Page 63 of Spoils of war
I shoved the cart hard. It crashed into the doctor with a metallic screech, sending bottles and instruments skidding across the floor.
“Seize her!” he roared. “Seize them both!”
The nurse shrieked. “She must not get away!”
“Run!” Will grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the door.
I stumbled after him, legs barely working, feet slapping awkwardly against the stone. Every step felt like walking on broken pins—numb, useless, burning. I couldn’t keep up, not really. But I didn’t stop.
Light flickered across the walls. Everything smelled like blood and chemicals and rot.
Will dragged me left, down a narrower hall.
“This way!”
Shouts chased us. “Stop them!”
A group of nurses spilled into the hallway ahead, skirts swishing, faces pale beneath their white caps. We barreled through them.
I clipped one with my shoulder, she gasped and stumbled back.
The main doors loomed ahead, tall and shadowed. A man stood in front of them, built like a wall. His hand dropped to the truncheon at his hip.
“Back to your room!” he bellowed. “You’ve no leave!”
Behind us, the doctor’s voice cracked through the noise.
“Bar the way! Do not let her leave!”
The guard stepped forward. Too big. Too fast. No time.
“That way,” I gasped, pointing toward a narrow side hall.
Will didn’t hesitate. We darted into the corridor, knocking over a mop and a rusted bucket, water splashing everywhere. My foot slid and I went down hard, one hand smacking the tile.
Will yanked me through a sagging doorway into a laundry room. It stank of mildew and old soap, and piles of linens towered in the dark. We both saw the windows at the same time. Small. Narrow. Set high in the wall.
“Up,” Will said. “Now.”
He cupped his hands, and I stepped into them. He shoved me up. I clawed at the windowsill, scrambled, dragged myself through the narrow gap. Then I fell, hard, into cold, wet grass.
Will landed beside me, knees slamming into the mud.
Shouts erupted behind us.
“There they are!”
“Seize them!”
We didn’t stop.
We ran.
Beyond the infirmary stretched a sea of wheat. Tall and wild. Bent beneath the weight of the storm.
Rain tore sideways across the field, and the wind screamed in our ears as we plunged into the golden stalks. The world vanished around us. Just wind. Just rain. Just the sound of our feet slamming into wetground. My lungs burned. My legs gave out and caught again, over and over. I could barely see, barely breathe, and still we ran.
The rain hit like tiny daggers of ice, slicing across my skin. The cold burned through me. The hospital gown clung to my body, soaked through, sheer and useless. My legs were bare. My feet already cut up, slipping in the mud with every step.
