“You mean to tell me that wasn’t enough for them?” Bruno asks.
“Unfortunately, no. But the United Powers have suspicions that something more’s happening, something greater, something that can change everything.”
“Oh, great. Like what?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Now that is exactly what we’re hoping to figure out.”
By now, a new anxiety is spreading through my veins. What is happening? And what could possibly be so bad that it could change everything?
“You know Wilson loves torture. He might be torturing Sutton,” Bill says, suddenly stopping his frantic pacing.
Cole gets in Bill’s face and practically spits as he says, “These comments of yours aren’t helping matters, and you’re really starting to piss me off.”
“You don’t like to hear the truth?”
“Oh, hell, I’m done.” Cole spins around and walks back to his pack. He takes out some duct tape and heads toward Bill. “Don’t make me tape your mouth shut.”
“Hey, what’s our next step?” Bruno interrupts. “This guy doesn’t seem to know all that much of anything. A complete waste of energy.” Bruno looks from Cole, to Grace, and then to me. He relaxes his stance.
“Lexi and I will gather supplies,” Cole says. “Then we’ll head back out.”
“I’ll keep an eye on Bill,” Bruno says.
“And I’ll make sure Roméo gets something to eat,” Grace says. She gently touches her stomach and then gives me a smile.
“Okay, then let’s gets started,” I say. But before we can part ways, Bill stops us.
“I’ve stockpiled some of the good stuff in the closet of the training room.”
“Got it,” Cole says, moving quickly out of Bill’s grasp.
Bill reaches for me, but Cole knocks his hand away and pulls me with him.
“But beware, not everything down here’s safe and secure,” Bill calls from behind us.
“Thanks,” I say over my shoulder.
Cole picks up his pack, throws it on, and dusts his hands off on the sides of his pants. He takes my hand, and we intertwine our fingers. His skin, no matter how many times I feel it against mine, instantly causes my heart to jump.
In the hallway and out of view, we stop for a moment.
“Hey,” Cole says. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, just trying to wrap my head around everything.” I stretch on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. Cole smiles before touching his lips to mine. He brushes my cheek with his thumb, and I close my eyes, soaking in the feeling.
“I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier,” he says. I step away from him, taking in his earnest eyes and serious face.
“It’s okay. We can talk about it as soon as we’re done here.”
He gives me a half smile and then opens the door to the training room. The smell of gun cleaner permeates the air as Cole opens the closet. Four rows of shelves wrap around the entire closet. I run my fingers over the cool, smooth black pistol closest to me. Picking it up, I release the magazine and place it on the table that stands in the center of the training room. Sliding back the chamber, I check to make sure there’s no bullet inside. It’s empty. I grip the pistol and wrap my fingers around it. Like a glove, it fits perfectly. It’s strange to me how comfortable I’ve become handling guns. Of course, Keegan taught me safety always comes first; you must treat every gun as if it’s already loaded, otherwise accidents happen. Searching the closet, I manage to find four more magazines that go with the pistol.
Cole checks out the big guns. He finds one and gingerly pulls it off the rack. He runs his hands over it like it’s a rarity.
“This’ll do the job,” he says with a slight smile.
“I don’t think I’ve seen it before,” I say.
“I’m surprised Bill has one; it’s an M4.” Cole carries it with such confidence, like it’s a part of his body. He flips it over, slowly, checking every inch of the weapon, making sure there’s nothing missing or any visible damage. I watch as his head nods with quiet admiration.
“Bill’s done a pretty good job keeping the weapons in good condition.”
“So it appears,” I say.
While he examines my gun, I walk around the table and look for anything else we might need. In a container at the end of one shelf are two different kinds of hand grenades. I’ve never handled grenades before, but I carefully grab one of each and weigh them in my hands. One’s heavy and slim. The other is rounder and weighs less. Either way, I can’t help but wonder how something so small can cause such a large explosion.
“Do you think these are worth taking?” I ask.
Cole spins around, sets down my gun, and looks at me. His forehead scrunches up, and his eyes flicker. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you handling grenades. Have you used one before?”
“Well, no. But it can’t be that complicated. You pull the pin … and throw it. Fast.”
“Uh-huh, then what?”