I press my head into Cole’s shirt, completely oblivious to anything and everything around me but the smell of lead, blood, and his sweat all mixed together. Grace is gone, and our small group doesn’t even have time to think straight, let alone regroup.
The moment we need the most privacy and peace is the moment everything blows up. Bullets hammer the walls, and everyone drops down in a single motion. I jump in my skin, as if being woken from my worst nightmare. But it’s not a dream. My hands release Cole’s shirt, knuckles white from grasping. We both fumble for our guns. My attention turns toward the doorway to the office, now riddled with puncture holes. Bill fires back even as tears streak his face.
Bruno hovers over Grace’s body and doesn’t move an inch. I watch as the tendons flex in his jaw and his grip tightens on her. He doesn’t seem to notice the outbreak of hell around him or even care. I meet Cole’s red eyes. We’re both thinking the same thing.
We can’t count on Bruno to make the decisions right now.
I swallow my tears, laying aside my broken heart, and flick my attention toward Roméo. As the sounds of metallic bangs grow closer, Cole joins Bill in the doorframe, ducking in and out to fire.
“The files!” I shout over the noise. “Did you find them?”
“No,” Roméo says. He blinks back his tears, and I quickly shove past him.
“Okay, I’ll look.”
I don’t wait for him to react before ransacking the closet. I toss everything useless aside. The gunfire becomes more intense, and my hands shake as I dig down into each box, pushing away old books and relics. Dust poofs up around me, and panic rises in my chest when I find nothing.
Finally, after the third box, I find files inside, nestled at the bottom. My hands work furiously through them. I can barely read through my blurred vision.
Holy crap.
At the top of each file it says: Name, brand, age at the time of entrance into the Hole, diagnosis, and date of death. Underneath each of these, in Sutton’s own handwriting, is a list of symptoms and possibilities.
God, why didn’t he tell me?
“Roméo,” I say. “Check these out.”
Finally, he rushes in beside me, his lips quivering and his skin pale with fear. He scans the paperwork. At first, he says nothing.
“Please tell me these’re the right ones!” My voice comes out scratchy and angry.
“Yes. Yes,” he says. He kneels down and begins shoving handfuls of files into his backpack.
“We’re losing ground!” I hear Cole shout. “Do you have them?”
“Yes!” I scream back at him. “Bill, I need you.”
Bill shows up in the closet, his face coated with tears, sweat, and ash. Dark rings puff out from his eyes, and he gives me a despondent look.
“Your pack,” I say. He stands there, frozen. “Bill, your pack!” He jumps to action and hands me his backpack.
I begin shoving files in, scanning as I go. Then I land on the one I want to find—Alyssa Jenkins.
Amber was right.
“No,” I say, my cheeks heating.
“Lusty, you all right?”
I don’t answer.
“I’ll take that as a no. I’ll get the rest of them.” He immediately kneels and picks up where I left off.
Outside, there’s constant gunfire. Cole returns it. Zeus’s bark is hoarse. Bruno sobs over Grace’s lifeless body. I quickly scan the handwritten record in front of me. I do my best to concentrate, just keep it together.
Alyssa Jenkins, Yellow for Greed, eight years old, virus: unknown, thirteen years.
My heart stops in my chest; my breathing slows. My hands shake even though I will them to be steady. Down below, her symptoms are written in plain language along with Sutton’s facts about her condition, but I don’t have time to read them.
I skim down to the last part, where it says the date of her death.
Alyssa Jenkins: Exact cause of death unknown. My professional opinion: Unknown Virus.
“We’ve gotta get out of here!” Cole shouts. He shoots, and the sound brings me back to reality. I shove the paper into Bill’s backpack along with the others and zip it closed.
“Ready!” I shout. “Let’s go.”
Bill slings the sack over his shoulders and groans. Roméo does the same, sagging under the weight. There’s no time to talk or lament our losses, only to run.
I come out of the closet after the others. My eyes meet Bruno’s. He’s still holding Grace, but his expression has changed. He sets his jaw, pushes his shoulders back, and stands with her in his arms. Other than the tears streaking down his face, he shows no expression.
“Bruno,” I say to him. “They’re coming; we have to go.”
“She goes where I go,” he says. His voice holds no compromise.
“Okay,” I say.
I turn away from him, forcing my own emotions down. I can barely stand the sight of him carrying my beloved friend, but dwelling on it won’t help us get out of here.
In front of me, Cole fires back at the oncoming guards. It’s only a matter of time before they surround us completely.
“Move out,” Cole says.