Chapter 26
Indie
just pretend - bad omens
Fucking.
Run.
Indie.
My hand slaps the cold surface of the tunnel, and I bend over to retch for what feels like the hundredth time.
My chest screams with the burn, to the point I feel like my lungs might explode. My calves are so tight they’re cramping, and stopping when the lights went out was the worst fucking mistake I ever made, because now my limbs are desperately trying to force me to the ground.
Lying down seems so appealing right now, to just let my mind disconnect and shatter until I’m no longer aware of what’s happening. Detach to the dark and give it a whole new meaning. To just feel numb.
“Time’s up, Indie.”
I manage to hold the scream this time, even though my teeth rattle together with fear. The voice jolts me forward in a staggered frenzy, causing my weakened ankle to roll, and my face collides with the gravel once again.
Conrad’s here.
He’s been here, watching me.
And he isn’t alone.
A set of eyes has been watching me from the moment I got over that cage. I wasn’t supposed to discover the way out, and now all bets are off.
I’m beginning to hyperventilate, the panic threatening to take me under, and this time if it catches me, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to get away.
I’ve been dancing around it this entire tunnel.
The moment I get hyper-focused on my whiff of freedom, something comes along and taunts me that it’s out of reach.
I couldn’t tell where his voice was coming from the first time; it sounded so close, and yet it was impossible. I ran and ran and didn’t stop, even when the slicing pain in my side got unbearable. The glow at the end of the tunnel felt like it wasn’t getting closer, only further away.
Debris digs into my palms as my shaky forearms fight to get me to my feet.
I’m declining; the adrenaline from freedom is depleting. The cold has seeped so far into my bones through my flesh, and I can’t tell if the tremor is now permanent, or a mixture of the fear and anticipation binding together.
But I need to run, or else I’ll never see Saint again.
I’ll never see anyone I care about again.
I won’t get to tell him how much I fucking love him, how his voice grounded me to find my way out.
How I want us to finish this, move away just the two of us and make up for every single moment and milestone lost. I want to make more memories, isolate ourselves from the world, and stare at the stars every single night before we go to bed.
I want to live out the rest of my life with him.
The pain shoots up my leg when I put my weight on my ankle. Hot tears stream down my face like a rapid river. Gritting my teeth and dragging myself into the unknown, I have no clue whether I’ve run the right way, turned back, or headed into the other side of the tunnel.
Two bangs boom through the tunnel, forcing another scream to give away my location.
They were close this time. I felt the air whoosh over my bare arms.
Just when I manage to grit through the pain and bear it, my chest collides with the ground as a weight throws itself on top of me.
“Gotcha.”
The world tilts as I’m flipped onto my back, arms pinned at the side by whoever body slammed me to the ground.
Another figure looms over me, and I don’t need to see clearly to know it’s Conrad.
My skin feels like it wants to tear itself apart under his hateful glare, ears feel like bleeding at the sound of his voice.
“I told you there was one outcome, Indie,” Conrad says, voice thick with a sickening tone.
He leans down, hot breath coasting my skin as I slap my face to the side, the rock and gravel piercing my cheek. The next voice ushers a shudder through my body.
“And he always wins,” Morgan snickers above me.
Conrad starts to undo my belt, and another surge of energy is answered through my prayers. I buck and kick with everything left in me, but when I feel the protection of my belt slide behind my back, my sobs become broken.
“I’ve never tried this in here before. I love how loud it makes your cries.”
No.
It’s going to happen again.
Saint’s name leaves my lips so quietly, it’s the last word I’ll likely ever speak.
“Hurry the fuck up, Conrad. She’s wriggling like fuck…Dammit,” Morgan hisses above me. Despite the fear gnawing at my skin, I don’t stop.
Even as I feel every joint and muscle on fire and demand to cease, I can’t stop.
The tips of my fingers brush against a hard jagged object, and I freeze.
“She’s half your size, Morgan,” Conrad adds with a tut, muttering something to himself.
My button goes next, but I lean just enough to the side that the hold on me allows, fingers scrambling for what I need. My palm cups around it. Morgan’s deep laugh rumbles off the walls, thinking I’ve finally given in to the inevitable when I force myself to relax the best I can.
I have one shot at this.
One blindly led chance at hitting him in the perfect spot.
Please God, let me fucking do this.
The moment Conrad tugs at my cargos, the last surge of strength comes from me to smash the rock into the side of his face.
