Hunted

  Adrenaline rushes through my body like electricity through a live wire. My heart jumps in my chest as my pulse beats loudly in my ears. A hand pushes me forward, and I extend mine outward, connecting with Cole’s backpack.

  We move out of the training room, each connected by a hand to prevent from getting lost in the labyrinth of the underground.

  A crashing sound splits the highly charged silence.

  My skin is on fire. We need to escape. Now.

  Cole picks up the pace and turns left. My legs feel heavier under all the equipment I carry, but I do my best to keep up with him. Every second counts.

  I don’t hear Zeus growling as much, so I hope that means we’re going unnoticed despite our gear rattling around. But then I see little red dots marking the walls around us, and I know the worst has happened.

  “Get down!” I yell.

  Cole makes a fast right turn, and I stumble behind him.

  A barrage lights up the darkness. Green and red tracers zip past, shattering the quiet, and illuminating the space around us. Bullets lace the wall, sending rock fragments everywhere. Grace screams, and my ears vibrate with Cole’s M4 return fire. He bangs out three bursts and then repeats. Only he and Bruno have night-vision scopes, so they are the only ones who are able to shoot. The rest of us hobble along in the dark, trying not to get shot.

  “Hurry, follow me,” Cole orders over the commotion.

  I don’t know where Cole’s taking us at first. I’m too busy ducking my head and following him in the eerie lighting. It takes me back to when my parents took Keegan and me to see fireworks when we were children. I remember sitting on a blanket with my family and sharing laughs and food together. I remember my mom’s face as my dad popped open a bottle of champagne and poured her some. They clinked glasses right before the fireworks began.

  Keegan was never as silent as when the first one exploded over our heads. Green, and red, and blue, and shapes of hearts and smiley faces lit the night sky. I couldn’t believe fireworks came in so many variations. My favorites were the glittery ones that descended like stars. I remember looking back at my parents as they sat together. Dad’s arm was around Mom, and they looked so happy with the light of the fireworks reflecting off their faces. But it was Keegan’s smile I loved most.

  Remembering my family like that, together and happy, hits me square in the gut. I’m pulled back to now. But now, it’s not fireworks, it’s bullets spraying us.

  I step through rubble. A haze of smoke and dust thickens the air, and I inhale the ashes. My nose burns with the smell of lead. As we run, I try to clear my throat, which feels as though it’s coated with paste.

  Cole makes more turns. The hallways seem to narrow the farther out we go. Bruno lights the guards up from the tail end of the line, his gun steadily barking. I glance over my shoulder.

  Roméo’s chin quivers, and he winces with every boom and crack. His hands fumble along the wall as Grace follows behind, hunching under the weight of her backpack. She ducks her head, keeping it low. Her eyes lift to mine, her expression sad and fearful. No, stay focused.

  All I hear is the pop, pop, popping and the bang, bang, banging of rapid gunfire. I clench my gun with clammy hands as my backpack straps cut into my tense shoulders.

  Cole quickly opens the main hatch as the hammering of the guns behind us grows louder. He wrenches the bolts open and slams the door outward. It bangs against the ground. A small cloud of dust shakes upward.

  He turns toward us and waves us forward as moonlight creeps into the tunnel. I step out behind him, ready for anything, and sprint across the street. The others trail behind me, each one of them gently tapping the one in front to let them know they’re safe. I exhale with relief when everyone shows up in one piece. We sit in a position half-sheltered by darkness, across the street from the entrance. I smash my back against a wall as Zeus sits obediently beside me, twitching with a thirst for more action.

  Bruno pulls a grenade from his belt. He glances at Cole, who nods.

  “Man, if I throw this … we’re never getting back down there,” Bruno says.

  “Toss it,” Cole says in a low voice.

  If we can’t go back inside, then where’ll we go? And if we get the medical records, then what? I catch Roméo’s face and wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

  The firing ceases. But my head still thrums with the echo of bursting guns. I squint to see inside the dark entrance. The hatch has been pushed to the right by Cole. It’s gray and well camouflaged, tucked between two cement block buildings. A dark green metal awning of some sort connects them, sagging overhead. It’s a wonder it hasn’t collapsed yet. It casts just enough shadow over the entrance that most wouldn’t suspect its presence. Bruno stands outside the hatch, waiting with steady hands.

