Drew
The sum of my life had come down to two Molotov cocktails and a couple of oxygen tanks. Life hung in the balance—mine, my son’s, and thousands of young Americans’. If I wasn’t successful in my attempt to escape this godforsaken compound, more people would die.
Failure wasn’t an option.
I glanced down at the guard I’d bashed over the head with one of the tanks. Blood spilled from the wound above his ear, puddling into a dark-crimson pond underneath his head. It was regrettable that I’d most likely killed him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I took the gun from his lifeless hand and stuck it in the waistband of my pants. Straightening my spine, I inhaled a jagged breath and lit the alcohol-soaked rag. The oxygen canister leaned against the doors leading to the elevator that would take me above ground. I ducked down low behind the wall just as the cocktail exploded.
Boom!
Debris rained down around me as the force of the blast shook the compound.
I raced towards the exit, the weight of the oxygen tank and explosive device in my hands slowing my progress, as I leaped through the burning remains of the exit charred around the edges like overcooked meat. Voices shouted curses, and heavy footsteps thundered down the corridor.
They were coming.
The elevator shone like a beacon of freedom, but the shaking of my hands made it difficult to press the button that would deliver me. Finally, I made contact and the doors opened. Diving inside, I placed the tank on the floor and jabbed the button multiple times before it finally started to close. Bullets pinged off the metal walls just as the two heavy doors finally shut tight.
One more exit. One more explosion. One last chance to get the hell out of there.
The final Molotov cocktail was heavy in my hand, like it carried with it the weight of the world. And in many ways, I guess it did. So many things tipped precariously on the edge of a cliff, and if one thing went wrong, the world as we knew it would tumble over.
Time, for instance. I would have sixty seconds to get to the outside exit before the guards would be on top of me. Each piece of the plan had to be executed with perfection, and I prayed the Big Man upstairs was looking down on me at that very moment. Although, did God answer the prayers of murderers? Perhaps not. I knew my soul was in desperate shape, but if I was ever to find redemption, this was the first step towards it.
Life seemed to stand still as the elevator rose through layers of earth and bedrock, ascending towards the light of day, or in this case, the dark of night. I’d barely seen the sky since I was taken six months ago. Every Saturday when Angel Rubio, sidekick to The Vicar—leader of Los Caballeros Del Camino—brought Hunter to me, I’d get a few hours in the sun. And when that time was complete, the darkness took over. Only, this darkness held no glimmering stars or brightly lit moon. It was the pitch-blackness of hopelessness and despair.
Evil.
Death.
I had no idea where they were keeping him, but I knew he wasn’t in the compound. I’d searched for months, but I’d found nothing to indicate he was living there. Which meant Matias Vicario, The Vicar, and Angel Rubio, The Angel, were holding him at another location.
I’d been trying to determine where that was, but The Vicar’s visit to me three days ago had moved up my plan of attack.
“Where are we on the antidote?” Matias Vicario didn’t believe in personal space, and he stood so close I could smell his high-dollar cologne. Combined with his lavishly expensive fuchsia suit and his Italian leather shoes, the contrast of his rich, handsome persona with the evil inside his soul made me want to vomit. Sickeningly sweet. A flower of death.
“I’m still working on it. I thought I was close yesterday, but I found the test subject dead this morning.”
The test subject was a rat. The Vicar thought I was still working on humans—and I had been at one point. I’d been given no choice. But I’d found a way to keep them just sick enough that he wouldn’t grow suspicious, without curing them completely.
It was a game—a race against the clock. A deadly game that I was afraid had no real winner, especially now that the key to the antidote’s success had been taken from us. Ivy had been rescued, thank goodness. But without the supply of her blood, I was working with a small supply of her antibodies.
Too many people had already died on my watch, and I knew that, if I ever had hopes of getting through this alive and with some semblance of my soul left intact, I’d have to create a way to slow the virus down. But I was running against the clock, running out of Ivy’s blood, and running out of time.
“What subject? No one has notified me of any deaths. It seems you’ve managed to slow the virus’s progress without actually curing the subjects. Is that intentional, Dr. Bellamy? Because I’d hate to think you’re trying to deceive me.”
