Page 67 of Enemy of the State

My mother’s advice regarding love slips into my mind like a key into a lock.

…He’ll only enhance your shine. The love he has for you should be so bright that when you see it reflected back, you’re nearly blinded by it. Every day should end brighter than it started with a man that loves you.

Does every day end brighter than it began with Sean in my life?

I mutter a silent curse at the stark realization that it bloody fucking does. I’ve been locked in a cell for twenty-something hours a day, made to piss, shit, and sleep all in the same area, and only allowed out for torture sessions and therareshower. Evenwiththe torture, I closed my eyes each day with a sense of safety and optimism that shouldn’t have existed. Maybe it was the fact that I felt as though my soul was looking into a mirror, breathing to life feelings that have been in hibernation until now. He lightened the load of each breath I took inside those concrete walls and the idea of something having happened to him upsets me far more than the death of a prison guard should.

Vittu!I think my mother was right, and I’m not sure what to do with that information. I loathe to admit it, but I suppose all of this means that I’ll be coming back to Ex-I, after all.

But what if he’s dead?Refusing to entertain that notion, I shove that idea aside. Even as my inner beast whimpers at the prospect, I won’t let myself go there. Not now. I can spiral later, when I’m curled up in a real bed with my perfect pillow tucked under my head.

Near the tower, I risk craning my neck to glimpse two soldiers posted there and I make myself smaller, praying like mad that they don’t look down. On my belly, I snake around the squared base of the tower, and when bullets don’t sprinkle me with holes, I let out the breath I was holding.

I continue through the tall grass down the adjacent side of the prison toward the next tower, sparing small glances over my shoulder to verify I haven’t been spotted. The guards seem to be focusing most of their attention on the center of the prison yard, picking off and subduing the prisoners that attempt an escape. Though I can’t see through the thick concrete walls, I can hear a cacophony of gunfire and shouting over the wailing siren and crashing waves. It’s obvious that whatever is happening in that yard is the purest form of pandemonium.

I hope Kazi gets out.

When I finally reach the last guard tower, I’m riddled with the impeding freedom within my sight, but inject a sense of calm into my veins so that I don’t do anything hasty.

At the base of the tower, I scan the environment ahead, making my next plan. There’s a copse of trees and smaller bushes up in the distance, and I need to get to those for cover. However, there’s nothing but dirt in front of the entrance to the prison; nothing but dirt standing between me and the vegetation.

I narrow my left eye and arch my eyebrow in intense concentration. Glancing up at the guards in the tower, I wait until they turn their attention toward something in the yard and sprint for it.

Maybe forty feet from the bushes and trees, shouting and more gunfire ensues somewhere behind me and I run harder, faster. My legs burn with the exertion as I push myself to run as fast as I can, ignoring the way the barrel of the rifle batters violently against the space between my spine and my side.

Flinging my body into the bushes, I catch my breath while I listen. My splash into the bushes wasn’t exactly silent, but I’m hoping it went undetected amid the chaos ensuing on the island. While I don’t hear anyone running after me, I don’t risk a peek. Instead, I grip the Glock in my hand tightly, making sure the safety is still off as I crawl forward between the bushes, keeping my ears wide open.

Vines and cords of branches dart out, scraping the bare skin of my arms and ripping at my filthy uniform trousers, but I do my best to disregard their presence as I briskly navigate them. When a particularly thorny limb scrapes over one of the deep cuts on my back through my shirt, I suck in a sharp breath, gritting my teeth through the sudden sting.

Undeterred, I keep moving forward, tendrils of blood now sliding down my bare arms and the hand gripping the Glock, making my grasp slippery. The tropical trees and vegetation are still thick, and I use that to my advantage, knowing that my inky hair and black uniform will help me blend in, especially now that the sun has evacuated completely.

Frantically looking around, I assess my surroundings. Based on the sounds of the ocean coming from my left, I know I’m still relatively close to the water. What I don’t know, though, is how wide or long this island is, which puts me at a disadvantage. My only plan is to keep going until I can’t go any farther. I have to assume there’s a boat somewhere. It’d be highly unlikely that the soldiers stationed here would have no way off this hostile landmass.

I see the guard half a second before he comes at me from my right, tackling me to the ground. The breath is knocked out of me as I land on the rifle and hard tangled branches, making my back shriek.

Cruel, vile eyes stare down at me, and I know that if I were to rip the mask off this soldier’s face, I’d find a snarling man foaming at the mouth beneath. Without a thought, I bring my knee up, jamming it into his thigh as a growl vibrates within his chest.

He holds his combat knife to my throat, and I smile.

“You’re not getting away. Why the fuck are you smiling?” he grunts.

“I always smile in the face of death, darling.”

With a scoff, he presses the knife more firmly, warm blood now slipping down the side of my neck. “At least you recognize death when you see him.”

My smile grows, a light giggle trickling from me like rain dancing on tin. “Simply because I see death doesn’t mean I’ll meet him. I’m not so easily claimed.”

His beady eyes narrow on me before he shakes his head, clearing his expression. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“That’s not very a nice word.” Lifting the Glock clutched in my hand to his soft side, I pull the trigger. He howls, but I’m able to roll out from beneath him before getting to my feet and planting another round in his skull.

With the Glock still in my hand and the rifle at my back, I run from the scene at a breakneck pace. I’m sure the sound of my gunshots just gave me away like a beacon of light in the dark.I miss my silencer.

Dodging trees and stocky bushes like my life depends on it—and it bloody well does—I race for freedom, darting left, then right, leaping over roots and the random rocks that crop up.

I don’t know how long or how far I run, but my muscles and bones are pulsing, aching, and cramping by the time I see another cliff. My heart sinks to the abyss of my soul at the sight.

Louhi

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