I scream as searing pain runs up and down my leg. I can’t see how bad it is in the dark, but I can feel blood running down my ankle. Eckhart grabs me by the waist and holds me sideways as he pulls off my shoes. He sets me back down again and yells.
“Run, dammit!”
“I can’t! My leg!”
He flicks the light to my calf but moves the light away again before I can really see it.
“Shit!”
Chunks of concrete fall behind us as he suddenly grabs me around the waist and throws me over his shoulder. I can barely breathe with his shoulder pressed into my diaphragm. There’s dust in my lungs, and the pain in my leg is nearly unbearable. Another piece from the ceiling plummets right behind us, shattering and sending shards into my arms as they dangle at Eckhart’s back.
I jiggle and bounce as Eckhart runs, dodging falling chunks of the tunnel. He skips over the tracks to the other side, and my chin bangs painfully against his back. I try to grip the back of his jacket, but it doesn’t help. All I can do is close my eyes and press my lips together to keep from screaming.
Thankfully, we only go a little farther before Eckhart slows and then stops. The tunnel behind us is silent now as he lowers me to the ground and shines the light from his flashlight back toward the way we came. There’s dust obscuring the view, but I can’t hear any additional sounds of collapse.
“Did it stop?” I ask.
“Shh.” He cocks his head to one side and listens intently.
There’s nothing to be heard but our own panting breaths. We stand there motionless, me on one leg, using him for support for what feels like forever before Eckhart silently takes my hand and helps me limp farther away from where we came. I follow, occasionally glancing back into the darkness, but I hear nothing. After several more minutes of walking, the tunnel begins to slope upward, and Eckhart stops.
“Sit,” he says, using his flashlight to indicate the indentation in the concrete next to the track. “I need to look at your leg.”
“We’re not going to keep going?” My body wants to comply with his demand, but my mind is racing.
“This is the lowest point of the tunnel,” he says. “It’s the best place to be right now.”
“How are we going to get out?”
“I’ll worry about that after I check you out.” He looks me over. “Are you hurt anywhere besides your leg?”
He shines the light at me, and I look over my arms. There are only a few scrapes there.
“I don’t think so.”
“Let me look.” Eckhart crouches beside me and holds my ankle gently in his hand. I tense at the touch, and he looks into my eyes and speaks softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I swallow and nod, allowing him to examine my leg. There’s a long, bloody gash over half of my calf. The skin is split wide open and dried blood surrounds the opening, but fresh blood seeps out of it slowly, too.
The sight nauseates me.
“I don’t have anything with me to treat this,” he says after a moment, “but it’s not too deep. Your leg is going to tighten up on you, though.”
He sits back on his heels and pulls the end of his shirt out of his suit pants. He undoes a couple of the buttons at the bottom and then pulls the shirt up to his mouth, tearing the fabric with his teeth. He rips off a strand of fabric and quickly wraps it around my leg.
“Just to keep it from bleeding more,” he says. “We’ll need to get it properly bandaged when we get back to the surface.”
He releases me and stands as I rub the skin near the wound.
“How long will we stay here?” I ask.
“Until the explosions have definitely stopped,” he says, “or until I hear from one of the other guys.”
“The radio still isn’t working?”
“No, but it really should be.”
“Phone?”
“No signal down here even on a good day,” he says. “We’re going to have to wait it out.”
“What if a train comes?”
He raises his eyebrows at me, and I realize how ridiculous my question is. Without bothering to answer, he sits beside me and leans against the cold wall. I glance over and see the light reflecting off the sweat on his temple.
“What do you think is happening up there?”
“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I can only speculate.”
“Guess, then.”
“Invasion,” he says. “I don’t know who, but that was definitely an attack. A big one.”
“But who?” I press. “Terrorists?”
“I don’t know who has that kind of power. I never saw any planes, and I didn’t hear any tanks. I don’t know how anyone would get that far into the middle of the country without some kind of warning.”
“What else could it be?”
He turns his head to look at me. His eyes are dark and solemn.
“I don’t even want to guess.”
Chapter 3
My throat is dry and scratchy, and my neck hurts. My ass hurts, too. Actually, most everything hurts. I open my eyes and try to get my bearings, but it’s completely dark, and I gasp.
“I’m right here.” The deep voice next to me is quickly followed by a click, and a small amount of light illuminates the area around me. “Just conserving the batteries.”
A sharp pain in my leg brings everything back to me—Eckhart, the hotel, the explosions, and the people running in the street.
“How long was I out?”
“A little over an hour.”
“Anything on your radio?”
“Nothing.” Eckhart shifts beside me. “No more explosions either.”
“Is it safe to go back?” I rub my hands over my dusty skirt and check my phone. There’s no signal, and the battery is nearly dead.
“The only way to know is to try,” he says. “It’s been quiet for a while now.”
“Should we go?” I know I’m peppering him with questions that he can’t answer, but I don’t know what else to say.
