay where I am, following the command of our leader. I take in a deep breath and hold it, not wanting even the sound of my shaky breath to alert these men to our presence.
Dane’s hand flicks once to the left, instructing Silas and Ray to take up positions on that side of the hallway, while the two of us ease backward, taking cover in a recessed doorway.
He positions himself in front of me, blocking my view of the room, making himself a barrier separating me from the threat.
I shift my feet, pressing further against the door, giving him room to back up even further. He doesn’t react to my movement, so I tuck my hand under the back of his vest and pull lightly to guide him against me.
Over his shoulder the outline of the two men come into view. They continue to chat and laugh, totally unaware they’ve walked directly into danger.
Ray and Silas lunge out at the men. Boots squeak on the floor, but no shouts, no cries for help sound out. I peek further around Dane’s shoulder and see that they’re caught in identical chokeholds. The unyielding pressure forces them into unconsciousness and their bodies go limp against the strength of my men.
They’re released, and I don’t think they’re dead, but it’s clear they’re not getting back up any time soon. Dane steps out of our hiding place and pulls two loops of plastic from his pockets, presenting them to Ray and Silas.
Wordlessly, my men comply, taking the ties and securing them around the slack wrists of the guards.
“Storage closet. Twenty feet to the right,” Dane whispers, a new layer of irritation coating his words.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
We were prepared, but we weren’t supposed to come across anyone if we timed it correctly. I glance at the guards, the ball of dread sitting heavily in my stomach once more.
Dane and I don’t stay to watch, he pulls me out of the doorway with a firm grip on my arm. “Let’s go.”
I follow closely behind, but my ears are still focused on the sounds of heavy men being dragged in the opposite direction. Their utility belts squeak against the floor, and every little noise raises the hair on the back of my neck.
If Dane got their rounds wrong, what else are we missing?
He’s moving faster in front of me now that we’ve hit the stairwell, each step down is purposeful and tinted with an additional sense of urgency.
We’re close.
We turn the last corner after peeking for more guards, and I come face to face with the vault door. The massive metal monolith gleams at us tauntingly. Everything Dane’s been waiting for, everything he’s been working towards, is hiding right behind it. All that’s left to do is get in and activate the fire suppression system.
My mind fills with static.
Terror shreds into my chest.
The shaking in my fingers starts up again.
It’s not a Tank. I gasp. I’m not back there. I curl my fingers into fists. John isn’t shoving me in, waiting to watch me die.
Steps pound through the empty hall and I tense. Running. Someone is running down the hallway towards the vault.
Shit.
A flash of light blue comes around the corner while Dane levels his gun. Tucker. It’s Tucker, and he’s safe.
I nearly cry out with relief, and he flashes me a quick smile before taking a device from Dane.
He’s still unarmed, still unable to defend me any better than Dane, but I calm all the same, as if somehow I’m safer with him here. He was there for my last Tank, and I’m never going to be shoved into another.
Tucker punches a few buttons on the device while I clench and release my hands repeatedly, working the tension out.
The screen lights and numbers cycle through faster than my eyes can catch. Seconds tick by while we wait for the cell phone sized bit of metal and circuits to connect, to show the code to allow me access.
One by one the green numbers settle into a sequence on the black background.
8 - 5 - 3 - 2 - 5 - 7 - 6.
I shake my hands out and center myself in front of the pin pad. The shiny buttons reflect my scared face back at me, and I shake my head, unwilling to be the terrified girl I see peering back. I punch in the last few numbers and listen as the locks in the vault’s door release, the heavy thud echoed by the pounding in my chest.
This is not a tank.
Together, Dane and Tucker pull it open, both straining against the weight of it until momentum builds and the door glides fully open.
Dane’s breath leaves him in a loud, hopeful exhale. It’s not quite a sigh or a gasp, but a confirmation he’s finally at the finish line. It’s up to me to cross it for him.
I can do this.
Shouting, loud and angry, carries down the hallway, followed by gunfire and grunts of pain.