  They should be approaching the narrow hallway leading into the wider berth of the tunnel. My finger tightens on the trigger of my gun. My breathing’s ragged, my vision focused. They must know they’re vulnerable, that, for once, we have the upper hand.

  In a split second, Bruno pulls the tape off the spoon, slips the pin out, and throws it into the tunnel. I hear it tumble through the hallway. Voices echo into the street as they scream and scramble to get away.

  “Cover!” Bruno shouts. His hulking form races across the street as we all dive for positions of safety. I yank Zeus against me, cowering against the building.

  The grenade explodes. A puff of ash and smoke and dust spirals above the entrance. Bruno grabs another grenade and lobs that one in too.

  The hatch is almost blown off, hanging by one hinge and punctured with little chunks of cement. Slowly, the metal awning hanging between both buildings drops down with a crash. The brittle edges of it slice into the ground. Anyone within a few block’s radius had to have heard that.

  I hold my breath, waiting. Bruno jumps out from his position of cover and holds his gun at the ready. He approaches the hatch. He carefully lifts the sharp metal edge of the awning so he can peer inside. Thick, gray clouds of smoke billow out, and he waves Cole to come closer for a look.

  Cole follows him, holding his gun tight to his shoulder, as Bruno steps down into the tunnel. Their bodies disappear. I grit my teeth. I feel so helpless, but I know if anyone’s going to get it done, it’ll be Bruno and Cole.

  Gunshots split the humid, moonlit night. I jump to my feet, exposing myself, but not caring. Zeus barks, and we both sprint across the street.

  Not Cole, please. Not anyone.

  In the midst of the trailing smoke, I watch as Bruno and then Cole exit the tunnel. Paths of sweat form light streaks on their grimy faces. Relief washes over me, and my shoulders relax. They’re alive, uninjured. Cole’s eyes meet mine, but his posture doesn’t ease a bit. Even in the moonlight, I see his forearms flexing.

  “All clear,” Bruno says.

  “Who was that?” Roméo asks.

  “Guards, an entire squad,” Cole says in a strained voice. “And there’ll be more.”

  I turn around, and see Grace struggling under the heavy load she carries. I run to her and offer to help her off her knees, but she shrugs me off.

  “Can I carry something for you?” I ask as I reach out my arm.

  “No, dear,” she says too quickly. “I can do this, but thank you.”

  That’s when I notice numerous people standing in the street. They come silently, and their eyes follow our every move. I swallow hard and put a sweaty hand on Zeus’s back. He seems as uneasy out here as he did underground. He won’t sit, and he woofs at every sound.

  “Oh my,” Bill says. “Follow me.”

  His voice sounds steady and sure. The way he carries himself stuns me, not what I’d expect after witnessing all the drinking he does on a daily basis.

  “Lexi, stay within arm’s length,” Cole says. “I’ll shield you with my body if it comes to that.”

  “They’re not going to shoot me.”

  “And what if they do? Even by accident? I’m sorry, but I’m not
willing to take that chance.”

  Bill leads us through alleyways and streets. He moves quickly, like a fox. Now I know why I never paid him much attention before. Though always drunk and obnoxious, he’s adept at keeping under the radar.

  He avoids wide, open areas, so we dredge through trash in the murkiest alleyways, and then he stops, lifting the lid of a sewer. You’ve got to be kidding me. He raises an eyebrow, sensing my thoughts.

  “Want to hide from them?” he asks. I nod. “You first.”

  I carefully step onto the first slippery rung. My hands slide down the wet ladder as I struggle to hold on with all my equipment. The farther we travel downward, the lower the temperature drops. I wrinkle my face as the stench of decaying bodies, garbage, and stale water hits me. This is worse than I thought.

  “And how come we weren’t informed this existed?” Cole asks as everyone reaches the bottom.

  “Don’t know, man, but I’m not complaining,” Bruno says.

