Marked

Chapter Forty-Seven

She couldn't move.

They emerged from the White House and into a cloud of smoke where the streets remained littered with unmoving bodies. Some of them were still within their techy cars, others lingering in outdoor restaurant tables, all sleeping as if the world had shut off the lights only to them in that moment.

Hector didn't miss a beat as he stood, Rachel still in his arms, scanned the city and decided on the best course of action.

"That way," he jerked his chin. His companions nodded their agreement. Together, they wound around the Marked Ones, careful not to step on any of them. The masks kept them safe from the dizzying effects of the fog.

Hector's face, through his mask, was set, all angles and sharp features. Her cheek rested against the curve of his neck as she worked on breathing through the pain. Her extremities were tingling and her lower back was on fire even though Hector had already yanked the dart from her body.

The fog around them made it difficult to see much but she could hear her breathing, all distorted through the plastic of her mask, Hector's heartbeat, wild, sporadic, a cacophony of all these sounds blending together into a ringing in her ears.

"We're almost out of here, just hang on tight," Hector said to her. She looked up to where the twisting spires of the city buildings reached into the sky, all tinged a green color as if they'd eaten something that had upset their stomachs.

Everything was a blur of colors, of wind slapping her face as they stormed through the city, of gunshots echoing somewhere far away.

At least the pain in her foot was gone.

Each step Hector took vibrated in her skull, and rattled her teeth. She felt nauseous and wondered if her cheeks were turning as green as the fog.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a gentle whooshing sound as if a flock of birds was flapping their wings in unison. She searched the patches of blue that managed to escape the fog but she could see no birds.

"Poachers up ahead!" Someone shouted.

Hector hitched her up higher in his arms, cursed under his breath, and ducked behind one of the buildings.

"Put me down," She slurred. "I gotta help..."

"Not a chance." He replied, sounding winded. She strained to see a group of poachers-- now clad in special suits and masks of their own--approaching them, their grey uniforms weaving in and out of the fog.

The ground beneath them hummed with electricity. A few blue sparks rose up between the cracks in the sidewalks and she sucked in a breath, expecting everyone to go down in a fit of convulsions but Hector and the others continued to jog as if nothing had happened.

"The electricity--" she said.

"It's the rubber on our shoes."

"This is bad." The feeling was beginning to come back to her fingertips. Still, her hand felt like a weight as she lifted it to touch his cheek.

"What do you mean?" He was out of breath now. She could hear Aaron shouting out orders as gunshots bounced off from wall to wall. The fog was beginning to dissolve as if it was being sucked into the ground and the flapping noise had grown stronger, alerting her that they were closer to whatever was creating it.

A bullet chipped a piece of concrete next to them. Hector recoiled, shifted his shoulders so that the pieces of rock and dust hit his back. He winced; the metal of his gun bit deep into her thigh where it hung uselessly because of her.

"The fog is starting to let up. An army of poachers will be here soon. You should just put me down and go. I know Nicolas won't hurt me but I can't say the same for you."