“I want you to stay right here,” Eckhart tells me. “I’m going to head back the way we came to see if we can get out that way.”
“Why can’t I come with you?”
“Because I can move faster on my own. Your leg is going to feel pretty painful when you put weight on it, and I’m fairly certain you’re safe here for now.”
“What if someone comes?”
“Scream,” he says. “The tunnel echoes and I’ll hear you. I can be back here quickly.”
“What if there are more explosions?”
“Then I’ll come back.”
He stands, and the light flickers around the tracks and the rocks. He dusts off his backside with one hand.
“I’ve got to take the light with me,” he says. “I won’t be gone long though. Just yell if you need me.”
“What if…what if you don’t come back?”
Eckhart looks down at me before crouching and looking me in the face.
“No matter what has happened up there,” he says, “you are in my protection. I don’t take my job lightly. I will not let anything happen to you. You, Hannah Savinski, are my one and only concern until I can get you to the Pentagon.”
He keeps staring into my eyes until I nod at him, accepting his words.
“Now stay put,” he orders. “I’ll be back soon.”
He jogs into the tunnel and around a corner, and I’m left in complete darkness with nothing but my thoughts.
Five months ago, I was just a grunt in the IT department of a company with a lot of government contracts. I worked nine-to-five, came home to a diabetic cat in a quiet apartment on the north side of Chicago, did my laundry, and watched Netflix. A single email regarding account data with some funky-looking numbers on it changed my life.
“Hannah, could you please check the discrepancy in this report? Jillian’s out of town, and I know she usually does these things, but we’ve got people waiting on this. Mr. Hudson has already gone over everything, so it sho
uldn’t be a big deal.”
“Sure! No problem!”
“Maybe I should have just ignored it,” I whisper to myself as memories return to me. If I had done just that, none of what followed would have happened.
And sixteen young girls would have been sold into sexual slavery.
I close my eyes tightly, tasting bile in my throat as other memories surface.
“You really think you can just turn us in, you stupid little girl? Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you know what kind of power I have? Well, I’m going to show you!”
I bite my lip to bring myself back to the present, but that doesn’t set me at ease. Pulling my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them makes my leg throb, but it provides a little comfort anyway. I lean my chin on my knee and try to gather my thoughts.
What the hell happened? It wasn’t an earthquake—I am sure of that. Every explanation that pops into my head sounds like the plot from a late-night movie on the sci-fi channel. I keep thinking about all the apocalypse-themed television shows that have been so popular over the last few years.
Maybe Doctor Who will show up and set it all right.
I tighten my grip around my knees as a light appears up the tunnel. True to his word, Eckhart returns, walking at a quick pace next to the track.
“What did you see?”
“The tunnel has completely collapsed. Whatever hit above it was big. We’ll have to go the other way and hope the passage is clear. We’ll take it slow so your leg doesn’t get too sore. If it gets to be too much, I can carry you.”
“What happened to my shoes?”
“They fell off when I was carrying you, and they’re buried under a ton of rubble now. Luckily, you aren’t.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought.
Eckhart has me lead as we walk beside the tracks, and we take a slow pace as I limp along. He keeps the light ahead of us, aiming it downward occasionally as we dodge debris. The next station isn’t far away, and Eckhart boosts me up onto the platform before hauling himself up. There is no one on the platform at all and no sounds to be heard from above.
“It looks like there’s less damage here,” he says as we start up the stairs.
I have to hold tightly to the handrail in order to raise my leg enough to navigate the stairs. It takes way too long, but eventually we emerge from the station onto the dusty sidewalk, and my breath catches in my throat.
Entire buildings are flattened to the ground. What used to be skyscraper office buildings and hotels are completely razed. Cars are crumpled together or just abandoned in the street, and they are covered in a thick layer of grey dust.
There are bodies everywhere: all over the street, in the crosswalks, and up against the buildings. Some of them are in piles, but most are just strewn about around stopped cars and delivery trucks. As I look around, I see no one else standing. Even when I look through a window into a nearby shop, all I see are more bodies.
For half a second, I stare at the corpses, reminded of every zombie movie I have ever seen. I wait for them to rise up and start coming after our brains, but none of them move. I shake my head, trying to clear the ridiculous thoughts from my head.
Are they ridiculous?
“What the hell happened?” My head is spinning. I can’t think straight at all. I can’t even make sense of what I’m seeing.
Eckhart doesn’t answer. He pokes at his radio and phone but must not get any kind of response since he shoves them both back into his jacket pocket. I look at my phone as well, but there’s no signal at all. Eckhart is still looking all around us, taking it all in. I try to do the same though I have no idea what might be going through his head. Then something strikes me.
“They’re all men,” I say.
“I noticed that.”
“Where are the women?” I whisper.
Eckhart doesn’t answer. He steps up and checks the body closest to us, turning it over. There’s blood all over the man’s face, and his eyes stare blankly into the sky as he’s rolled over.
