Page 100 of A Light in the Darkness
I have one moment of clarity despite the fear that’s dulled my senses. “Go!” I tell the girl who opened the door, her eyes wide and her hands trembling around the tablet in her hands. As I yell again, she sets it on the countertop and repeats my order to the others.
They move quickly, running down the hall. The older ones scoop up the younger to carry them as the sound of more gunfire ricochets around the walls. Bile rises in my throat, but as the last of the kids runs into the hall, I make the choice to throw myself in front of it, splaying my arms and legs to create a barrier. I have no weapon for a shoot-out, but I can stop anyone from getting to the children.
My hands shake around the cheetah print pocketknife Remy gave me as I pull it out and switch the blade, holding it at the ready. I have no idea who is on the other side of the slowly rising wall, or how many of them there are, but I won’t let them hurt these kids. I can’t.
Rich shoots first, ducking low and slipping under the wall so that he can get out to the action. Rook follows right behind him, and as the rest of the hidden entrance retracts, the light from inside the bunker spills out into the darkness, allowing me to see little bits of what lies on the other side.
The most obvious of those things is the bus—a big tour bus, facing right into the bunker. It’s coated in dust, maybe even so much that it doesn’t run anymore. And yet, the red liquid that drips from the open doors is an ominous sight.
There’s another gunshot, a scream, and then rapid fire.
Everyone’s moving too fast for me to see any identifying features, and then someone stumbles into the kitchen, blood running down their neck. When I trail my eyes up, looking for the source, I see the space where their ear should be has been blown away. It’s none of the men I know, none of the ones I came here with.
He staggers toward me, in what I can only assume is a state of shock. He doesn’t lift his gun as he goes; he just moves toward me like he’s been compelled to, so I ready the knife, adjusting my grip. His lips move like his feet—automatically, awkwardly. No sound comes out.
I’m just about to stab him in the neck when he grips me by the vest and uses the leverage to pull himself closer, knocking me from my feet. A bullet whizzes just past my cheek and lodges itself somewhere in the man’s neck, But he doesn’t let go yet, so I drive the blade into the same spot, pull it out, and do it again and again until he goes limp, falling away from me.
Rook pulls me to my feet in the next instant, and then delivers another shot to the back of the man’s skull just in case. He certainlylooked like a zombie in his final moments, so perhaps a double tap is a smart choice.
I scan the space behind him, the bodies lying on the ground before the bus. Kent’s on his knees, screaming, while Michael tries to pull him away from the body in his arms… his wife.
My eyes rove over the space, seeking out Rich or Remy. He was with the others when he left, so where is he?
I stagger past Rook, looking for either of the other two. When I step into the night, I see Rich, just as he drops to his knees on the floor of the bus. My eyes flick back to the red dripping down the steps, and understanding takes hold of me deep inside, threatening to turn me inside out.
The world tunnels around me, everything getting darker in the periphery as I run toward that bus, toward the man that I know is on it.
I think I hear someone call my name as I run past Kent, but I don’t stop, slipping in the blood that’s collected on the ground. I nearly go careening into it, but I grip the handrail, which is good because my legs give out the minute I see it… the minute I seehim.
I open my mouth, and what comes out can’t even be described as a scream. It’s more of my every hope dying a violent death all at once. Rich’s eyes connect with mine, and the look there would have taken me to my knees if Rook hadn’t already grabbed me around the waist, dragging me away from the mess… from Remy, where he lies in a pool of blood.
All bets are off, then. I fight him as easily as if he were one of the attackers, throwing my elbow back to try and catch him in the face, desperately wriggling to try and free myself from his grip.
All around me, I hear voices. They tangle together, each one indistinguishable from the next.
All I know is that none of them are Remy’s, because he’s lying face down in his own blood.
Chapter fifty-six
Claire
The world blurs around me as Kent pulls himself together and begins dishing out commands, none of which I hear. In the end, Rich and Rook go back to tend to the children. When he releases me, I scramble up the steps to where Remy lays, feeling through the blood for a sign of life.
I find it in his pulse, thrumming weakly in his wrist, and squeeze his hand as a sob escapes me.
“Help him!” I beg, glancing up at Michael, who’s already pressing his hands against one of the wounds as Kent drops behind the steering wheel.
Rich has already flipped him onto his back, and as Kent backs the bus into the night, the moonlight lets me see the spots where his shirt tore on impact. Guilt claws its way through me—the first bullet landed somewhere in his shoulder—dangerously close to his heart. The second looks like it nicked him in the side of his torso. If he’d had the vest on, if I had stayed on the plane the way he wanted me to…
“Put pressure on this one, Claire.” Michael instructs me, indicating the one on his stomach.
My fingers are clumsy over the fasteners of the vest, but I let it fall to the floor and strip my tank top over my head, balling the fabric up and passing it to Michael, before I take over for him. This one isn’t bleeding as heavily, so I press the heel of my palm against it the second Michael lifts his blood-covered hands away to tend the one at his shoulder, pressing my shirt against it.
“This is too much blood.” He mutters as the red spreads over the fabric, and I think it was supposed to be an internal thought, because when my eyes glance to his, he looks apologetic.
“He’s fine.” I say, my voice desperate as Kent guides the bus through rocky ground, bouncing us around violently. Remy’s head rolls, so I smooth my hand through his hair, ignoring the blood that’s already getting tacky and cold on my fingers. “He’ll be fine. Simon will get us to a hospital, and—”
“The bus can’t make it back the way we came. We can’t get to the plane, Claire.”
