I catch up with Zara and Luke first. Her arm is around his waist as he helps her, carrying her forward. I slow my pace and try to control my agitated breaths. They continue, hobbling, unaware of my presence.
My fingers tighten around the gun. I take a knee. My injured calf trembles as I go down. Blood has soaked my pants down to my boot. I relish the pain, let it fuel me, let it spur my hatred. There, only yards away, are the leaders of the Hailstone faction. I can kill them both.
I lift the gun, aim for Zara, for the space between her shoulder blades, right under Luke’s arm. She deserves to die as much as Elliot does. She’s as responsible for the chaos in the city, for the deaths, for the humans trapped inside their own heads while parasites puppeteer their bodies.
Slowly, I apply pressure on the trigger. It should be a small opposition, but the curved piece of metal feels like an immovable thing against my finger, a mountain, the faith of a true believer. My hand shakes. I can’t line up my sights.
I am a killer.
I am a killer.
My hand falls to the side. I may be a killer, but I can’t shoot anyone in the back. Not even an Eklyptor. Luke opens the door to the mess hall. As he helps Zara in, he looks back, sees me kneeling on the floor. His blue gaze locks with mine and, once more, a thrill of recognition passes between us. He looks down at the gun, understanding my inability to do what I should.
He lowers his gaze and turns his head toward the door. Frozen in place for a moment, he seems to ponder a million possibilities. Finally, he shakes his head and rushes into the room.
Why couldn’t I pull the trigger? She’s not any different from Elliot.
Elliot … Elliot …
I have to go after him. I can still do some good tonight. This can’t all be in vain. I struggle to my feet, calf shaking.
There’s a sound behind me. I spin, gun outstretched and ready to shoot. A lone figure stands in the darkness, an orange emergency light at his back. A knot forms in my throat. He’s also holding a gun, but his hand rests at his side. I should pull the trigger but, again, I can’t. Some worthless morality stops me. Instead, I take a step back.
Sweat drips into my left eye from the soaked ski mask. I blink and, in that instant, the figure blurs and disappears. Something hits my hand, and the gun flies off and slams against the wall. I whirl, but see no one. From behind, an arm wraps around my neck and squeezes, lifting me off the ground. I try to speak but only a choked sound comes out.
“Which way did they go?”
He releases his hold just enough to let me speak.
I cough. “James, it’s me, Marci.” Hand shaking, I pull the mask off.
James lets me go. I slump against the wall, a hand to my throat.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
I touch a hand to my neck and swallow.
He inhales. His chest swells up, then comes down. He’s wearing his IgNiTe jacket, just like the one he got for everyone. It fits him as if they used a mold of his torso to make it.
When I get my voice, I say, “Same thing you are.” I push matted hair off my forehead, straighten. I look him in the eye. “Trying to kill Elliot. I almost had him.”
There’s still suspicion in his eyes, but we don’t have time for that.
“He went this way.” I pick up my gun and head for the mess hall’s double doors, doing my best not to limp. “Zara did, too.” I don’t look back, don’t wait for him. This mission is my own. He can stuff his distrust.
Opening one door slowly, I peek inside. The area is empty and dark, illuminated only by two sets of bright emergency lights. I push inside, gun at the ready. James follows behind me.
“They must have gone through the kitchen.” I point toward another set of double doors in the back. “There’s an exit that leads to the back of the building.”
I run forward, press my back to one of the doors and crane my neck to look through its small window. At the end of the long kitchen, Luke moves slowly forward. He’s now carrying Zara, who seems to have passed out.
“I see them,” I stage whisper. James is standing in the middle of the mess hall. A deep frown splits his forehead in half. He’s probably wondering if this is a trap, if I’m leading him straight into Elliot’s arms.
“For God’s sake,” I say, “stop standing there. He’s going to get away.”
He just stares at me, unmoving.
“Fine!” I exclaim and head into the kitchen. Luke is at the far exit door, already making his way out of the building. I’ve taken only a few steps in pursuit when a gust of wind rushes past me, sending my hair into my face. I push loose strands away from eyes. James has crossed the long distance to the exit door and is now holding it open. He takes a quick look outside.
He presses a finger to his ear. “Retreat. Target has exited the building. North side.” His words echo gently through the kitchen, almost too soft to be heard.
I blink.
He’s gone.