44. Forty-Four
I can hear them moving, stalking after the intruder. The sounds of their careful, precise steps drift through the labyrinth, audible even from the distance I’ve built between us.
Tucker and I push forward, still looking for somewhere to hide. I take a hard turn, barely avoiding slamming into a door frame as I swing us into a storage room, stacked high with unused furniture and excess food rations.
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be hiding.
I want to be out there doing something, anything I can to keep them safe. It doesn’t matter if I get shot, but if they do, if they die now… it might be what finally kills me. But if I run out there, I might be putting them in more danger. I might jeopardize their lives by distracting them and giving them another thing to worry about. I would be leaving Tucker behind without even the meager protection I can offer him.
My mind is a cacophony of rage and terror, and it’s too loud to think clearly. There’s so much in this room and I just keep turning, scanning for a place to stash him, while he leans against the wall, his eyes slightly unfocused as he pants.
I have to save him.
I clamp down on my thoughts, forcing them into submission as I wade further into the cluttered room.
Focus, Madeline.
There’s a small alcove, barely cleared enough for his body if he curls up. It’ll be uncomfortable, but it will keep him hidden. I push him towards it, my hands splayed on his chest, but he grabs my wrists with shaky hands.
Tucker’s face is set firm, but his eyes don’t hold any of his usual spark. He’s too exhausted to fight me, and I’m not going to let him try. He’s already unstable on his feet, and if I have to, I’ll knock him over to make sure he’s safe.
I push him further, and he gives my wrists a tight squeeze before he steps back, his body winning over his mind as he all but collapses into the opening.
“Hide, Mads,” he says as forcefully as he can.
“I will,” I promise before dragging a stack of boxes in front of him and sealing him inside.
He’s in. He’s safe.
Scanning the rest of the room, I find another opening between an upright mattress and a stack of chairs. I shove myself as far back as I can, planting my back against the wall. Every sense is in overdrive. Every bit of me trying to find out what’s happening.
Where was the alarm? Why was there no warning?
If Tucker has no access to his cameras, to the alert system, we have no way of knowing which of the exits they’ve found or which ones they’ve already breached. If there’s anyone above ground, waiting for us to escape.
Waiting at one of the exits.
That thought slams down as if the stacks of junk around me collapsed. I’m no longer listening for the men moving through the hallways, not my men at least, because I’ve just planted myself and Tucker in a room yards from a possible entrance. I glance towards the door, the only door to our hideout.
God, I’m so fucking stupid.
No wonder Dane was so sure I’d ruin the whole plan. One simple order, one task without dozens of guidelines, and I ran directly to one of the least defensible locations in the entire shelter.
I pat myself down, and have to smother a sigh of relief when I feel a knife still strapped to my thigh. I never fully disarmed when we came in. None of us did. I unlatch the strap holding it in place and palm the handle.
If I’m going to be Tucker’s last line of protection, I’m not going down without a fight.
It’s too quiet outside the storage room, and the silence raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
They’re fine. They’re moving quietly on the opposite side, tracking the person that broke in. That’s all.
I don’t let myself think for a second that something could be going wrong. I can’t afford to.
Giordano’s men are here to reclaim the drive. We know how they fight, and more importantly, we know they’re not organized. At least, not nearly as organized as my men are.
They can handle this.
I take another steadying breath, willing my heart to stop pounding so hard, my hands to stop shaking.
Yelling sounds somewhere on the far side of the bunker, the words indistinguishable against the sounds of a struggle and more running. The once annoying echoing halls are now a blessing, one I find myself wishing was clearer and less distorted. The possibilities knit themselves together in my mind. A horrible picture forming. I’m too focused on those sounds. Too dialed in on what’s happening to my boys when I hear something much closer. My heart stops.
Footsteps echo through the tunnel, slow and controlled. I hold my breath. Those movements are too calm, too casual. The cadence of the steps twists my gut.
Whoever it is, they’re hunting. And they know exactly where to find their target.
The steps are getting louder. Closer. And I’m trying to map out where they are in the tunnel system. How close we are to being found. My breathing is too fast, too harsh and I’m praying, to whatever cruel god will listen, that my boys are okay. The steps stop maybe ten feet from the entryway to this room, and my heart kicks into a higher gear, thudding like it’s trying to break out of my chest.
“Madeline.”