“There were children here before,” I say softly. “I remember one boy with his mother back at the hotel. There had to have been children here, too.”
“I know.”
Everything hits me all at once.
All these men are dead.
The women and children who were here are gone.
I have no idea what’s happened.
“Breathe.” Eckhart is suddenly next to me, his hands on my upper arms.
“Don’t touch me!” I scream and push him away, nearly falling over one of the bodies. I scramble away from it and press myself against the side of the nearest building, looking all around me but unable to comprehend what I’m seeing.
Where did they all go?
“Calm down, please.” His eyes implore me along with his words. “I won’t hurt you. I’m going to protect you, but I need you to stay with me here. Stay calm. I need to think.”
“They’re….they’re…they’re all dead!”
“I know. Don’t look at them.”
“They’re everywhere!”
“Don’t look!” He stands in front of me, blocking my view of the street. “Turn around, face the building, and get yourself together.”
I shake my head but do as he says. I stare at the slight imperfections in the mortar and even trace them with my finger, trying to keep my thoughts away from the bodies all around me. My finger trembles as I slide it through the rectangular grooves. I continue the action until my heart slows, and I can breathe normally again.
“What happened to them all?” I whisper, but I don’t get a response. I turn my head to find Eckhart and see him examining one of the bodies. He comes back to where I’m leaning against the wall and hands me a pair of sneakers.
“Where did you get these?”
“Don’t ask,” he says quietly. “Just put them on and don’t think about it.”
I take a deep breath and do as he says. My hands shake as I lace the shoes up, but I manage to keep my thoughts off of the previous owner. The shoes are a little big on me, but I can walk better now.
“We should keep moving,” Eckhart says.
“Where do we go?” I watch him take a deep breath and figure all my questions are probably annoying him.
“I need more information,” he says, “but we need supplies first. You need water, and you have to be hungry by now.”
I haven’t even thought about it.
“You okay to walk?” he asks as he looks down at my foot. “It’s only a short way.”
I nod. If I open my mouth, I don’t know what’s going to come out of it. Maybe it’s best I haven’t eaten.
“Come on, then.” He waves his hand and directs me down the sidewalk. He takes his position behind me and to the right again.
“Shouldn’t you be walking in front of me then, make sure the way is clear and all?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, why not?”
“From here I can see what’s in front of you,” he says, “and I’m already in position if someone comes up from behind. With you on my left, I can also draw my gun faster without you being in the line of fire.”
“Oh.” It does make sense when he explains it like that, and I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it myself. The man obviously knows his job. “So, where are we going?”
“My place. It’s not far from here, and I need to get a few things.”
“You live here in Atlanta?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I thought you were from Washington.”
“I travel back and forth,” Eckhart tells me. “I have an apartment here and another one in Virginia, just outside of D.C.”
Eckhart’s idea of not far is not the same as mine. We only stop once at a small convenience store where Eckhart ducks through the broken front door and grabs bottles of water for each of us.
We’re looters.
Eckhart looks back and forth across the street as he takes a long dri
nk from the bottle.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“There have to be other survivors,” he mumbles. I don’t really think he’s responding to my question. “Where are they?”
It takes more than an hour to get to Eckhart’s apartment at the edge of downtown. It’s a simple, gated community, but we don’t see anyone there, either—just more bodies in the parking lot. Unlike the downtown area, most of the buildings are still standing.
Eckhart waits for me to go first as we head up a flight of stairs. At the top, he unlocks the apartment door, and we go inside. It’s a small, uncluttered space. There’s a couch, a chair, and a large screen television in the main room, which connects to a small kitchen. There are a couple of closed doors in the hallway beyond, and Eckhart heads for one of them.
On the other side of the door is a bedroom. The only furniture inside is a bed and a small nightstand, but the room is completely full of stacked, black crates.
He opens a closet door, and I glance inside and take in a sharp breath.
There’s the expected rack of clothing, but that doesn’t catch my attention. Each wall of the closet is lined with all kinds of guns. There are big guns, little guns, shotguns, guns with long scopes on them, and even a sword of some kind. On a shelf, there’s a collection of knives as well.
Who is this guy?
“How many guns do you have?” I ask breathlessly.
“Enough,” he replies.
“What’s in the crates?”
“They’re footlockers.”
“What’s in the footlockers, then?”
“Ammunition,” he says. “Also enough food for about six months and a water purification system.”
I stare at him open-mouthed.
“I’ve got some medical supplies, too.” He pulls a roll of gauze and some other items out of one of the footlockers and then retrieves a washcloth from the bathroom. “Let’s take care of your leg.”
He sits me beside the bed and drops down next to me. I remove the shoe he commandeered and slip off the torn pantyhose. He takes my heel in his hand, placing my foot across his thigh. I tense a little. He’s barely touched me the whole time, and this contact feels more intimate to me than any contact we’ve had since we met. He slowly unwraps the bit of shirt he wrapped around my leg and takes a good look at the wound.