“Damn!” I curse.
James is gone. Just gone.
My legs pump, pain forgotten as adrenaline spikes and floods my system. Blood trickles down my ankle, spurred by my sudden outburst.
I reach the door, don’t even stop to peek outside, just erupt into the night, brandishing my gun and looking for a place to take cover. Bullets whiz by in every direction. I keep running, not knowing which way leads to enemy lines. I roll on the blacktop and take cover behind a Dumpster.
A light rain falls from the black-gray sky, sending a bone-deep chill through me. The street gleams with moisture.
Back pressed to the Dumpster’s cold metal, I try to get my bearings. I wince at the poignant stench of wet garbage. Shots blast all around, near and far. Elliot’s guards, Zara’s people, and IgNiTe, all in one place. Of course, all hell has broken loose.
The main fight seems to be happening on the east side of the building. Twisting my neck, I look around the edge of my hiding place, but I can’t see much besides guns popping in and out of all the nooks and crannies capable of sheltering a person.
The sound of rapid footsteps slapping the ground reaches my ears. I pull back, heart hammering. A man wraps around the west corner of the building and takes cover, pressing his body against the concrete wall. He’s so intent on whoever is after him that he doesn’t even register the chaos going on at this end. I’ve seen him in the mess hall before. He’s an average-size Eklyptor of human appearance, a fairly new specimen.
Without any brusque movements that might attract attention, I scoot to the other side of the Dumpster. Newbie doesn’t notice me. He’s too busy looking scared, head pressed against the wall, lungs pumping as if oxygen will run out in the next hour. Then, without notice, he jumps out and begins shooting back the way he came, screaming like Tarzan. His rifle cracks, cracks, cracks, one bullet after another, the muzzle swinging from side to side as if he’s wielding a water hose.
Suddenly, a ball of lightning hits him in the chest and he flies five feet in the air. His arms shoot back and he glides backward as if crucified. He lands on the asphalt with a heavy thwack, back arched, legs twitching. He goes on jerking for a moment, then goes still.
Aydan.
IgNiTe must be fighting in that direction. The urge to run toward him takes over me. He’s the only one who trusts me, the only one who seems to understand. I shut my eyes, resisting the desire to leave my position. But no one ever manages to run away from their problems, right? Not me, that’s for sure.
More Whitehouse soldiers round the corner, chased by blue-white bolts of light.
I’ve got to move.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, I scoot in the opposite direction, turning my back on the temptation of running toward Aydan. I smile bitterly at the idea that he has become my only friend. Who would have thought? Life is truly a sardonic bitch.
A delivery truck is parked against the building. I run from the Dumpster and sneak between the vehicle and the wall. I walk sideways in the narrow space until I hear voices. I freeze. The tones are low and almost lost in the din of battle, but I can still make them out.
“You’ll be in charge now.” A female voice, barely audible.
“Just stop. You’ll be fine. Tauro and the others are coming to help us,” the other voice, one I recognize, says firmly, though without true confidence.
Luke and Zara are by the front of the truck.
I can see the top of her head from where I am. She’s lying on the ground, while Luke kneels next to her, his back turned. Zara coughs. Luke presses a hand to her forehead.
“Just hold on,” he says. “I called them. They’re coming,” he insists.
“You know what … you have to do,” Zara says.
“Yes, but there’s no need for that.” Luke smooths her hair back.
Something twists in my stomach as I feel his emotions wash over me. He’s in pain. I can sense it as if it were my own. We share no twin connection and I can still feel him. I turn, shut him away as best as I can together with all the questions that spring into my mind.
I will not witness this. It’s impossible to think these beasts have loved ones. I figure them as snakes, laying down their eggs and abandoning them to their fate.
I retreat as silently as I came. Maybe I’m incapable of shooting her in the back, but not beyond wishing her dead. If that also makes me a beast, so be it. Xave was killed by one of the creatures at her club. She leads an army of predators. She deserves to die this death.
There’s no pity when you’re fighting for survival.
I rush out the other way and run past Luke without looking back. I don’t know if he notices me or not, and I don’t care. I pass one of Elliot’s men hiding behind a wooden crate. He startles and points his gun at me, but doesn’t shoot. I recognize him from the mess hall. He must recognize me, too.
A bullet tears my shirt sleeve and strikes the ground behind me. I run a diagonal line and squeeze between two tall hedges that make a delineating barrier between this service road and the one for the adjacent building. A branch cuts across my cheek as I sidle by. When I come out on the other side, two guns are pointed straight at my face. They stay there for a moment, then slowly go down as their bearers notice my matching uniform. A man and a woman stare at me with wide eyes.
“What’s the situation?” I ask, trying to sound in command.
They give me a strange look, probably wondering why the girl who buses their dishes is carrying a gun and acting in charge. Still, one of them answers.
“We need to get Whitehouse out of here,” the woman says. She has a broad back, almost as large as her companion’s. Her dark hair is tightly braided to her head.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I say, irritated.
“Well, he’s trapped inside his getaway car,” she adds.
“Yeah, most of Hailstone’s people are on the other side,” the man says, pointing east. “But I hear shots from the west end, too. They’ve got us surrounded, but they are still on the other side. So why are our people falling like flies? It makes no sense!”
Of course it makes sense. James is here and, from the sounds of it, he’s taking people out faster than bullets can. Still he’s only one man.
“All right,” I say, gesturing back toward the fight. “Let’s see what we can do.”
They nod and turn. I take the man out first, slamming the butt of my gun to the base of his neck. As the woman turns, surprised, I jam an elbow right against her temple. She crumples like a stringless marionette and falls in a heap on top of her partner.
James may not think so, but he’s not alone. At least one member of his crew is here to help—whether he likes it or not.