My focus slams to Tucker, to that fucking polo shirt leaving him completely unprotected. I don’t even have a gun to give him! I failed over, and over, and over again and now…
He’s going to die.
And I’m going to have to watch it.
Tucker’s fear melds with determination, an idea forming as he glances into the vault. His eyes lock on Dane, his expression firm and serious. “The glass. When it comes down, wh-”
“Bulletproof,” Dane barks, his response a single word and all the answer Tucker is going to receive.
I catch on immediately, and that dread coils tightly around my throat. “No! He’s not going in there.”
He can’t. He can’t come in with me. He won’t make it. He can’t survive the lack of oxygen. He won’t even last half the time I can.
It’s supposed to be me and no one else. No one else can do this.
I look to Dane, silently begging him to think of another solution, to find a way out. He must have something, some plan, some contingency for this.
He shakes his head, answering my unspoken question.
“Work fast.”
I don’t have time to argue before we’re both shoved hard enough that we can’t catch ourselves. I lose my footing and slam into one of the shelves. Tucker lands on the ground, sprawled out with fear in his eyes.
I can’t see down the hallway anymore, but I can see Dane swing up his gun and fire three shots towards whomever is coming.
Thick glass falls, hissing as it seals the two of us inside. My stomach drops with it.
Tucker’s eyes are blown wide, but there’s no time to panic. The fans are already whirring up, sucking out all the air in the room. I’ll be fine, but he’s going to suffocate in minutes.
He scrambles to his feet. He’s too nervous, moving too clumsily.
I grip his shoulders, and stare directly at him, demanding his attention. “Tell me what to do.”
“Pin pad. Find the pin pad.” He pulls at his hair and scans around the room frantically. “It’s going to look just like the one outside.”
His voice is trembling, and I want to hold him, soothe his fear, but it won’t matter.
He’s dead if I don’t get him out of here.
Tucker grabs his codebreaker off of the floor, punching in another series of commands, and I whirl around, desperate to find the pin pad.
There’s too much stuff in here. Too much expensive garbage. Busts, art pieces of all sizes, jewelry boxes, bundles of cash, other valuable bullshit left to rot in here, and I’m throwing all of it on the ground. Clearing shelves with broad sweeps of my arms. I’m moving as quickly as I can, and I’m destroying so much in the process.
“Take deep breaths, Tucker,” I command without breaking my pace.
“What?”
He’s focused on the screen, doing whatever he can to try and speed up the system.
“Hyperventilate! Now!”
He doesn’t understand at first, and I don’t care. I don’t need him to. I just need him to listen to me. The more oxygen he can get in his body, the longer he’ll be able to survive.
The Tanks have taught me that much.
I’m still throwing everything I can onto the floor, not watching him work, not watching to see how he’s doing, but I can hear him taking fast deep breaths.
Good.
That’s when I feel it, the air getting thinner, the last bits of oxygen filtering out. Now the real test starts. I look over my shoulder at the man who saved me.
Tucker’s nervous but he still looks alert. His face strained with the breath he’s desperately trying to keep in his lungs.
I clear another shelf, and my fingers brush against a metal panel raised slightly from the wall. Fevered hope fills my chest and I see it. I see the door keeping the keypad hidden.
I pull on the latch, and it only opens an inch before clanging against the metal of the shelf. Again and again I pull, but it won’t open. It won’t let me in.
Tears prick at my eyes when I wrap my hands around the bars, and pull using all my strength. It’s no use. I try to heave a breath, but my lungs fight for air. It’s too damn heavy.
I need help.
I turn to Tucker, pointing desperately at the shelf, trying to communicate that I need his help to knock it over. When he looks up his eyes are unfocused. His fingers numbly claw at his throat. His lips are starting to turn blue.
He moves to stand, aware enough to know I’m asking for his help, but he can’t hold himself up.
I rush over to try to hold him up and his hands grip onto my arms as tightly as he can manage, but they slip off as he tumbles to the floor. He’s gasping for air that isn’t here, and I feel helpless. Utterly. Helpless.
