Clack-clack.
I jolted awake at the rusty tumbling of keys in the lock of my cell door and scooted back against the wall on reflex.
Two men loomed in the entrance with dark sunglasses over their eyes. Each carried a pistol belt, and one clutched a brown leather attaché case in his gloved hands. They wore the uniform of ELSAR regulars, but without the armor and combat gear, slate-colored berets molded to the top of their shaved heads and thin black rubber gloves on their fingers. One was much bigger than the other, muscled and grave, while the shorter of the two with the attaché case stood leaner, but still more than a match for my diminutive frame.
“Hannah Brun?” The big man rumbled, a slight southern drawl to his voice as he waited with both fists at his sides.
Arms wound around myself, I swallowed a nervous lump in my throat and nodded.
They looked at each other, and the shorter one opened his case to pull out a folded set of clothes which he laid on my bunk. “Mr. Koranti sends his apologies for the confusion. You’re to change into these and come with us. Do it now.”
Keeping my eyes away from the reflective surface of their sunglasses, I stripped to my underwear and tugged on the thin orange jumpsuit. I’d glimpsed similar fare on a few of the bloodied prisoners the guards had dragged by, though I couldn’t help but note the stains, rusty red sprayed across uncomfortable places on the cloth. It smelled musty, and I wondered what had become of the last detainee who’d worn this suit.
“Stand and put your forehead on the wall.” Reaching into his pistol belt, the first man produced a pair of shiny metal handcuffs and stalked toward me. “Place your hands behind your back and wait until I tell you to move.”
Heart pounding, I bit my lip and did as they said, the cement cold against my nose.
Why are they putting me in these clothes if we’re going back to my room? Is this another trick? Are they going to take me to some torture chamber, strap me down, and . . .
Shiny cuffs clicked onto my wrists, and one of the men slid an explorative hand up my spine, his fingers stopping at the plastic bump on my neck.
“Head back.” The second man droned, and a black bag slid over my face, bringing up horrible images of Jamie watching the soldiers drag me away.
Boots echoed in the hall outside, and I stood there blindly as another male voice blared through the chilly air, a nasally one that I recognized as the guard who had groped me earlier. “Hey, who the hell are you? Don’t you know you’re supposed to check in with me? I’m the desk sergeant for this block, and no one gets transferred from solitary without authorization from—”
Something crinkled, as if a paper had been slapped against someone’s chest, and the big man with the southern accent snorted in a condescending tone. “Save it, kid. We’ve got clearance from Koranti himself. He’s been spitting nails since you carried off his prize, so unless you want me to include your name in the official report, you can make yourself useful and get the elevator for us.”
Angry sputters came from the Auxiliary, but I heard the paper get snatched back out of his hands as the attaché case snapped shut once more. “I-I’ll get my commander! Captain McGregor will—”
“Do it.” A haughty sneer floated from the second regular, as if he enjoyed watching the Auxiliary squirm. “Call her and see what happens when you make Mr. Koranti wait. Now, I believe the lieutenant here gave you an order, sergeant.”
Two hands gripped my arms, and I was shuffled out into the hall, my brain caught in a whirlpool of confusion, hope, and terror. Behind me, the Auxiliary sulked with muttered curses under his breath, but seemed to be cowed for the time being. On one hand, I already felt safer in the custody of the mercenaries, but I had a feeling my ordeal wasn’t over. These men seemed serious, impatient; dangerous.
Ding.
My pulse leapt at the sound of the freight elevator opening, and boots scuffed on the floor to lead me inside.
“And sergeant?” With a tone dripping in smug sarcasm, the second man called out just before the door closed. “Do get a mop and clean up. Your station smells almost as bad as you do.”
Cables rolled in an electric whine, the doors slid shut, and the elevator lurched upward.
“Comms check?” The big man shifted on his feet as if adjusting something on his uniform, and for a moment, I thought he was talking to me.
“You’re coming in patchy, but the signal’s getting stronger.”
A female voice barely cut through the low ambience of the elevator, and I realized it had to be coming from some kind of earpiece, the radio traffic fringed in static. It surprised me that I could even hear it, but I didn’t move or say anything, just in case the men were unaware of my improved senses.
“We’re on our way up.” His southern accent deepened a little, as if the first regular had been holding back, and he pushed some of the hair clear from the back of my neck. “Sending you the tracker pic now.”
Every limb I had went rigid as a creeping wonder flickered to life in my head.
Wait a second . . . I know that girl’s voice.
Unseen brakes slowed the elevator to a stop, too soon for us to be back at the fifth floor. We’d barely ascended more than two or three. A tiny part of my mind screamed an idea, a possibility, but I didn’t dare hope for it to be true. How could I handle the disappointment if it wasn’t so?
“Yikes, that’s a new one.” The girl sighed over the earpiece speaker. “There’s going to be wires under the skin, six at minimum, eight max. We’re going to have to go with Plan B.”
“Copy that.” Satisfied, the tall man released his fist full of my hair, and to my surprise, smoothed it back into place with an almost gentle touch.