  “Well, good thing I know about it, huh?” Bill says in whisper. Even then, his voice carries.

  “Let’s not forget there are cameras everywhere in the Hole.” Bruno says. “They might be following us.”

  “Let them try,” Bill says. He begins cutting a path down the dark tunnel.

  My boots make a sucking sound with each step, and water trickles from somewhere. Luckily, I can’t see what I’m stepping in.

  “This tunnel runs about one hundred yards,” Bill says. He cautiously peeks around the corner. “The first Commander began construction on it, but after a while, it was abandoned.”

  “Really? I can’t imagine why,” I say, almost gagging.

  It’s quiet, except for our feet sloshing through inches of liquid. Then something brushes against my leg.

  “Zeus, please tell me that was you,” I say. My voice comes out shaky. But I already know it wasn’t Zeus because his tail whips my knee from in front of me.

  “Something run along your foot?” Bill asks. “Probably just a rat.” He flips on a light, and the hairy bodies skitter across the floor, through the muck.

  “Ahhh, I hate rats,” I say.

  “Would you prefer bullets flying around your head?” Bill asks.

  “Smart-ass.”

  “I’m going to throw up,” Grace says. She stops, her bag slides to the side of her back, and I catch it. She heaves violently and then stands up straight.

  “Are you okay?” Bruno asks as he pats her back.

  She swallows and gives a thin smile. “I’m fine; it’s the smell.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” Bruno says. But his tone falls flat compared to the usual jokes he tells.

  Bill stays close to the wall on the left side, stopping occasionally to make sure all of us follow. Every noise carries, especially the jangling of our equipment.

  “What in the world … is that?” Grace asks.

  Cole flips his flashlight across the tunnel, and I find myself groaning with disgust. My hands fly to my mouth.

  A body lies there half decomposed, its clothing stretched across bloated, green-tinted skin, liquid dripping from its nose and mouth. As soon as the stench reaches my nose, I don’t know if I will be able to keep from puking.

  “Don’t look,” Cole says, trying to redirect me with his body.

  But I’ve already seen the maggots crawling through the nose of the body. My breath catches, and I turn my head away. This isn’t real. This isn’t the closet with the dead cat and the maggots weaving in and out and all over me. I’m not being tortured by my stepfather anymore. But my arm begins burning to the point that I tear at it with my hands.

  “Lexi, you’ll all right, I’m right here,” Cole says. I realize I’ve left claw marks on my arm and have to shake my head free of the nightmarish memories. “You’re bleeding.” He sounds breathless.

  “I am?”

  “Not a lot,” he says, wiping my arm with his bare, rough hand. Sure enough, when he pulls it away, blood stains his fingers.

  “Poor person probably came down here to die,” Bill says.

  “What a terrible way to go,” Bruno says. “Smelling like crap.”

  “Bruno!” Grace says, then she turns to Bill. “Please, I’m begging you to hurry up.”

  “Only a few more … ” Bill stops and then tugs on a ladder hanging from a black-stained cement wall. “Ah, here it is.” He smiles. “Going up?”

  “Oh, for the love of God, yes,” Grace says.

  Bill climbs up the ladder, carefully removing the lid of the sewer with a scraping sound.

  “All clear,” he says.

  With the delicate balance of tightrope walkers, we somehow manage to get back up the ladder and enter the street without being seen. Strangely, the sewer comes out into an alley between two shacks.

  “It’s no wonder you survived here so long,” I say in a whisper.

  Bill grins at me, light gleaming off his teeth. “Being crazy has its advantages.”

  “You’re not that crazy,” I say. “Just different, but it’s a good different.”

  “Lusty, I must say, you’re my favorite person here.” We smile at each other, and he pats my shoulder.

  When I turn around, Grace holds onto the wall and stumbles out of the sewer. Her skin has a chalky undertone as she turns and throws up on her own shoes. My stomach drops. I put a hand on the back of her neck and give her a squeeze as she finishes. When she comes up, her eyes are watering, and she purses her lips to keep from crying. But there’s no time to rest. And even if there was, she motions us forward, not wanting to make us wait on her account.