My heart hammers in my ears.
Hot, angry tears run down my cheeks.
Whirling around, I have to think fast.
What did Dane say all those weeks ago?
Was it five minutes? No.
Three.
Three minutes without oxygen will kill him.
I have to move him, I need to get him out of the way. He’s slack, nearly dead weight in my arms, but I manage to shift him against the wall and pull his device out from under him.
3 - 9 - 2 - X - X - X – X
Three numbers have settled on the screen, the last four digits still cycling through.
I scream, and my throat burns from it, but the sound is quiet and weak in the thin air. Anger overtakes me and I pound my fist into my thigh.
Why the fuck is it taking so long?
I take one last glance at Tucker, at his blue lips, at his heaving, stuttering chest, before turning back to the shelf. My mind is starting to get fuzzy around the edges. Focus, Madeline. I can’t afford to be distracted right now.
I swipe every remaining item off of the shelves, and I give it another yank, using all of my strength, but it only moves an inch.
One second. I give myself one second to check the code.
3 - 9 - 2 - 1 - X - X - X
Four numbers. Okay. I can do this.
My foot plants against the wall, and I push with everything I have in me. The metal shifts, creaking and groaning in protest of every pound of force I exert against it.
Slowly, so damned slowly, the whole thing leans away from the wall. I’m panting, drawing in and releasing this useless, empty air.
The shelf crashes to the ground, landing inches from where I moved Tucker, barely missing his leg.
3 - 9 - 2 - 1 - 0 - 2 - X.
One number left.
One fucking number, and I can save him.
The metal door swings open without the shelves in the way, and I’m looking at the key to our release. The key to saving Tucker’s life.
“Come on!” My silent scream is useless, completely and utterly useless. The small box in my hand doesn’t care.
The last digit cycles through endlessly, mocking me. Teasing me. Taunting me with the possibility I might be able to save him. I could be too late. Moments too late.
I pound the first few numbers into the keypad. The face looking back at me isn’t scared any more. It’s lined with determination.
3 - 9 - 2 - 1 - 0 - 2 - 2
The last number pops up, and I sob with relief. The tightly coiled parts of myself start to loosen.
As soon as I hit the last number, the glass shield releases. It only opens an inch, but it’s enough.
Air rushes in.
I trip in my rush to get back over to Tuck. Crashing to the ground and bruising my knees in my scramble to see if he’s alive. Desperate to see if he can pull in any of the air being drawn back into the room. I bring my ear to his mouth, listening for breath. Begging to feel it on my cheek.
Each second passing is an eternity. Every heartbeat in my chest becoming more insistent than the last. Demanding I do something.
Then I feel it, the soft caress of a breath promising he’s okay. That this didn’t kill him. That he’s still got a shot to get out of here.
More gunfire echoes directly outside of the vault, the sound now able to reach us through the open door.
I pull off my bulletproof vest and wrestle it onto his body, the motion rough and jostling him into a weak consciousness. When he finally opens his eyes, showing me that beautiful green color, my muscles go lax, everything that was holding me together loosening at once. Tears slip down my cheeks as I force myself to steady my breathing.
“We need to go.” My voice trembles around a sob while I strap the vest around him.
“Did you get it?” Tucker’s voice is quiet, weak. It wavers with every scratchy syllable.
Fuck.
The hard drive.
The whole fucking reason we’re here.
I don’t remember seeing it when I was throwing everything to the floor. We have to find it. I have to find it before I can get him out of here, before I can even begin to worry about how the hell we’re going to get him past everything outside.
I’m going back through everything I’ve thrown to the ground, tossing each item aside as I’m moving. I’m essentially looking for a needle in a haystack made of wildly valuable hay. Some of the stuff clatters, some thuds, and something shatters against the wall.
A flash of concern whirs through my mind, Did I hit him? Did I cut Tucker? But I don’t have time to think about it, I have to keep moving, keep my shaking hands sorting through this mess.