From the direction of the second regular to my right, the clasps on the attaché case popped, and I caught the sound of mechanical ticking, like a dial on an old-fashioned stovetop.
“Two minutes.” The short one hissed between gritted teeth, and the doors slid open with their customary ding. “Here we go.”
Noise rushed in, the bustle of people walking, chattering voices, and ringing telephones. Radio traffic squawked from someone’s walkie-talkie somewhere, and an electric printer grumbled along as it spat out paper. I smelled fresh coffee and mint, polished floor tiles squeaked under my slip-on shoes, and the air warmed into a comfortable, almost cozy temperature.
Through the dark weave of the bag over my head, I glimpsed light, not the fake glow of a bulb, but warm, glorious sunlight.
Outside. How are we so close? Oh, if only they would . . .
Glass swished, and I gasped in shock as a cool breeze hit my arms.
. . . take me outside.
Hard concrete steps lay under my feet, sunlight on my skin, the calls of birds in my ears along with car horns, engines, and a distant train whistle. It seemed too good to be true, like a dream, and I couldn’t say anything, as my eyes moistened with desperation.
Down the steps we went, but the glass swooshed again behind me, and a horribly familiar voice called out above the hum of the city. “Tex?”
“Don’t turn around.” He whispered into the bag next to my left ear, and the first man gave my arm an urgent squeeze as our pace increased. “Just keep walking. No matter what you hear, don’t stop.”
“You two, stop right there!” Crow shouted in building fury, and something in my gut soured at the understanding in her voice.
She knew. This was real, and Crow knew I was leaving. We weren’t going to make it.
I’m not going back. I don’t care if I fall off a bridge with these cuffs on, I’m not going to be someone’s lab rat. Never again.
“It’s about to get spicy.” The second man whispered, and on my right came the dull click of a weapon safety.
“Halt!”
Bang.
Crow’s angry snarl was drowned out by a pistol shot, the bullet smacking off the pavement by my feet.
Bang-bang-bang.
Rapid fire split the air next to me, a hot casing bounced off my left shoulder, and a one strong arm slipped around my waist to lift me off the ground in a burst of speed.
Ka-boom.
In an instant, we were all flying, tumbling through the air to the hard cement below. The explosion tore through the air, shattered glass, and vibrated through my chest like a tom-tom drum.
I slammed down on the pavement so hard that my teeth knocked together, pain flaring in my knees and shoulder.
Heavy gunfire poured in from all directions, and sirens began to screech from atop the buildings nearby. People screamed in panic, car alarms trilled to life, and bits of debris pattered down over me like a rain of dirt.
Someone yanked the bag off my head, and at the turn of a key, the cuffs fell away from my wrists.
Holy cow.
We lay on the street just beyond the metal gates of a square cement building, six stories high. Sandbags and razor-wire coils lined the tall chain-link fence around it, and the steel gates were locked shut between a few concrete guard shacks. A smaller man door in the left-side gate stood ajar, however, and the bodies of a few soldiers lay sprawled over the ground in spreading crimson pools. Burned gunpowder hung in acrid clouds on the breeze, and black pillars of smoke roiled from the shattered front entrance to the enormous building. Bullet holes lined the shiny black cars parked in front of it, and broken glass littered the ground like confetti after a parade. Whatever soldiers were left at the gate hunkered behind the sandbags, firing with their weapons at nearby structures where dozens of muzzle flashes responded in the shadowy windows.
Snap.
A chunk of asphalt turned to powder inches from my face, the rifle round spinning off into the unknown, and I rolled onto my hands and knees.
“For God’s sake, run!” The girl’s desperate cry crackled through an earpiece, and a hand circled under my arm to jerk me to my feet.
“Come on, we’ve gotta go!” His left ear awash in scarlet trickles, the second man waved me on as he and his companion dashed toward a narrow alleyway between two abandoned storefronts.
With my adrenaline running on full blast, I sprinted after them, and the air zinged past my ears from the constant deluge of lead flying our way.
At the end of the alley, we ducked right, and the big man waved his arms at the windows above us with a loud shout. “We’re good, move out, move out!”
With that, muffled calls tittered through the rooms over the shops, and feet pounded on wooden stairs until the back doors to three of the buildings swung open. People in civilian clothes came pouring out, two dozen of them armed with various rifles, shotguns, and handguns. Most of them were boys, some around middle-school aged, and they all fled at top speed, the group splitting into squads of four or five that bolted in different directions.
Eight riflemen ran alongside us, their cheeks red in the cool October wind, shoes thudding on the pavement in eager retreat. One of the fighters had long slender limbs, clothed in green cargo pants and a gray sweatshirt, her ruby-red locks spilling from the forest green hunting beanie atop the girl’s head. She was likely a few years older than myself, with pale skin, and ocean-blue eyes.
Red like a cardinal. I knew I recognized that voice.
“Josh are you . . . are you hit?” She wheezed as we vaulted some trash cans in a backyard, snaking through residential sections like racoons on the run from the exterminator.
Craning his head back, the short man reloaded his Sig on the run, red blood smeared across the side of his face. “I’m fine. Where’s Tiger?”
