“Here,” she says, breathless as she runs up alongside the entrance. Her team of ten has been reduced to three. “Hurry! Reinforcements already in route.”
What reinforcements?
Genesis’s team charges into the training center, going through rooms and grabbing whatever they can find, like they planned. Guards desperately try to get into the center, much like we did. I dive under a knife as it lurches at me, firing off a round into his abdomen. He slumps, but another’s always waiting.
Two bullets left.
I’m bathed in blood, and my clothes stick to me. Is it my blood or someone else’s? I don’t know. But I can’t tear my eyes from the guards pounding at the entrance. For all I know, everyone else is dead, and I’m still here. That’d be true hell.
With swift efficiency, I dispatch whoever comes close. My gun runs out of ammo so I drop it, pulling out my knife. The tearing of skin reminds me of when my mom used to sew. She’d often rip material. Skin, cloth. It sounds grotesquely alike.
Where is Cole?
“Hold them off as long as you can,” I tell Bill as I head into the training center. I know guards are in here, and I need to protect the rest of the team. Inside, I see the elevator connected to the hospital’s been closed off. A layer of yellow tape is plastered over it. I check the back hallway that leads to the staircase where the guards ambushed me before. It too is closed down with tape. But no relief comes as I check the rooms, knowing guards are still inside and could ambush us from within.
The sound of footsteps alerts me as I turn a corner. I slow, but not before a man swipes at me with a baton. He slams the side of my knees, sending me toppling over. I swear someone’s screaming. Maybe it’s me. Pain shoots up and down my legs like wildfire. My knife skids away as my fingers instinctively feel to make sure my legs aren’t broken.
“Punishment time,” the man says. A flash of something appears in his right hand. I close my eyes, expecting him to end it—end this—but nothing happens.
Just a grunt. And the sickening sound of puncturing flesh.
Hands tug me into a standing position, and when I open my eyes, Bruno’s holding me up. He’s smeared with blood and sweat. “Come on, Lexi, stand up,” he says. “We can’t stay here.”
“Bruno, I can’t walk.” With every step he forces me to take, I have to grit my teeth to keep from screaming. My own voice echoes in my ears.
“You have to,” he shouts. “Fight through the pain!”
“I … can’t.”
His eyebrows pull together, and he kicks into gear. “No man gets left behind.” Like a soldier, he clamps down on his emotions as he wraps his arm around my midsection and drags me with him. From my point of view, our cause appears hopeless. The guards at the entrance have us pinned inside because we don’t have enough people left to keep from being flanked. Bill and the others have resorted to stealing guns off dead bodies.
We’re not getting out of here. I resign myself to die fighting—and take as many guards with me as possible.
In the background, a machine gun spits frantically. They’re going to take us out. Alarm bells ring through me, and I move to cover, but Bruno’s grip doesn’t loosen, nor does he jump for cover like the others.
“Here comes Cole!” he yells.
Before I can respond, guards are mowed down as a truck with a fifty-caliber machine gun whips up to the entrance. On the back, with the machine gun, stands Cole. He’s streaked with ugly black oil stains, his veins pulse in his muscular arms, and the intensity in his stare is enough to scare even me. Yet, relief pulses through me. So they did have a plan …
Genesis rushes past me pushing a long, orange cart with a crap-load of weapons. She and Bill begin tossing everything into the back of the truck, not stopping to check on me or Bruno. Another team member joins them, pushing more supplies in, and even a med kit.
“Help!” someone yells from behind us.
Bruno turns around, and I glance over my shoulder. A revolt member drops a heavy weapon on the floor, too tired to carry it.
“Go,” I tell Bruno.
“Lexi—”
“Get him!”
Bruno reluctantly props me against the wall and leaves to assist the other person.
As he’s leaning down to pick up the huge gun, three guards appear out of a side hallway. First, they observe the weapons being moved. Then they notice the bodies lying all over, and lastly, they spot Bruno. Anger flickers through their eyes with the realization of what we’re doing. Dread causes my stomach to sink.
I’ve got no way to defend him.
