“We’ll get him.” I stood, yanking him with me.
Magic hissed and sparked at the gate as if it was lashing out, twisting me to it. I could feel the energy in the spell fighting and lashing back. My neck craned around to see Tad walking up to the gate. Magic emitted from him like thousands of glowing webs. Eyes closed, muttering, his body weaved, barely staying up. His forehead creased with pain and determination as if he were in a battle himself. Just because he put them in place didn’t mean they were easy to pull down. He probably had to use immense energy to do both. And I was understanding more and more that magic had a life of its own, a true give and take.
Warwick and I rushed around him, making sure he stayed protected as he worked, shooting at any soldier who got close.
The fight in the factory grew louder. Gunshots and screams rang out as more and more inmates funneled into the room, though the HDF guards were fully loaded with weapons and fae-like strength, keeping the odds still in their favor.
Soon, the feral-fae would follow the commotion.
The room spun with chaos, spiking fear and adrenaline throughout the space. You could taste it on your tongue like a bitter pill and smell a pungent odor. It was a living, breathing entity. Anxiety banged my heart against my ribs, as with every second, Istvan got farther away from us.
Tad wobbled, his face straining as he struggled to get each word out, sweat beading down his face, his concentration entirely on his counter spell.
Letting out a cry, he spit out words. A loud crack popped the air, blowing back at us, the force slamming Warwick and me to the ground. Tad took the brunt, and a strangled bellow came from him as magic swept over him. Then it dissipated, leaving only threads of electricity humming in the air. His body crumpled to the ground.
“Tad!” I crawled to him.
Breathing heavily, he stared at me, his face pale. “I’ll be fine. Go, my girl. Don’t let him get away. Get the boy.”
“Come on!” Warwick grabbed my arm, yanking me up as he was already racing for the gate. Grabbing the reinforced metal, his muscles flexed and strained, a guttural roar heaving from his chest as he pulled on it. The metal shredded and pitched as he forced it open, a grunt scraping up his throat and tearing more crevasse into his vocal cords.
Snap!
The hinges on the gate broke, the gate falling open. Yells and even more gunfire roared up in both cheers and protests behind us. Gunfire pinged off the walls at our heads as we ran in, our feet moving us to safety. For now. I knew many would follow behind us. Prisoners and guards.
Fire bulbs lit every dozen yards, giving us enough to see where we were going. The tunnel steadily inclined toward the surface; the rumble of vehicles could still be felt under our feet.
We weren’t too late.
“Hurr—!”
BOOOM!
The tunnel quaked with rage, swallowing Warwick’s sentence. Earth heaved under our feet, tearing down the ceiling on us.
“Kovacs!” he screamed, his physique crashing into mine, taking us both to the ground. His warm, massive frame covered mine as chunks rained down, tucking us up against the wall. He shielded me as the heavy pieces lightened into a patter.
Coughing and hacking, we slowly lifted our heads, seeing the destruction before us. A lot of the ceiling had collapsed.
A person on foot could still pass through, but cars wouldn’t be getting in or out anytime soon. And if they were in the tunnel, they probably would have been crushed, or at least stopped.
“Simon,” Warwick whispered his name, the same thought coming to him.
We were both back up, panic pushing us past feeling any pain from the falling rocks, bruising and cutting at our skin. Scaling over boulders, mounds of dirt, and cement, we treated the tunnel as an obstacle course race. One we had to win.
Up ahead, natural light spilled into the darkness, growing brighter the closer we got, permitting my eyes to make out more shapes.
“Warwick...” I gulped, pointing about a hundred yards ahead of us. Brake lights glowed through the wreckage. The armored cars withstood the destruction but were buried under the cave-in, trapping them.
Sneaking up, our guns primed, I noticed a few car doors left open. My pulse thumped against my neck as Warwick and I checked each car, finding them empty, the strum of disappointment playing in my stomach, terrified they had gotten out and were past catching now.
“Fuck!” Warwick hit the final car we checked, anger at his own failure to protect Simon.