“He’s on his way.” She grasped a scoped hunting rifle in the half-fingered gloves on her hands, and the girl chambered a fresh round as she went, eyes searching the sidewalks ahead for more soldiers. “He’s going to meet us at Allen’s and then—”
Boom.
Like a massive hand had punched me, I tumbled to the ground, the air knocked from my lungs. Something wet stuck to my face, and both ears rang in shrill protest.
“Drones!” Josh raised his handgun and fired into the sky at the fast-moving specks of black which closed in from just over the rooftops.
Fingers wound into my shirt collar, and the red-haired girl dragged me upright, a hand to the earpiece in her right ear. “We’ve got drones on Fifth Street, everyone heads down!”
Boom, boom, boom.
Lightning fast, black quadcopters the size of dinner plates swooped in, and rammed themselves into the roadway all around us. The resulting detonation shattered windows, caught trash on fire, and threw clouds of dust into the air. It smelled of chemicals, like fireworks on the fourth of July, and I tasted dirt between my teeth. Even a near miss pressed the oxygen from my ribcage, and more whizzed over the buildings, robotic vultures waiting for their chance at our carcass.
Three of our party stopped to fire up at them with their shotguns, and one of the boys clasped his right leg with a howl of agony as another shrapnel bomb went off a few yards away.
“Marty’s down!” His younger friend dropped his gun to try and pick up the wounded boy, and the former’s leg gushed dark red onto the dingy backstreets.
Snap-snap-snap.
I dove for cover on instinct, the bullets singing off the brickwork mere inches from my head.
A squad of men in gray appeared down the block, the staccato of their automatic weapons ringing off the claustrophobic houses in harsh cracks. The boy who stopped for his friend twitched, and slumped to the ground, bits of his brains stuck to the pavement beside the first kid, who himself went limp under the fusillade.
My eyes fastened on the younger boy’s discarded rifle, an antique thing made of wood and steel, with a star and a hammer etched into its receiver.
I’m not going back.
Snatching it up, I worked the bolt like Jamie had taught me, and slammed it home on another long rifle cartridge. It was warm, the wood around the barrel almost hot enough to burn my fingers, but I held it steady to my shoulder, and squinted down the iron sights.
Tasting carbon on my lips, I let the hooded front post fall into place with an exhale and squeezed the cold trigger.
Crack.
The aged weapon bucked hard against my shoulder, and one of the soldiers went down in a crumpled heap.
To my right, the red-haired girl shouldered her rifle, and another mercenary fell.
Crack.
I sent a round into the bushes where one of the soldiers knelt, and beside me, the other boys let loose with al they had, pelting the enemy with more bullets than drops in a rainstorm. Even as we fired, more came from around the opposite side of the street, and the rattle of a belt-fed machine gun climbed into the air. Still, like stubborn badgers in their holes, we hid behind the corners of the buildings, under trash, behind parked cars, and held that tiny intersection with all our might.
I won’t go back.
Numbly I pulled the trigger, ducked bullets, and pawed in the dead boy’s pockets for more shiny brass rounds.
You won’t take me.
I pushed the slippery cartridges into the receiver with trembling fingers and cut my thumb on the sharp extractor claw.
I’d rather shoot myself first.
Tires squealed, and I whirled to see a dented green van careen to a stop in the driveway of the house to our rear.
A grizzled face poked out the driver’s window, and the old man yelled above the din of war. “Get in, get in!”
Oh, thank God.
As one, we hurtled to the back of the ancient machine, and piled in through the open doors in the back. Nothing remained inside save for the bare metal floor, so I clung to the others as the motor revved, the withered old man driving like mad in twists and turns that made the hair on my neck stand up. Bullets smacked into the side of the vehicle, I could taste the burning rubber of our tires in my throat, but on we rolled.
At last, the gunshots began to fade, the sirens growing further behind us, and the big man looked out the back window to search the sky with careful eyes. “We’re clear. We lost the drones.”
In a collective groan of relief, everyone slackened against the peeling walls of the van’s interior, and I did the same, my limbs shaking. The rifle sat, hot and steaming in my lap, my body ached from scrapes and bruises, but I shut my eyes, and did my best to hold down tears of joy.
I was out.
I was free.
“You okay?”
I opened my eyes to see the red-haired girl across from me, her worried gaze on mine. “I think so. Who are you?”
A weary smile crossed her face, and the girl hugged her rifle close to stick one gloved hand out to me. “Andrea Campbell. The guys who got you out are Tex and Josh. We’ve been looking for you for days.”
So that’s why Crow tore my room apart.
“Me?” My eyebrows rose, curious that my suspicions had been validated at last. “Why?”
“Because you’re special.” She settled back against the van side with a pleased sigh and wiped her nose on one tattered sleeve. “With all the traffic going on about you, we figured you must be important, which means we just had to steal you for ourselves. So, you’re one of us now.”
Confused, I looked at the sullen faces around me, finding no uniforms, flags, or standardized weaponry. “Who is us?”
Andrea threw me a devilish wink. “Congratulations, Hannah Brun. You’re officially an enemy of the state. Welcome to the resistance.”