Twenty
Gage Bronson and Blythe Sol
City Industrial Complex
Washington D.C.
August 18, 4010
2:00 pm
Blythe is awakened to my hand over her mouth.
“Shhh,” I prompt her as the sounds of footsteps nearby caused my heart to thunder like racing horses. The MPs have arrived and are searching the warehouse. We’ve stayed too long. Eyes wide, Blythe nods that she understands and I lower my hand, putting one finger to my lips in warning before pushing her slowly into a seated position. We abandon everything except for water, flashlights, and our COMM devices. Even the armor is left behind, as we don’t have time to put the heavy pieces back on. This will make Blythe especially vulnerable and my mind is already racing to our next move. My only mission for the moment is to keep her safe.
Wordlessly, our hands clasp and our fingers intertwine as we creep silently along the wall just as the glow of the officers’ solar-powered armor shines in the doorway. We duck behind a massive crate just before they can spot us.
I feel as if they can hear my breathing, even the beating of my heart, so I hold my breath as the roaring of my own blood fills my ears. Blythe points to her left, indicating that they are coming around that side of the crate any second. Thank God she can see through things! We edge around the right side of the crate, keeping out of view but we are still sitting ducks. Any minute we’re going to have to run for it and I’d rather it be before we are surrounded.
Pointing toward a shattered window a few feet away, I signal to Blythe that we are going to have to run. She looks like she’s about ready to piss herself at the idea, but she nods anyway. A split second later, I shove her out in front of me, putting myself between her and the MPs.
And then we’re running.
There’s no way to do it quietly, so in seconds the officers are on our heels, their footsteps mingling and echoing with ours in the large, nearly empty space. With a boost from me, Blythe vaults through the window and I follow, trailing her as we take off down the alley. Blythe is cradling her bionic arm and I feel guilty for breaking it, because without the connections to her nerves working, I know it’s nothing but a huge dead weight. If I didn’t think she’d kill me later, I would toss her over my shoulder and run, but she’s holding her own so I leave it alone. Shouts and gunfire follow us and every second I fear may be our last.
Yet, somehow, we survive, ducking and dodging through alleyways, a labyrinth of slender spaces that crawl between the factories like a venous system. I can tell by the echo of the MPs’ footsteps, they’ve split up and are closing in on us from several different sides. I get a stitch in my side at the same time Blythe gets a cramp and we both slump behind a dumpster in an alley almost completely darkened by the tall buildings on either side of it blocking out the sun.
Fighting to slow my breathing, I pull her close, under my arm, and wait for them to find us and drag us back to Stonehead kicking and screaming. Hell, they’ll probably just shoot us here and now and forget due process. We’ve led them on one hell of a chase today and I’m sure Jones is pissed. Olivia’s battered face flashes through my mind and I decide that if I had a choice, I’d rather die here in this alley with Blythe then let them drag us back to that place. Just the thought of watching them tear her to pieces fills my mouth with bile.
I can hear their footsteps getting closer, feel Blythe shaking against me. To her credit, her face is set in stone, her jaw tightly resolute, as if she is ready for whatever is about to happen. A scraping sound nearby draws my eye to a manhole a few feet away. The heavy cover has been slid to the side and a gleaming, metal head and menacing, dark eyes appear in the darkened space. I recognize him instantly as Baron, the leader of the rebel sect known as the Rejects. I don’t have time to wonder what the hell he’s doing in D.C. When he whispers, ‘Hey, over here! Hurry up, get in!’ I don’t care to analyze the situation. That hole in the ground is our only way out of this situation, even if we are literally hopping out of the frying pan and jumping into the fire.
I don’t trust these Reject assholes. But now, they are possibly the lesser of two evil, and so Blythe and I follow him down into the manhole without hesitation. Blythe scrambles down the ladder behind Baron and I follow, swiftly pulling the heavy metal plate back over the hole just before the MPs appear at the mouth of the alley we’d been hiding in.