  Bill leads us toward the hospital, the tall, dark outline of it just a few blocks away. I notice there are no stars, just a velvet blanket of navy blue laid over us and the large moon glowing white as it hangs suspended above.

  Mosquitoes and flies crawl all over us. I instinctively whack and shoo them away from my face.

  We get through one block, discreetly staying in alleyways packed with broken furniture, trash, bodies, and countless other obstacles. But the next block is a street. Already, my heart beats in my ears, and my legs feel numb beneath my knees. The Sinners have to be hungry, and here we are, running around, with food packed onto our backs. God save us. If I were them, I’d want to hunt me down too.

  Cole taps my shoulder, letting me know he’s behind me, and I move ahead. I keep my head on a swivel and scan in patterns. I check rooftops, houses, and especially dark doorways and windows. All of my senses work together, keeping me tense and alert.

  I hear screaming and pause, flicking my eyes in the direction of the noise. Two Sinners fight each other in the street as a small crowd surrounds them. Children are pushed to the back of the crowd, an attempt to shield them from whoever’s making the grunting and moaning noises.

  Bill stops and points to a doorway. I follow him inside. He peers through the single window in front with a frown on his face.

  “We can’t move until they’re done,” he says.

  A hand rests on my arm. I turn, and it’s Grace. She nods her head left. I follow her gaze as the street noise grows louder.

  “They’re fighting over food,” she says in a low voice.

  Bill shakes his head. “It’s heartbreaking,” he says.

  “But there are children,” she says. Her mouth’s set, and her hands rest on her hips.

  “Grace, we can’t help them right now,” Bill says. Before he can finish, Grace opens the door and stoops in the entryway.

  “Pssst,” she says.

  “What are you doing?” Bruno asks.

  “Psst,” she says again. A young boy glances in her direction. His filthy face and sad eyes fill my heart with compassion. I know exactly what she’s doing, and it makes me love her more.

  “Come here,” she says.

  “Grace, you can’t. You’re risking exposure,” Bill says. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he grunts, exhaling a frustrated sigh.

  The young, dark-haired boy wanders over. He wears
a t-shirt that’s too small for him by about three sizes, tattered jeans, and no shoes. At first, he seems afraid. His eyes widen, and his mouth parts in awe as he takes in the sight of our group and all our equipment.

  Grace gives me a beckoning look. With trembling hands, I unzip part of her backpack and pull out a protein bar.

  He jumps back, hands flying in front of his dirtied face.

  “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” I say. He slowly drops his hands.

  He reaches out. I notice the dirt under his fingernails and the creases of his small hands as I place the bar in his palm, giving him a tentative smile. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. The boy rips open the wrapper and shoves the entire bar into his mouth, eyes warily scanning us.

  The crowd begins breaking up. I hear Bill’s impatient foot tapping beside me as the boy swallows his last bite and licks his lips.

  “Do you have any more? My sister’s starving too,” he says in a quiet voice.

  “Yes,” I say, before Bill can answer. I give him two more bars and then zip Grace’s sack back up.

  “Dahlia,” he whispers. A little girl standing in the street alone, staring at the group of Sinners, raises her head, trying to locate him. “Dahlia, come here.”

  “Now this is just great,” Bill mumbles. But I don’t pay him any mind when I see her.

  A head of bouncy, scraggly curls frame an almost luminescent complexion with large, almond-shaped eyes and full lashes. She reminds me of a china doll. The boy waves her over quietly.

  At first, she seems frozen. Her eyes move nervously between the dispersing crowd of Sinners and us.

  “Hurry up,” the boy says. I see the hesitance in her eyes as she slowly steps toward us. She twists her fingers around in front of her. When she gets to the doorway, the boy pulls her inside. “Look, they have food!” He holds out the protein bar, and her eyes light up.

  “And we can eat it?”

  “Yes,” her brother says.

  He hands her the protein bar, and she shoves it into her mouth. Her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk as she chews.

  “We haven’t had anything to eat for two days,” he says. His hands go to his stomach, and he rubs it as his eyes fall to the floor. He kicks dirt around with his bare feet.