A man stepped out of the truck. He was tall and strong, though he looked like he was in his sixties, his dark skin wrinkled. A rifle was clutched in his hands, and he aimed it at Dr. Cylon. His eyes locked on mine, and I felt a rush of reassurance at the sight of him. “Get him in the truck.”
I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t explain it, but there was something about this man that made me want to trust him immediately. He had obviously come to our rescue and at the moment, I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t afford to question it. I reached for Ash, wrapping my arm around him and lugging him to his feet. He buckled, and I nearly dropped him. “Come on, Ash,” I whispered desperately. He was a foot taller than me and at least fifty pounds heavier than me.
I felt him nod against me, his hand pressed tight to his ribcage, and we started moving slowly toward the truck.
“They aren’t going anywhere,” Razi’s voice rang out. She was trying hard to insert authority into her voice, but it came out shaky. “They belong to me.”
The man stared at Dr. Cylon, calm, so different from the sort of calm that I was used to with Dr. Cylon. It was reassuring, a calm that exuded confidence and intelligence. “I’m afraid that they don’t, Doctor. It’s in your best interest to let them come with me.”
She blinked once, twice, three times, looking at him as if she couldn’t quite believe he was real. “You’re from…”
He nodded. “Of course I am. We’ve been keeping our eye on you, but you still managed to make all this happen. Now let me have the children.”
“I can’t,” she burst out. “I need them. I need her.”
He shook his head, staying silent. Ash and I made slow progress around them, working our way to the truck. We took it one step at a time, each one sending a jolt of pain through Ash’s body, judging by the look on his face.
“I need her,” Razi repeated, her eyes meeting mine. There was a desperate hunger on her face, and I shivered, thinking of the doctors poking and prodding me, the cameras following my every move and the feel of Liam’s hands on me. She fell to her knees, her eyes taking in the bodies all around her. There was a stark look of defeat on her face. “There are more men, back at my compound. They will come looking for me. You are outnumbered.”
The man raised the gun. “I don’t think so.”
Razi reached a shaking hand out, and her fingers closed over the handle of a gun, left behind by one of her dead bodyguards. I froze, watching it all in slow motion. Ash went crashing to the ground, and I reached for him. Razi raised the gun, a manic look in her eyes as she turned the gun toward the two of us. I flung myself over Ash, burying my head in his chest, as one last shot resonated out. I waited for the pain, but it didn’t come.
I dared to lift my head and saw Razi’s body lying on the ground, the gun still clutched tightly in her palm. Blood was gushing out of the wound in her neck. The man stared at her for a moment, before coming toward us. “Get up.”
I scrambled to my feet, reaching for Ash. The man pushed me aside, lifting Ash with ease, and carrying him to the passenger door of the car. I walked quickly, next to them, reaching for the handle. I got inside with no hesitation and reached for him. The inside of the truck was huge, large enough for at least three people to sit comfortably. The two of us pulled Ash into the car, getting him as comfortable as possible, his head resting in my lap. The man walked to the other side of the truck and climbed back in, turning the ignition on and speeding off.
“Take his shirt off,” he said in a low, deep voice. I looked at him, surprised. “You need to put pressure on that wound.”
I nodded, slowly peeling the shirt off of him, careful not to jostle him too much. The wound was near his ribs, and it made me sick to look at it, but I focused on pressing the fabric against it. He was still conscious but barely, his breathing coming out shallow. “Who are you?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, just continued to press his foot hard against the gas, speeding down the highway, away from the mess we had left behind. “Bert,” he finally said. “Bert Washington.”
“Zoey Valentine,” I said, running my fingers through Ash’s hair. He was so pale, so quiet. “This is Ash.”
“He your boyfriend?” came the gruff reply.
I paused, and there was a rough chuckle. I looked down at Ash, startled to find him smiling.
“I want to be her boyfriend, but she’s been holding out on me,” he joked.
I laughed, nervously. “Shut up, you.” I leaned forward, placing a rough kiss on his lips. “Just don’t die, okay? Please don’t die,” I whispered.
We drove on for about twenty minutes before Bert took a turn and drove down a bumpy road that led to a small house. It was small, only one story, the blue paint chipped and faded. He pulled up to the front and threw the car in park. “Let’s get him inside.”