And it works.
Conrad wails incoherent profanities, his weight off me, and the hold Morgan has on my arms loosens on me.
One foot pushes to the ground as my other knee rears back, sending the heel of my boot smashing into Conrad’s face.
“What the fuck just happened?” Morgan panics, and I send the rock ramming backwards into his face, and the crunch of bone meeting rock has never felt so freeing.
“God dammit!” he screams, and I scramble backwards until I manage to get to my trembling legs to work, numb fingers forcing my zip up and losing patience when they won’t bend for the button.
They didn’t do it.
But I’m now on my last life.
“Put on the fucking lights!” Morgan shouts. Gravel crunches as each of them move around in the dark.
A primal urge takes over as I run faster than I ever have before towards the light, even when I hear another bang, even when I swear bullets zip past my ear. I don’t stop.
Nothing stops me.
I can’t feel my body; it feels completely detached.
I’m running on what’s left of the fire in my soul.
The light at the end feels brighter. The smell of salty air shoots up my nostrils, settling in my tattered lungs, and my legs work faster.
But then it’s over as quickly as it came when arms wrap around my waist and yank me into the darkness.
I fucking knew it. There’s doors along these tunnels; that’s how they’ve been able to sneak alongside me, letting me think I’ve been on the home run to getting out of this hell hole.
The brightness from the tunnel snaps away as I’m swung into an alcove. Blood pounds in my ears, but the warmth that sets my skin ablaze has my breathing picking up for an entirely different reason.
Soon the light at the end of the tunnel doesn’t feel like freedom anymore. It doesn’t pull me towards it like it has during this whole ordeal.
It’s nothing compared to the safety these hands that squeeze me tightly provide. To the thump of the pulse that pounds against my wrist as I wrap my arms around his neck.
To the sense of home my heart recognises in our proximity.
My eyes flutter closed when he whispers in my ear, “Fuck, Indie. I’ve got you, darling. You’re safe.”
My knees buckle at his voice, his real voice. Not the one that’s been in my head. He’s really here.
I collapse against his hold, him gripping me to his body as shouts and bangs thunder around us. “I’m here, it’s me, darling. I’ve fucking got you.”
His hands swipe up and down my entire body rapidly, his touch making my cries grow louder. It’s something I took for granted once, missed it for an entire six years, and then found my need for it once more.
It feels like a shield against the world.
I never thought I’d have it again for a moment back there, and even if I did survive what they had planned, I don’t know if my mind would have allowed it back for a second time.
“You’re fucking freezing,” he growls, whipping off his jacket off, helping me slide my arms into it and zipping it up until the zip jams under my chin.
As soon as it does, I’m back in his arms. Saint presses a harsh kiss into my matted hair, holding the back of my head. It causes a yelp from me as his palm pushes the injury Morgan caused.
And then I feel it.
The hell fire raising up inside him, scorching his flesh and taking my own as collateral.
He steps back enough into the darkness that I can still see him, and slowly, the zip of his jacket comes down.
He tugs the phone out of the jacket I’m wearing. The light from it scans every inch of my still trembling body, and when his eyes look up at me, his pupils have blown so much, the whites of his eyes are almost non-existent.
All I see is death looking back at me.
His voice comes out as a strained whisper, the anger pulled so taut, his throat works overtime to get it out as gently as he can. “Did they—”
“No,” I blurt, rapidly shaking my head as I look at him, and his eyes land on my face. He gently looks under my hoodie as he secures my button for me, all the bruises and cuts standing stark against my skin.
I glance down. My clothes are torn, dirty and bloody. I hadn’t even noticed they’d gotten caught when I slipped from the cage.
Shivers find their way back onto my skin as he bites through every word. “Who. Did. It.”
The morning sun hangs lazily in the sky, bobbing up and down as Saint carries me out the tunnel, arms never loosening their hold, despite the distance we’ve travelled.
Greg and Holly are behind us, Greg dragging a frantic Morgan by the ankle. He’d zip-tied his bloody hands that are now clutched to his chest and mouth taped shut.
I think he’s vomited into the self-made gag five times. Now it just sounds like retching since his stomach contents lay scattered through the tunnel.
Each time he sounds like he is choking, the guys stop, replace the tape, and carry on as if Saint hadn’t forced him to swallow the fingers he removed before we made our way out.