Chapter 67
Hannah
Idon’t panic.
Not when the convoy goes silent.
Not when the driver doesn’t answer.
Not when the first shot hits the front vehicle.
Panic gets people killed.
I move.
Fast.
“Down!” I shout, already grabbing the nearest kid and pulling him to the floor of the transport van.
Glass shatters.
Gunfire erupts outside.
Too close.
Too controlled.
This wasn’t random.
Ambush.
“Stay low!” I snap, shoving another volunteer down as bullets tear through the side panel.
My pulse kicks up—but my hands stay steady.
Always steady.
“Are you hit?” someone cries.
“Not yet,” I fire back.
The van jerks hard—
Then stops.
Engine dead.
Bad.
Very bad.
“Out!” a voice shouts outside.
Not ours.
Definitely not ours.
Boots hit the ground.
Fast.
Organized.
This isn’t chaos.
This is planned.
I grab the medical kit beside me, ripping it open.
Assess.
Prioritize.
Move.
A young woman across from me is bleeding from her arm.
Through and through.
“Press here,” I tell her, guiding her hand. “Hard. Don’t stop.”
Her fingers tremble.
I lock eyes with her.
“Don’t stop,” I repeat.
She nods.
Barely.
But it’s enough.
The door rips open.
Light floods in—
Then hands.
Rough.
Unforgiving.
Weapons trained.
“Out. Now.”
I don’t move immediately.
Not because I’m scared.
Because I’m calculating.
Three armed.
Two more outside.
Unknown number beyond that.
No cover.
No exit.
No—
A rifle presses into my shoulder.
“Move!”
Yeah.
Not a suggestion.
I raise my hands slowly.
Controlled.
Compliant.
For now.
I step out of the van.
Feet hitting dirt.
Air thick with smoke and heat.
Vehicles ahead are already disabled.
Drivers down.
Not moving.
I don’t look too long.
Can’t afford to.
Survivors are being pulled out.
Separated.
Watched.
This is organized.
Too organized.
“Doctor,” one of the men says, his accent thick, his tone sharp. “You come.”
Not a question.
I don’t argue.
Not yet.
They grab my arm.
Hard enough to bruise.
I don’t react.
I catalog.
Direction.
Terrain.
Distance.
Anything I can use later.
Because there will be a later.
There has to be.
They push me toward another vehicle.
Different from ours.
Cleaner.
Waiting.
Prepared.
Definitely planned.
I glance back once.
Quick.
Subtle.
Count heads.
Count movement.
Look for—
Nothing.
No one’s getting out of this right now.
Not like this.
Fine.
Then we survive.
We wait.
We find the opening.
We take it.
Same as always.
They shove me into the back of the vehicle.
Door slams.
Dark again.
The engine starts.
We move.
Fast.
I brace myself against the side.
Mind already working.
Running scenarios.
Worst case.
Best case.
Everything in between.
Time passes.
Minutes.
Maybe more.
Hard to tell.
No windows.
No visibility.
Just movement.
And then—
Stillness.
The door opens again.
“Out.”
I step down.
Take in my surroundings quickly.
Compound.
Remote.
Guarded.
Not good.
Not impossible.
They lead me inside.
Through narrow halls.
Dim lighting.
Concrete walls.
Temporary setup.
Not permanent.
That’s something.
They stop at a door.
Open it.
Push me inside.
It slams shut behind me.
Lock clicks.
I don’t move right away.
I listen.
Footsteps fade.
Voices outside.
Distant.
Then—
Silence.
I exhale slowly.
First real breath I’ve taken since the ambush.
Then I move.
Check the room.
Corners.
Walls.
Door.
No windows.
No obvious exits.
Of course not.
I press my fingers briefly against my temple.
Think.
Focus.
Don’t waste energy.
Don’t panic.
I’ve been in worse.
I have.
Not like this.
But close enough.
I lower myself slowly to sit against the wall.
Conserve energy.
Slow my breathing.
Stay sharp.
Because someone will come.
They always do.
And when they do—
I’ll be ready.
I close my eyes briefly.
Just for a second.
And without meaning to—
His face flashes in my mind.
Clay.
The way he looked at me before he walked out.
Frustrated.
Angry.
Unfinished.
My jaw tightens.
“Idiot,” I mutter under my breath.
Because if he finds out about this—
No.
I shut that thought down hard.
Because I don’t need him here.
Don’t need anyone here.
I can handle this.
I will handle this.
That’s what I do.
Still—
My fingers curl slightly against my palms.
Because there’s one thought I can’t quite shake.
One I don’t want to examine too closely.
Not now.
Not here.
Not when I need to stay focused.
But it lingers anyway.
Quiet.
Persistent.
Unwanted.
He’s going to come.
I open my eyes.
Shake that off immediately.
Because that’s dangerous thinking.
Because I don’t rely on anyone.
Because I don’t—
I’ve been alone in the world for a long time.
I can handle this.
My gaze lifts to the locked door.
Steady.
Unbreakable.
Because whether he comes or not—
I’m getting out of here.
One way or another.
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