His eyes bore into mine, so close I could see the varying shades of brown as he tried to ferret out my secrets. His head tilted as if puzzling out a question he could only find the answer to in my gaze.
“Your eyes really are disconcerting.”
Tell me about it. I’d lived with them my entire life. One brilliant blue, one black brown. It was a medical anomaly that brought out two different reactions: recoil or fascination.
“I’m not doing it purposely. But it makes sense that I’m getting close if I’ve managed to slow the virus down. And I’m close. I know it.”
What he didn’t know was that I’d already figured out how to make the antidote. But once he had it in hand, he’d release the virus, targeting the young people of America. Wiping out our future in targeted attacks all over the US.
So, I was stalling.
He took a step back, as if walking away. “One week.”
“I’m sorry—what?”
“You have one week, Dr. Bellamy, to make that antidote, or I will have to give you some incentive to do so.”
“I don’t know if I can have a functional antidote in one week, sir.”
“The life of your son should be motivation enough. You have one week. If at the end of that week you don’t have good news for me, we will inject your son with the virus.”
“No!” The cold, stark reality of my situation fell heavy on my soul. I was in a lose-lose situation. I’d known that from the moment I was taken from outside my private research facility in the suburbs of Atlanta.
“I’m afraid you’ve given me no other choice.”
Hunter’s life depended on me. America’s future depended on me. Perhaps the fate of the international world depended on me.
No big deal. Easy-breezy. This obscure scientist was a perfect fit for the job.
Right.
Once the elevators chimed open, I’d be greeted by the two guards who had no doubt been radioed about my attempt to escape. Two more, who would have been making their rounds on the grounds when the first explosion took place, would be in pursuit to assist. Sixty seconds would be all I would have to fight my way out of this hellhole.
I crouched low behind the control panel and waited. Seconds ticked by, feeling more like hours.
Ding!
Slowly, the doors opened, and bullets ricocheted off the polished walls. Inhaling deeply, I blew out the breath to slow my racing heart. Silently counting to three, I whipped around the edge of the door, staying low to the ground, and took aim at the closest guard. Two shots to his middle and he dropped like a log.
I fell hard on my butt as I ducked back behind the control panel, one hand on the doors open button as I caught my breath. I wasn’t a trained operative, but being a single mom in the Atlanta area meant I’d taken my share of gun-safety classes and frequented the firing range. I knew how to handle a gun, and I knew where to aim.
“Dr. Bellamy, I don’t want to kill you, but I will. Slowly, come out with your hands above your head where I can see them.” The slight elevated tone of the man’s voice gave away his fear. He would underestimate me, but there was a small part of him that hoped he was right in doing so.
I waited, listening for the quiet footsteps that I knew would mean he thought he’d gained the upper hand. Sure enough, the heavy padding of his feet drew him closer. Blowing out another breath, I knelt on one knee and whirled around the door, firing two more shots, hitting him square in the chest.
His gun dropped to the floor, skittering across the tile with a screech, and his body fell hard, a stream of blood spurting from the open wounds—a red river of death flowing along white vinyl squares.
I jumped up from my position, grabbing the oxygen tank and the cocktail, and raced towards the doors. I tried them first to make sure they were locked. My sixty seconds were up, and I could hear the men outside pulling on the handles and calling out for their friends. The elevator hummed as it rose back to the surface.
Out of time.
Leaning the tank against the inside, I glanced around for someplace to take cover. This was the trickiest part. The building was small, and there weren’t sufficient places to hide. Only a small broom closet on the other side of the elevator—but it would have to do. I just prayed the door would hold against the blast, keeping me from deadly harm.
I hurried back to the door of the broom closet, whipping it open and pausing to gauge the distance to the exit. It was a little farther than I’d hoped, so my aim had to be perfect. I said a silent prayer to the God I hadn’t spoken to much over the last few years since Zoe’s death and lit the fuse, tossing it as hard as I could towards my makeshift bomb.
Slamming the broom-closet door shut, I hit the floor just as the explosion rattled the tiny building. My ears pealed a high-pitched, single-note song, as dust and matter obscured my vision. Stumbling towards the broom-closet door, I pushed it open to find the remains of the building burning, a dead carcass lying in wait for buzzards to descend. Nothing was left but the elevator shaft.