I’m helpless. Worthless again.
The first guard steps forward. “What the h—”
Bruno shoots him. The other two guards spin around and fire back at Bruno, who dives behind a heavy metal desk. Beside him, the tired revolt member looks down at his stomach. He moves his hands to cover it, but blood flows through his fingers in thin ribbons. He collapses, making a sucking noise.
He’s the last of Genesis’s team.
The guards position themselves a few feet between Bruno and me. I use my hands to move my battered body along the wall; my palms are raw and bleeding. But no matter what, I won’t leave him here. Behind me, the others scream from the truck. The guards are coming in another wave, and if we don’t hurry, we’ll be stuck in here like fish in a barrel.
Bruno peeks above the desk, and the larger guard shoots at him. Photos and papers flutter through the air, heavy frames crashing to the floor when the bullets glance off the walls. Bruno’s head disappears behind the desk, his rasping groans audible.
“No!” I scream, against every fiber in my body telling me to be silent.
The shorter guard spins and sees me. His smile’s devilish as he assesses my limping figure. His eyes go to my bloody hands, where I hold a knife, the only weapon I have to protect myself. Glaring, I struggle to get into a defensive position.
Outside, gunfire rakes the glass of the entrance, and it shatters. I recognize Cole’s steady voice between rounds, and Genesis shouts something at me or them, I can’t be sure. I flick my glare back to the oncoming guard. The rest fades into the background.
“Where’s your lover now?” he laughs.
He lunges at me, and my knees give way, so I crawl backward. He misses me by an inch, and his eyes hold an evil gleam as he starts forward again. I scoot back, and my fingers find a crevice along the wall that enables me to pull myself into a standing position. My opposite hand trembles as I hold my knife ready. Any second, I’m expecting him to grab me but he waits patiently, almost mocking me with his intense stare. Commanding my legs to move, I jump at him, slashing my knife across his knuckles as he backs away. He hisses, his smile leaving his face. I lose balance and almost topple forward, finding an awkward balance on my left leg.
“Lexi, I’m coming,” Bruno says.
Thank God he’s alive? His voice distracts me for a moment, but gunshots bring me back into focus. The guard prowls around me like I’m a steak ready for chopping.
He has to know Wilson wants me alive, right? With renewed energy, I make a move. But he anticipates it and comes in swiftly to attack.
“Get away from her!” Bruno screams.
A sting. A crunch. And then there’s cool metal slicing through me, my jaw drops in shock. The taste of steel fills my mouth.
He plunges it deeper, and I’m hollering. He spits in my face and pulls the weapon out. As if in a dream, I fall to the floor, seeing only a vague image of Bruno’s terrified face heading toward me.
It’s over now. I’m dead. I’ve made peace with my life, and this isn’t such a bad way to go. I fought hard and gave it my best shot. But sometimes we fall short of our goals and they die right along with us. Or, in this case, with me.
I thought it’d be brighter on this side, but it’s not. Just a blur of grays and blacks flashing over my head. Occasionally, there’s a smudge of light, and I grin with hope. Maybe I’m finally headed home, to my dad and Keegan, Alyssa and Grace. Maybe I?
??ll finally have that eternal peace I’ve always dreamt of. Wilson can’t touch me here, and I’m so tired of fighting, of aching with hunger, of losing loved ones. Wilson wanted me alive … but I find gratification and peace knowing he’s not getting what he wants. I hope he falls over dead of shock when he hears the news. My mom used to tell me that in heaven, there were no tears or sickness or pain. I always believed her … only now, I’m not so sure I’m there yet.
If I’m here, why isn’t anyone greeting me? Where are those pearly gates everyone talks so much about?
I attempt to stretch my fingers, but they’re lead. All those times I listened to my mom. Maybe she was wrong about heaven after all. But I’m not ready to believe that, not yet.
I’m happy enough in this dark dreamland. I readily block out the angry voices, the piercing sounds of a firefight. In a weird sort of way, I feel caught between two planets, stretched by gravity. I laugh. If anyone could hear the conversation I’m having with myself, they’d think I’m a lunatic.
