Project HALO

Chapter 17

The Detectors aren't any gentler this time around.

Again, they sit us down to face each other, cuffed to the railings inside the van.

"I will inform Regina about the bad service her guard dogs are giving us," I mock as a Detector locks my handcuffs.

He slaps the back of my head. "Quiet."

"When my father finds out abou—" I begin to threaten, but the Detector jumps out and slams the door in my face before I can finish. I will never talk to my father after this, but it's fun to annoy people and right now I need a little fun.

Even though all that just happened at Regina's office, it feels like a distant dream, a bitter aftertaste in my mind. But no matter how hard I pinch the skin on my arm do I wake up from this nightmare. This is real. Too real. We have a week to prevent a disaster. Seven days! My stomach squeezes. I don't know where to begin. How does one find something that is meant to stay hidden?

The slam from the doors outside snaps me back into the present. The defeated expression on Mikey's face pushes any doubt out of my mind. I have to keep my hopes up, no matter how hopeless the situation.

"I can't believe they handcuffed us again," I groan when the car moves, hoping to start a conversation. Anything is better than being stuck inside our own heads, especially when not a single thought is a positive one.

"I can't believe she's made a new branch of soldiers for this. Detectors." He spits the word out. "I also can't believe they've created a virus to force people into submission. How sick is that? How completely effed up is that?" He sucks his lip in. "But the sickest part must be that the government has been funding this all along. The government that is meant to act with Norway's best interest in mind, that is meant to work for its people, not against them!"

"Mikey..." I try, but I don't know what to say.

Everything he says is true and it's starting to hit me as well. Maybe I should have listened to his theories earlier. Maybe if more people had listened, this could have been stopped before it even began. No wonder he is angry. Phantom has tried to warn people for months, yet no one listened. Myself included. An uncomfortable mix of guilt and anger and despair coil through me.

"Mikey," I say again, drawing a breath through my tightening chest. "You don't have to do this, you know. I'll understand if you don't want to help me anymore. This is my mess and... And I never—I never meant for this to happen. I never would've asked you if I knew this would happen, okay, I hope you know that."

Mikey juts his chin out and shakes his head. "No, no. Absolutely not. I will not let them silence me. You think I'd do that? Oh, over my freaking dead body. These bastards won't get away with this," he says without flinching. "I will help you stop them even if it's the last thing I do. The truth will triumph, as it always does."

I open my mouth to reply, but almost bite my tongue off when the car turns so sharply the wheels shriek against the asphalt.

Seconds later, a deafening sound shoots through our ears like bullets.

Gravity leaves us as the car is flung off the road. The harsh impact flings us out of our seats. Mikey screams as he flies up against the roof of the car. His head hits the wall beside him with a hard thunk and he goes limp, hanging from his handcuffs like an upside-down rag doll.

My back slams against the wall behind me and my hands are the only things keeping me attached to the car. The steel cuffs bite into my skin. I don't have time to get out of the position before we're hurled down again, our backs crashing against the seats, our arms in an even more painful state than earlier.

The car stays still. Unnaturally still. Like there's no one left inside.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice raspy, my breath heavy and uneven.

Mikey doesn't move.

His whole body folds forward. There is a wound on his head and blood is pooling next to him, dripping from his wrists. His warm brown skin has turned taupe. Is he... Something cold wraps itself around my heart.

"Mikey!" I try to kick at him, but I can't reach him. "Hey, Mikey, wake up!"

The pulse in my wrists pounds so hard I think I hear it scream. Or maybe it's the ringing in my ears that's making the sound. Fear and adrenaline stiffen my limbs. My back aches and my head hurts, but other than that, I think I'm okay. Huge dents are scattered all over the roof and the sides of the car. We must've rolled over some big rocks.

"Fuuuuuck," I whisper to myself.

Mikey's thick-framed glasses have fallen to the floor, shattered in one corner.

I yell his name again.

No reaction.

I take a deep breath and try not to panic, but it's difficult when I'm the reason we're in this mess. This is my fault. Mikey doesn't deserve this. I tense against the cuffs, pulling at them with all my might, carving them deeper into my wounds, but nothing happens.

I'm about to yell his name one more time, but sudden gunshots outside snap my mouth shut. I would yell if people were here to help, but emergency teams usually don't fire weapons when they arrive.

My eyes widen and flicker to the mangled backdoors.

I stay dead silent, barely daring to breathe, hoping whoever is out there won't find us.

But whoever is out there do find us.

The backdoors of the car are opened with an ear-piercing screech, revealing two people with bandanas covering most of their faces.

"That's him," one of them says and points their gun at me.