Wilson’s words echo in my ears. I try to concentrate on the sound of our feet thumping on the ground. Zeus keeps a steady pace along Cole’s side. But a small voice in the back of my head has me second-guessing every move we make. It’s only a matter of time before they find us. We are outnumbered, outgunned, and malnourished, we have everything to lose.
We come to the intersection where, during the revolt, one of the squads branched off to go to the hospital and my team went to breach the Commander’s headquarters. Even now, the memories seem so vivid, so real. My heart drums. I look right, the way I went before, but then Cole turns left. We’re heading toward the hospital.
When I swallow, dust gets caught in my throat. It makes me cough and soon, I’m gagging. Cole stops when he realizes I’m not following him. Zeus loops back around and nudges my leg with his giant head.
“Lexi. Breathe. I’ll get you some water. Breathe, dammit,” Cole says and begins rummaging through his pockets. His fingers move fast as my eyes tear. He brings a canteen of water to my lips. I struggle to get it down between coughs. The cool liquid runs down my throat and washes away the phlegm. He puts a hand on my face. There is so much unspoken between us in that moment, it weighs me down. He doesn’t want to say it. He would never say it. But the truth is, we are going to die. We are going to die, and Sutton is too.
A tear runs down my cheek. Cole wipes it away. He looks like he is about to say something, but then he closes the canteen and returns it to his pocket.
Zeus circles, feeding off Cole’s energy. My body tenses, and Cole’s goes rigid. What’s happening? Suddenly, he yanks me into the shaded part between two buildings, slamming my shoulder into the wall. Oh my God. What is happening?
“What the—”
Cole puts his finger to my lips. He quickly draws his gun and then pushes Zeus’s head behind him. Footsteps approach.
Judging from the uneven rhythm, it sounds like a group of people. Zeus’s ears perk up, and he sits at attention. His eyes hyper-focus on the street, small woofs coming from his mouth.
Cole slams himself against the wall, sneaking looks around the corner. His finger stays ready above the trigger. I cut my eyes toward the source of the noise, my breath coming in uneven bursts.
“No stopping,” a voice commands.
I don’t hear a reply and can’t see past Cole’s shoulder. His stiff posture and the way he slowly backs away from the entrance of the alleyway tell me he’s just as worried as I am. Why can’t he be honest about how he feels? Why must he always put on a brave face?
“No, sir, please!” someone screams.
“Get back in line, or I’ll shoot you. Your choice,” the guard says.
“I’d rather die,” the voice says.
“As you wish.”
There’s a gunshot and more screams. What in God’s name is going on? I cringe away from the sound as moaning and crying replace the screams. I picture another lifeless body in the street and want to throw up. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, it doesn’t get easier.
With his back still flattened against the wall, Cole turns his head toward me. His eyes are wide with adrenaline as sweat trickles down his dirty face, like paint dripping down a wall. His lips are pressed thin, his jaw tight. Once again, he says nothing, but instead turns back toward the entrance just in time for the people to come into view.
I suck in air.
Guards parade a group of about fifty Sinners, like stray dogs, through the street. As the Sinners walk, they stumble. Their eyes look tired, and their bodies look weak from malnutrition and disease. They’re dirty, and their clothes are in tatters. Some bleed. Some of them weep as they walk, and others wear blank stares, eyes glazed over. The first guard leads and instructs them while the others surround the group and make them move faster.
“When it’s over, you go back to your homes,” he says in a demanding tone. He turns around and leads the sad group down the road. “You hear me? Straight home.”
A face in the crowd flicks in my direction.
No!
I jump back into the shadows, sure she’s seen me. My pulse races. I can’t breathe.
I think I know that woman. I’ve seen her before.
Amber. It’s her. It’s unmistakably her.
One of the nurses I used to work with in the hospital, she looks like a shell of her former self. Bulging eyes stare out from a shriveled face. Her once vibrant hair lies limp down her back in thin strands.
I hold my breath waiting for her to scream, “She’s there!”
But minutes pass, and the group continues down the street.
That was close.
I slide down the cement wall, letting my gun dangle in my hands for a short moment. My chest feels like it’s on fire. Cole squats next to me and puts his hand on my neck, and for the first time, his touch doesn’t comfort me. I push my feelings aside and focus on what’s happening.