My mind drifts to other things. Like the way my dad used to sit bent over his desk, poring over paperwork at night. His lamp would burn into the late hours. Sometimes, I’d interrupt, and he’d stop to have a bowl of cereal with me in the kitchen. He always slurped his milk when he was done, which reminds me of Zeus. Mom seemed to know when we were up late, and she’d scold Dad in the morning. He would wink at me like it was our secret because we both knew it wouldn’t be the last time.
Mom. I’m not angry with her anymore, even though I don’t understand her. You can’t be angry in heaven anyway, right? A weird image creeps into my head, and I allow it, having nothing else to do. It’s of Mom, in the study, reading Dad’s papers after he passed. Her forehead was wrinkled, and she kept pushing her hair away from her face, murmuring words that were once his. Beside her was a small box of things made out of glass. I only knew that because when I startled her from the doorway, her elbow bumped into them, and one of them shattered inside the box. She cursed, which she never did. I suspected it was the drugs she tried her hardest to hide from me. Even here, the disgust I felt for her then boils up within me. Never mind that now.
Such odd things that come to mind when you’re on your way to heaven.
“Shit, oh no, oh shit,” a voice says. That’s strange, I didn’t think God allowed that kind of language in heaven. “What should we do?”
“Apply pressure,” someone else says. He sounds vaguely familiar. Something itches at the back of my mind. “Hurry.”
Pressure. Someone must be sitting on me, and now my stomach’s on fire. Burning pain shoots through my body, and my insides want to combust. Is this judgement for my past? I always pictured it differently …
“She’s dying!”
“Shut the hell up,” someone growls viciously.
I wonder who they’re talking about because it sounds like they need help. There’s nothing I can do, but the helplessness makes me feel inadequate.
“Get a doctor! We can’t fix this.”
“Sutton’s the only one, and he’s not coming. We’re screwed. Screwed!”
Sutton. The name rings a bell. I know him. His image is blurry as it comes to mind—gray hair, sad green eyes, white lab coat … Yes, I definitely know him.
“Three o’clock incoming,” someone yells.
Ouch. This ride to heaven isn’t painless at all. Maybe that’s how it works, though. You get a ride, but when you get there, your pain disappears. And right now would be a great time to arrive.
“We’re stuck,” a voice says. From the sound of it, these people are scared out of their wits.
“Shut. Your. Trap.” A female voice scratches against my brain, sharp and forceful. I clench my eyelids, willing a face to come to mind.
Genesis.
“Guys, help,” a different voice begs. “The bleeding … won’t stop.”
“Move. I’ll do it,” Genesis snaps.
Is Genesis in heaven with me? It’s possible, after all, I’m no judge of people’s souls. But, if she’s here, she sounds angry and terrified. Confusion rocks me to the core. My arms and legs are cement, and no matter how hard I try, I’m unable to move them. Their voices are clear and recognizable, but a thick fog blocks my memory from recalling more than that.
“What’s her pulse?” Bruno asks.
“Check it!” Genesis yells at him.
“I am,” Bruno barks back.
More pressure. More burning. If I could coil into a tiny little ball, I would.
“It’s weak and racing. I can’t count it.” The panic in Bruno’s voice makes me sad.
“Please, Lexi, open your eyes,” a broken male voice says. I smell motor oil mixed with sweat and fear. “Don’t leave me. You hear me? Fight! You’re a fighter, not a quitter.”
Cole.
It’s him, really him.
“You’re not gonna die on me,” he says. “Please, God. Help me! What should I do?”
Why is he saying that? How can he see God and I can’t?
“Grab me something, a shirt, anything,” Genesis demands. “This rag is soaked through.” Cold fingers hold me in their grasp, and I inhale deeply. No, that hurts too much.
A faint image enters my mind—a body lying across the back of a truck, bleeding profusely, while the driver continues on, hell-bent on avoiding guards. People the body loves huddle over the prone figure, attempting to knit her together. Curly hair’s matted with blood, and the tattered shirt lies open, exposing the body beneath. Fingers swathed in red press a shirt against the raw wound. Cole’s shirt. It’s Cole’s shirt.
