Agent (Book 1)

Chapter 36-Nolan

36

Nolan Hood

Agent: 21

Mission: Not Applicable

Date: September 12th, 2089

Time: 0620

Lynn shoots before I can stop her. There's movement, as the figures at the stop of the stairwell duck to avoid the oncoming bullet. It's hard to make out how many, but there's the distinct shape of a woman, crouching down as the bullet soars over her head and ricochets off the opposite wall. Lynn still has the gun pulled in to her chest, wary-eyed, like she can't decide what to do.

As if on cue, the one woman I can make out tilts her chin up to the light, catching her red locks aflame. She's one of the accused I recognize, and one of the agents who, as far as I know, directed my rescue mission.

    "Slivinski?" Lynn asks, lowering her gun barrel a bit. I don't take the same chance. I squeeze my fingers around the trigger of my gun, feeling the sweat collecting in my palm. The woman—Slivinski—spots the move of hesitance I've made and raises her hands. The two of us do not communicate, and Slivinski, almost politely, waits as I observe her. As I read her.

    "Where are the others?" Lynn asks, bringing Slivinski back to the situation. She must realize that there's no time for shaping loyalties now, because she responds immediately.

    "It's quite the bloodbath in there. Several others had the good sense to flee, so it's mostly scattered now." She pauses to wipe a bit of sweat off her brow. "Best to have as many people evacuated before they swarm this place." She hoists her own gun up onto her shoulder and allows us all a moment to breathe, to take in the last few minutes before we  wade into more chaos. I don't allow it. Best to go on while we're still fresh on adrenaline.

    I whip around and plop down the staircase, expecting the others to follow. "No wasting time," I say. They dither for a moment, before they go on after me.

    The citizens are in panic. They're confused, yelling and cramming themselves into corners like they can ward off the inevitable. Perhaps they heard the sirens from up the stairs, perhaps they received word, but for the most part, they're in the dark. Completely hopeless. I recall the feeling.

    The first thing I notice, after I've paused through my panting, is the considerable difference in their bodies. Most aren't so scrawny and malnourished now that they've got some body fat, and although they haven't bathed, they're looking cleaner than they had out on the streets. If there's something I should feel thankful for, it's that these people have been given the chance to feel a little better. To get a little healthier.

                Too bad that's all about to change.

    No one needs to tell them to settle down. Once they've recognized our faces, they silence at once. I open my mouth to begin instruction, but Slivinski steps forward and begins describing everything that's happened in the last half hour, and the procedures we'll be using to get them out of here. I look down at my shoes as heat rises in my cheeks, and pretend to pick at a bit of rust on my gun.

    "We're going to separate you into groups," Slivinski says. "Never leave the person next to you, or your group leader." She nods for me and Lynn to separate, and to the rest of her entourage, who help to gather. Despite how I feel about following her orders, I part into the mixture and form a large cluster of people to assist out. One person in my group catches my attention. Ava.

    Her cheeks are wet with tears, red and blotchy and covered in dried snot. She hangs onto another little boy, also with teardrops wetting his cheeks. I suppose there's no real way to tell if Ava's mother was killed by the Kings (I doubt anyone even bothered looking) but she obviously hasn't been found. The sight breaks my heart a little, but I don't allow myself any time to think about it. I finish collecting the others and force them into a line.

    "We'll go first," Slivinski announces, directing her group back to the staircase. The room they've been kept in is rather tight for all of them, but they'll manage. It's got quite a few beds in the back. The only thing that worries me, is the several staircases leading up to that lower level. It'd be a miracle if we weren't caught leading an army of civilians up a tight little stairwell.

      I see them before Slivinski does, and before I can choke out a warning, she's already turned and rammed straight into the red chest before her. She stumbles back a few paces as she takes in the gleam of crimson cloaks covering the doorway. "Oh dear," says one of them, the one that Slivinski nearly toppled. "I really thought you were smarter than this." He has a gun. All I can see is the gleam of the barrel against the lights. The end. It's pointed directly over my heart.

    "No," someone says, from the back of the red mob. My breath catches. I'd know that voice anywhere. Husky and dark. In my nightmares when he'd forced me to the cliff, and I'd fallen down, down, down...

    "That one's mine," he says. A flash of sandy hair. I swear everyone is pausing to listen to the frantic beating in my chest.

    "Right," the same man at the head agrees. "But the rest are fair game."

    It doesn't matter who shoots first. For some reason, this seems like some sort of crime, because in the history books, when they look back on this event, someone will ask. And no one will be there to tell them.

    The people scream as bullets go into the masses. The children whimper and slide to the floor. A stray bullet goes hurdling towards my leg, but I manage to deflect it with the barrel of my gun. I force my eyes to stay open, as much as I want to close them, to look away before the images can root themselves in my brain. The blood and the crippling and the screams.

    We're outmatched, so very outmatched, that getting ten people out of this place in decent condition sounds nothing short of a miracle. Not little Ava though. Never little Ava. But never would I have thought a human could be so barbaric, as to kill innocent children.

    The little boy that she was with goes down first. I see the gushing scarlet staining his shirt but train my eyes on her and don't look down, even when her hands claw hopelessly at his face.

    She would've been the next to go, if I hadn't yanked her to the floor. She scrambles away from me, a frantic insect on all fours, but I reach out and pull her back, pushing her up against the wall so that my body fits protectively around her. Her face is the whitest white I have ever seen, with the exception of the boy's fresh blood dappling her forehead. I put my hand over her mouth, like this will calm her down, but she wails and thrashes against me. "It's going to be alright," I try to say, but it's lost in all the death.

    I'm just deciding to scoop her up and shield her in my arms, when hands, the strongest, hardest hands I have ever felt, grab me by the hair and turn me around. I blink as tears meet my eyes. "We meet again," Tenor says. I feel frozen in place. He grins with a pearly white smile. "Let's have some fun, yeah?"