Shouts erupted from the treeline, and I didn’t wait for them to draw closer. I took off at a sprint, tripping and swaying from the blast. It was about fifty yards of open space, and I was too rattled to shoot and run.
More shouting rose up behind me as the doors to the elevator opened, and a group of guards took stock of what was left of the small building. There were no walls, just burning timbers, the elevator shaft, and the broom closet.
God bless America.
Maybe he’d heard me after all.
The dirt next to me erupted, pelting me with bits of grass and rock. They were shooting at me.
Twenty-five yards to go.
I ran with a speed and energy I didn’t know I possessed, closing the distance between me and the trees so quickly they blurred and bounced as I drew closer.
Fifteen yards.
More grass and rock spewed up, peppering my legs, stinging my bare skin. I didn’t stop.
Five yards.
I dove headfirst into the treeline just as something bit into my arm. Crying out, I tumbled head over feet. For a moment, I lay still on the ground, taking stock of my situation. I was alive. I’d made it to the treeline. But my arm hurt like a mother.
Carefully, I touched the burning flesh, feeling a warm stickiness on my fingers. I glanced down to see my hand covered with dark-red blood. I’d been shot.
I took stock of my surroundings—thick trees and heavy brush—but it was the light shining just over the hill that got my attention. I heard the guards’ voices just beyond the trees and knew they’d be upon me in seconds. I had to go. Wounded or not, if I stayed right there, I’d be dead.
The yellow lights called to me. If I could circle back, perhaps I could reach the structure shining like a beacon in the distance. Was that where they were holding Hunter? It had to be.
There was nothing I could do while the guards were hot on my heels, though. Jumping to my feet, I took off running through the dark forest. There was only a partial moon out, so the light wasn’t sufficient for sprinting through trees. Branches tugged at my clothes and hair as I pushed through, needing to put as much distance as I could between me and the thugs that worked for Matias Vicario. The Vicar.
I glanced behind me as I raced for my life.
Bam!
The wind flew from my lungs as I toppled over something hard and unforgiving. A tree? Only, the tree fell with me, landing on top of me with an oomph. Weird. Since when did trees make noises? The sound was followed by a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.
The blast must have addled my brain. I scrambled away from the talking tree, just as strong arms gripped mine.
“Ouch!” My voice was too loud for the quiet of the night.
“Shh. Shut up or you’re going to get us both killed.”
Okay, not a tree. Definitely a man. A very rude and obnoxious man at that.
I pulled away from his hold, only to add more pain to my throbbing arm. A yelp ripped from my tight lips against my will, and the man let go of my arms, only to pull me against a hard chest.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Did you cause those bombs to go off?”
“What are you doing out here in the woods?”
“Dammit, woman, do you always answer a question with a question?”
“Do you?”
Another string of curses fell out of his mouth. He let me go, only to help me to my feet. I stood facing a man with dark paint on his face, his light eyes shining with a hint of annoyance and maybe amusement.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
He pulled me by my good arm, dragging me in a different direction than I’d been headed. I dug my heels in, rearing back against his hold.
An exasperated sigh left his lips as his fists landed on his lean hips.
“What?” The word was ground out with frustration and disbelief, but whatever. I was the one running for my life here.
“I can’t go that way. They have my son. I think they’re holding him just over that ridge.” I pointed to the faint lights that shimmered just beyond the horizon.
“If you keep going the way you were headed, you’d still end up dead… at the bottom of a ravine. This way.”
“I have to get to Hunter.”
“We have to get out of here.”
“Look, mister. I don’t know who the hell you are or what you are doing out here in the woods, but if you think I’m going to go with you when my little boy may be right up there on that ridge, you’re nuts.”
“If you don’t leave now, those guys with the guns will shoot you.”
“I’m not leaving until I have my kid.”
The man sighed, the sound weary and resigned.
“Fine. We’ll get your son. But first we have to go this way.”
He nodded in the other direction as he took off soundlessly without me. I had a split second to make a decision. Follow this man I didn’t know and hope he’d help me rescue my son, or end up dead, either shot by The Vicar’s goons or lying at the bottom of a ravine.
Didn’t seem like I had much of a choice.