Pops of gunfire streamed into the tunnel from outside, prompting us to look at each other, hope filling up the air between us like a balloon. Our legs bolted forward, scaling the final stretch of rubble blocking our way.
The sun was lowering on the mountain, splashing the sky with deep blues and purples, the tips of the forest around the Elizabeth Lookout Tower painted in oranges, reds, and browns. It was only a split second, breathing in the fresh, crisp air, piercing my lungs with a delicious stab. Most people didn’t appreciate the simple things, the gifts of true freedom. The feel of the cold air snapping at your exposed skin, filling you with vivacity. The sight of nature thrumming with life, the rich colors of the sunsets, birds chirping in the sky.
But in this case, gunfire as well.
Darting out of the excavated tunnel, we crept out toward the commotion, perching behind an old stone monument.
“Holy shit.” I gawked. Down the one lane which led in and out of this place, a barricade of cars and SUVs blocked the road, preventing an easy escape. And behind the cars, my eyes caught familiar faces.
Tears of relief sizzled behind my lids.
Eliza, Zander, and Mykel.
Warwick’s head dropped for a moment, his cheek twitching as he took a moment. He didn’t show anything more, but I could feel it everywhere. Relief. Happiness. Pride.
His sister was alive. Not only that, but she finished what we could not. She found my uncle and got us help.
The relief was short-lived. Not far from us, the ground was leveled and primed for new buildings, cutting into the forest. A few structures were being built with a partial thick stone wall, giving a little coverage for at least a hundred HDF soldiers shooting back at Povstat. Istvan clearly had plans to make this into a fortress, assuring we would never be able to escape. I had no idea a whole battalion was above our heads this whole time.
“Go!” Istvan’s voice shot my attention to him, finding him behind a section of the new wall. He waved Tracker on, pushing Olena and Ivanenko to follow him. His faithful lapdog kept crouched, running off behind the tower with the wannabe queen and her daddy behind him, leaving Istvan and Simon with four other guards. All the others were fighting to hold the line against Povstat, Istvan throwing orders and commands to the forces.
No longer were Sonya, Alexandru, and Sergiu with him. They undoubtedly dashed off into the forest the moment they could, while Istvan and the guards were distracted.
My fingers crunched down on my weapon, spotting the box in his hand, his other hand on the back of Simon’s neck.
He deserved to die. He had caused so much suffering.
My finger pushed firmer on the trigger.
“No.” Warwick shoved my gun off the target. “You might hit Simon.”
I was an excellent shot, but Warwick was right. Simon was too close to him. At any second, one could alter a hair, and I’d hit the little boy instead.
“Plus, this shit is personal,” Warwick growled. Crouching, he slid around the stone monument, moving slowly... a predator stalking its prey.
I followed right behind. We kept low, knowing at this distance Mykel’s army wouldn’t be able to decipher between our black prison outfits and HDF’s dark uniforms.
Gunfire volleyed loudly between HDF and Povstat, bullets hitting the tower and the ground around us. Adrenaline coursed through my blood, sweat trickling down my back as I defended us from behind. Even over the shooting, I could hear distant echoes from down the tunnel telling me other inmates and probably guards were headed this way soon, about to add to the turmoil and confusion.
Blood would spill.
Warwick crept behind our targets like a silent killer, darting up to the nearest officer in a blink. His hands clutched the guard’s neck, snapping it as I slammed my pistol into the back of another one, both of them dropping.
The rest of them turned to us as we pounced on the last two guards. Pop! Pop! Their guns fired. I dropped down, slamming my fist into a sentry’s crotch. Groaning, he leaned over in agony as I jumped up, my elbow smashing into the back of his neck with a crack, flattening him to the ground. The final guard crumbled under Warwick’s fatal blow.
Istvan’s eyes widened in fear as Warwick prowled for him. Scrambling back, he grabbed a knife, making the box with the nectar in his arms tip, the item inside tumbling to the dirt between us.