Is that me?
I blink a few times to see if anything happens, but I’m still staring at the girl who looks so much like me. I don’t recognize the driver, but Bruno stands at the gun, shouting at someone. Genesis and Cole hold pressure to the girl’s wound, and he’s whispering things to her, but I can’t decipher them.
Is this what Grace saw before she died?
Hopelessness? Agony? Desperation in Bruno’s face, and the faces of all her friends? If so, I don’t want to see it anymore. If these are my last memories, I’d rather them be happy. Not soaked in blood and nakedness. I try to close my eyes, but I don’t remember being able to open them. The images come into my head freely, without me asking for them or desiring them.
Is God showing me what I’d miss if I left?
I already know.
I need to stay.
I will my fingers to wiggle and my lips to open.
“She’s moving!” Genesis screams. A flurry of activity happens at my side.
It worked. I actually moved!
“Lexi, can you hear me?” Cole’s voice breaks. “Come on, answer me.”
“Almost there,” Bruno shouts.
“It’s slowing down,” Genesis says.
“What is?” Bill asks.
“The bleeding.”
“As long as it’s not her heart,” Bruno says.
The truck swerves left, and everything is thrown with it. Jagged pain rips through my body, and I grit my teeth, forcing a moan out of my mouth. The truck slams to a stop, and the voices trail in and out of my consciousness. Searing white lightning blazes across my eyelids. Hands encircle me, carrying me somewhere. They set me down, but it’s not gentle. I gasp against the agony. I’m so thirsty.
“Wat—” My croaking voice fails me as I try to lick my lips with a bone-dry tongue.
“What is it, Lexi?” Cole asks.
“Water,” Genesis orders. “Quick, give her some.”
A hand goes behind my head, and a canteen’s brought to my mouth. Water’s never tasted this good—cold and refreshing against my cracked lips and desert-like throat.
Too fast. For a second, I’m drowning in it. I sputter, spitting it back out. They pull the canteen away, and two brown almonds dance across my vision.
“Lexi, can you see me?”
The face becomes sharper as his eyes come into focus. I squint as the cloudiness fades away.
“I’m here. You’re going to be fine.” he says. I try pushing myself up, but daggers shoot through my muscles. “No. Stay still.” He takes my hand in his, sealing it in warmth.
All at once, my head clears. His handsome, oil-smeared, blood-crusted face hovers over me. His eyebrows knit together, his hand weaving gently through my hair.
I give him a weak smile, but it fades fast. The clarity has also brought with it sharp pain.
“Cole,” I gasp. “Make it stop.”
“We are,” he says.
“No, the burning,” I growl in agony.
“We’ll find something,” he promises.
When I’ve regained my breath, I ask, “What happened?”
“A guard stabbed you. And when you fell, you nailed your head pretty hard.” He gives me a weak grin. “I’m sure it’s just a flesh wound.”
“How much blood did I—”
“Not much,” he interrupts too quickly. I cringe, remembering the images I saw of myself bleeding all over the backseat of the truck. Knowing Cole, he’s sugarcoating the truth. Either for him or me—but maybe for both of us.
“Where is everyone?”
“I’m not concerned about them,” he says, averting his eyes. “Only you.”
“That bad, huh?”
He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t have to … because I already know.
The sound of a scuffle behind Cole draws my attention away, rendering my last thought unimportant. He twists toward the source of the noise.
Through the doorway of my room, I see Genesis facing off with a man in the hallway. He carries a large bag streaked with black scuff marks. It’s soiled in areas. Their heated whispers turn loud very quickly.
“I’m warning you,” Genesis says firmly, putting herself between the man and the entrance to my room. “Leave.”
“I see your paranoia hasn’t improved,” he says, holding up the bag for her. “By all means, dig through it.”
She snatches the bag from him, rummaging with a forcefulness that only comes with anger and impatience.
Cole turns to me, dropping my hand. “Be right back.” He rises and walks to the doorway. “What’s the issue?”