Marked

Chapter Forty-One

"There's no need for that, Michael. I assume your mother didn't explain things to you. I suppose I'll have to do it myself then."

He paced back and forth, hands interlocked behind his back. "How do I put this? Hmm..."

His head shot up in excitement. "I know!" He gestured towards the city. "This city is your home. You need not be scared here. After all, you've been training your entire lives to serve us."

Michael scoffed and a few grunts of disgust rose into the air. "We will never serve you. We would rather die."

"I'm afraid that's not an option, son. You are capital property. You are of no use to us if you are dead."

"I don't think you understood us. Let me say it again for you, slowly this time." Yalina emerged from the crowd, coming to stand beside Michael. She was the image of composure: strong, brave—all the things Rachel wished she could be.

"You," The president said, sounding a little surprised. "I always knew you would be trouble. I should have Marked you while I had the chance." His carefully composed façade began to crumble. Anger flashed in his eyes. Rachel inched closer, for some reason drawn to this man.

He was the cause of endless sleepless nights, of dozens of nightmares, of lost friends and family. He was responsible for Jed and Hector and Ruth and so many others. This man, standing before her, pleasantly speaking as though he weren't a monster, this man deserved to die.

"Yeah, well we all have regrets." Yalina shrugged one shoulder. "Don't you? Just look around you. You were stupid enough to give us all the information we needed to attack you. How does it feel to be played for a fool?"

The president's face split into a wide grin. "I don't know, you tell me." He motioned with his fingers and an onslaught of aircraft buzzed above them, bursting into existence from thin air. They touched down on the ground, about five of them, their engines slowly drifting into silence, rustling dust into the air in the process.

From within emerged a group of poachers who shoved forward a dozen of familiar faces.

Bryan, the broad man with the blonde beard and a bunch of other bunker soldiers. Juan's face emerged from within the crowd. He was brought to his knees and a gleeful cry left Rachel's throat. She pushed forward, trying to get a better look, to make sure it was really him.

A huge weight lifted off her chest at the sight of him alive and breathing. She no longer felt completely lost and alone, though she was far from feeling happy. There was no guaranteed they wouldn't be killed yet.

She noticed Henry wasn't among the crowd. Had it been his aircraft that had been shot from the sky?

"We were expecting you, we just weren't sure in what form you would arrive. Though I do have to admit attacking our power supply was quite ingenious. You have been trained well, though I am a bit disappointed. You really should have known better than to broadcast a universal call if you did not know who all the recipients were, little ones."

"Damn you." Yalina growled. "No matter what you do to us, no matter what you threaten, we will never give in to you."

The crowd shuffled restlessly. The world closed in on them. Defeat was pressing down on their bones, thinning the air around them.

Yalina and Michael both pointed their weapons at the president, the rest of their people following suit. Still, the bunker soldiers refused to give up, even in the face of failure.

Across from them, the president cocked his head to the side as though he was thinking really hard about something.

"I believe there's been some type of a misunderstanding. You see, you are all CN property and none of this is negotiable. I'm sorry if something I said led you to believe otherwise."

"We are people not livestock." Debra emerged at the front line. In all the commotion, Rachel had nearly forgotten about her. She was so used to seeing her as a bubbly, mother figure that it was a shock to see the hard set of her jaw, the valiant curve of her shoulders.

"Not when the greater good of our nation is at stake. Once you learn the truth, you will be thanking me." The president swung on his heels and began to retreat back towards his white mansion. "In the meantime, please do come in and receive your Mark. We've got a lot of work to do."

No one made a sound. Instead, she heard a shout emerge from the crowd. It sounded a lot like, "Attack." With the sudden flurry of bullets, the message became quite clear.

Bullets zipped through the air towards the poachers but not a single one of them hit a target. Instead, they bounced against a rippling wall of blue, clanking angrily to the concrete floor. The bunker soldiers looked around them, perplexed. The wall had come out of nowhere and they stopped shooting in a desperate attempt to conserve ammunition.

Seeing as all their other options were exhausted, Michael turned to his people. "Retreat!" He shouted, but the crowd was torn with confusion. Metal walls sprang up behind them, effectively sealing the paths that had brought them into the city circle. The chaos made it impossible to find a way out. They were corralled, like livestock indeed, just as the city had wanted.

A man rushed forward from the crowd, his body barreling towards the rippling, intangible wall.

"Wait, no!" Rachel shouted. She chased after him but she was a few seconds too late. His body slammed into the current of electricity, his entire frame vibrating and quivering. The moment was closing in. There was no saving him, but there was still a chance she could kill the president if what she'd seen in her simulation proved to be true.

It would be her last act of defiance. Her revenge. Or at least she would die trying.

She closed her eyes and threw herself forward while the current still rushed through her fallen comrade. She didn't allow herself even a moment of hesitation once she realized she had survived.

She lifted her gun, trained it on the president's retreating back and shot. Except a bullet burst through her arm at the exact same moment, causing her own bullet to fly wildly into the night sky.

The president whipped around quickly as she fell to her knees, the fabric of her pants ripping, the asphalt searing her skin. Where the bullet had ingrained itself, her arm was on fire.

A few things happened at once. A thousand guns trained on her, ready to end her life. The president took in her face; a look of surprise tore through his eyes. He threw himself forward, wrapping his hands around her shoulders.

Where he touched her, it stung, and her world spun.

"Don't shoot!" He roared.

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