“I find that hard to believe,” Torres says, returning the barrel of the gun to the right side of Mom’s head.
“Let her go. Unchain her and let her walk out the door with him,” I say and nod toward Luke. “Then you can have me, the one you came for. Then you get even.”
I take another step and hold out my hands. My legs are shaking, but my mind is clear. She could save more people than I ever could. She’ll do more good in the world than me. This is the way it should be.
“No!” my mother cries as I step closer. Tiny pellets of blood shoot from her mouth with every word. “Reagan, I love you. I won’t let you die for me.”
“Let her go, Torres,” I say, taking another step. His cold eyes lock with mine. I hold out my hands and feel calm, at peace. Ready to die in her place. Tears stream down her face and I know she’s not crying for herself, but for me, for the choice I’m making. “My life for her life. Let my mother go.”
“It’s an intriguing offer,” Torres says and tightens his grip on my mother’s neck. “But you see, my only son is dead. He was four years old, killed by your mother. And a year ago, your parents killed my cousin. He was like a brother to me. So as much as I appreciate your offer, it’s not enough.”
“What more do you want?”
Please let her go. Please let her go. Dear God, help me. Please let her go.
But God doesn’t hear me. God won’t answer my prayer. I know it the second Torres’s crooked smile rises up his face, buckling my knees.
“She has the blood of two of my loved ones on her hands. I want an eye for an eye.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
Torres stares at me and digs the gun deeper into my mother’s temple. “That means … I kill you both.”
My heart stops beating. I lock eyes with Mom just before he pulls the trigger. There’s terror and regret and love. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to stop time. But the clock still ticks. The world still spins.
Bang. The sound of the shot rattles off the cinder-block walls and concrete floors. When I open my eyes, everything is blurry around the edges, like the world has fallen off of its axis. I look at my mother, blood pouring from her head, eyes closed. Her hair falls over her face as her body slumps and tumbles onto the dirty, stained mattress.
“No!” someone yells. A bloodcurdling scream follows and rings in my ears. It consumes the room and knocks any trace of air that remains in my lungs. It takes me a moment to realize the person screaming is me.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Luke opens fire on Torres, striking him in the shoulder. Torres takes a shot at me. It hits my bulletproof vest, knocking me backward. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Luke fires from his M4 again, hitting Torres in the right side of his chest. Torres grabs his wound, takes one more shot, misses, and runs for a door in the back of the room. He slips through and disappears.
“Mom,” I scream and sprint toward her. She’s not moving. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God. It takes forever to reach her, the seconds feel like hours. I drop to my knees next to her, flip her onto her back, and grab her face, the blood from the bullet wound soaking into my hands. “Mom, please! Mommy!”
Pow. Pow. Pow. There are gunshots from somewhere else in the house. I don’t care. I hold my mother’s face, pull it toward me, and cradle her in my arms. “Mommy, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Please wake up. Mommy, please wake up!”
“Reagan, we have to go,” Luke says, grabbing me by the arm. “I hear more guards.”
“We have to help her, Luke,” I shriek and push him away. I kiss the top of her forehead. “She’s hurt. She’s really hurt. We have to stay and help her.”
“We stay and we’ll be dead too—come on,” Luke says, pulling me up off the ground. I watch as my mother’s head slips out of my hands and down onto the blood-soaked mattress.
“No! I won’t leave her,” I shout and try to kneel back down. My fingertips touch her cheek for a second before Luke picks me up by my waist and drags me toward the door.
“Let me go,” I cry, trying to twist out of Luke’s grip. “I have to help her.”
“We have to get out of here or everyone is going to die,” Luke yells at me, pulling me out of the storage room.
“No, Luke, no,” I scream. I stare at my mother’s face as he lifts me up and pulls me out of the room. She gets smaller and smaller and smaller. And then, she’s gone.
“Reagan, stop,” Luke yells as I flail in his arms.
“Put me down,” I scream and pull at his fingers, struggling to get out of his firm grip.
“No, I won’t let you die. We have to get back to the truck,” Luke says and pulls me into the media room. He unlocks the door to the walk-out lower level and we’re back outside.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Shots ring out from somewhere in the field.