My name cuts through the silence, shattering the stillness surrounding us. That tone. Its harsh edge is an echo from my nightmares.
John.
My stomach bottoms out. My thoughts turn to wordless screams.
Like a terrified animal, I wedge further back. I’m cornered.
Tears blur my vision, and I silently beg the shadows to conceal me. Beg the boys will find me before I’m dragged lifeless out of this bunker. Stolen back to Omni.
“Madeline, I know you’re in here. You know, you’ve caused me a great deal of trouble.”
I’m going to pass out.
I can’t hear his steps, but his voice is closer. He’s in the room. I grab for the knife, squeezing the handle like it’s the last thing I’ll ever hold. All the maneuvers Dane taught me whir through my mind in a useless blur.
I can’t do this. I can’t go back.
“Don’t worry though,” he pauses. The rasp of his hand dragging over something fills the air. He makes a small, disgusted noise, then aggressively brushes his hands together, clearing away dust. “Your adventure is over. Now you can come home. We can finish our work together.”
I see red.
For him to frame what he’s done to me, what I’ve been put through at his command, as collaboration is the sickest way to twist reality. It’s almost enough to get me to lunge out of my hiding space.
Almost.
“I’ll give you to the count of three.”
My instincts scream at me, but to do what? Run? Hide harder somehow?
What the fuck do I do?
“One.”
Is the room getting darker?
“Two.”
Breathe. You have to breathe, Madeline.
“Three,” he whispers, his tone practically giddy.
You’re going to have to fight.
I don’t have time to decide what to do, how I’m going to fight him. Large hands wrap around my ankles and pull sharply. The movement so fast my head hits the ground before I register I’m falling.
Stars flood my vision. My ears ring.
“Let’s go! I’m done chasing after you,” he grunts as he pulls me away.
I claw at the floor. Reaching for something, anything, to try and pull myself away from him.
My fingers can’t find purchase.
No, no, no! I don’t know if I’m screaming or if it’s just in my mind.
I still have the knife, and the moment I realize it, I swing widely towards him. The blade catches his hand, then tears through his forearm. Blood sprays and he releases me. I scramble away as fast as I can, his pained cursing too close behind me.
For the briefest moment I believe I can do this. I can get away. My ears still ring, but the adrenaline has cleared my thoughts. I can save them by leaving. By getting away.
I can do this.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps away, and I’m violently yanked back by my hair. My hands fly to my scalp, and I lose my grip on the knife. I can’t see where it went, my head is jerked back too far. I can only hear it skittering across the concrete, my hope collapsing with each tick.
“You stupid bitch. I raised you, and this is what I get for it?”
His hot breath, the overwhelming saccharine minty sweetness, creeps over my skin and crawls across my face.
“You tortured me!” I scream. I don’t care if I distract my boys. I need help. I need them to come and get me. I can’t go back. I can’t be torn apart and blown up and suffocated again. I can’t.
He’s holding me so tightly against his chest I can barely move. His blood is leaving warm and sticky trails down the front of me, causing bits of my shirt to stick grotesquely against my skin and it’s a struggle not to wretch.
Suddenly we’re on the ground, knocked over hard enough my teeth clack and my mouth fills with the too familiar taste of blood.
Tucker.
I almost forgot he was still in here, lost entirely to my own panic. Now he’s made himself known. Now John knows I’m not alone. Now John has leverage, and I’m petrified.
John wrestles himself off of me and out from under Tucker’s weak grappling, rising to his full height and towering over us. Tucker reaches for me, his green eyes wild with rage, but his movements are too slow, too unsteady.
He should have stayed there. He should have kept himself hidden.
John’s soulless eyes bear down on Tucker from where he stands, a flash of recognition washing over his face.
“So, you’re the one,” John’s voice is quiet, menacing. Each word barely fitting between his too white, too straight teeth.
Before he can say anything else, I pull my foot up and kick his knee. He topples over with a pained grunt.
I glance around desperately, searching for the knife.
I spot it ten feet away against an overturned table, and all of my awareness locks onto it.
I make my move, scrambling across the cement when John grabs at my ankle again, his grip bruising. I don’t look, don’t stop. I’m too focused on moving, keeping myself moving towards that damned knife.
My ankle is freed and pained grunts sound out from behind me.
Move!The word repeats over and over in my head. Move your fucking body. Save Tucker. Save your boys.