Nothing!
There’s not a single thing on the floor I can identify as a hard drive. Nothing matches the pictures. Nothing matches the descriptions. I’m frantic, moving faster than my mind can keep up with, flinging myself from one group of items to the next.
“Mads.”
Tucker’s voice is hoarse, quiet. Barely registering in my adrenaline-drenched mind.
Where is it?
“Mads,” he repeats as loudly as he can manage, making me listen, making me turn to face him. And there he is, holding up the drive from where he’s sitting, his arm unsteady in front of him.
He reads the surprise and confusion on my face and quirks a small smile at me.
“The bust-” he takes a gasping breath before continuing, “the bust you just smashed to bits.”
He’s perfect. He’s okay, and he’s smiling at me, and he’s holding up the drive and-
“I love you.”
The words tumble out of my mouth before I can even think them. It’s a sigh of relief, an admission I never thought I’d make. Static fills my mind and I freeze.
Did I just say that?
Tucker’s face is all the confirmation I need, his eyes are exhausted but lined with joy. I can’t stop looking at him, can’t bear to pull my gaze away.
My peace is shattered when another round of gunshots blast through the hallway.
Reinforcements will be on their way by now. Every second we waste, our chances of making it out alive narrows.
Dane’s body language echoes my sentiment. He’s standing in front of the vault, holding the line, standing as our protector. Every inch of him is held tight, and his eyes scan relentlessly for incoming attackers.
“Everyone breathing?” Dane shouts the question, his worry breaking through in his stony voice.
“We’re here! We’re good!” I bark out, back in survival mode. I turn back to Tucker, looking at his too pale face and his too weak limbs.
My heart drops, we’ve come too far to get stopped here.
“Can you move?” I ask, scanning him, praying to find he’s strong enough to make it out.
“I’m good.”
He’s not, but I can’t question him. We don’t have the time. He’s taking big gulps of air, still trying to jump start his system. Still waking up from his own false death.
He slips the drive into his pocket and accepts my hand to help him up.
We need to get moving before more people show up, but if he pushes himself too hard, we’re going to have to carry him out. I let him stand, giving him a second to try and shake off the fog before I crouch and force the plexiglass door up and out of the way.
“Glad you made it. Let’s move,” Dane grumbles, not risking a sideways glance before stalking forward. He leads us past bodies, past gouges in the walls. Bullets that didn’t find their target. Nausea roils in my stomach.
How close did I get to losing Dane, too?
More gunfire sounds down the hallway and my chest squeezes with hope.
Ray and Silas.
They’re okay, they have to be. They’re still fighting over there. I won’t consider any alternatives.
We move as fast as we can, and I’m doing what I can to support Tucker’s weight and keep him moving, but he’s sluggish, stumbling forward, and his feet catch on too many stairs.
Two more turns.
Two turns, and we’ll be back where we left them.
They’re okay. They’re okay. They’re okay.
The last corner is right ahead of us, and we come up behind three guards, poised to shoot at their attackers somewhere out of sight.
Two of them sense our approach and turn, but it’s too late. They don’t even have time to level their guns at us before Dane takes them down. Both with a clean shot to the chest, unprotected by any bulletproof gear.
The third turns his head, his eyes flashing with fear before shifting to anger. His arms move upwards, his face painted with rage.
What the hell do we do here? Knock him out like the others?
Another shot rings out from further down the hallway, and the guard goes down. Dead before he even hits the floor.
I flinch and Tucker jerks against me half a second later, his reaction time offset from his fatigue.
I pull Tucker forward, guiding him over the bodies we’ve left in our wake. A few stumbling steps later we get to the great room where we left the others and come face to face with two weapons raised and pointed at us.
I freeze. Not out of fear. Not because of the guns pointed my way, but because I’ve fallen out of my body. They’re here. Ray and Silas are okay. All four of my men made it.
We don’t have a body to haul back to the bunker.
We did it.