Marked

Chapter Forty-Seven

"No—no way. We worked too hard to get you out of there and I'm not letting anyone take you away from me again."

"Just put me down, I think I can feel my legs now."

"Rachel, please stop asking, it's not gonna happen."

He threw himself back onto the streets, hopped up onto the moving beltway beneath him, and allowed it to propel them forward, his boots striking the rubber conveyor belt with hollow thuds.

Gunshots beat the ground and walls around them, coming oh so close. Rachel buried her face against his neck, too afraid that any moment one of the bullets would strike him and he would fall to ground dead.

"You can't do this for much longer," She exclaimed. "You need to put me down."

"It's okay," He rasped. "My dad's idea of a game when I was a kid."—He sucked in air— "Was making us run around the back of the farm shooting paintballs at each other. Perks of having a cop for a dad, I guess, and it helped me get really good at running."

They were close enough to the city's edge now that she could see the break coming up ahead between two buildings. Aaron and the masked men were a few yards away trying to clear a path for them to get through while poachers littered their escape route. Behind them, a giant object hovered above the ground, looking like a massive, metal bird.

"That's our ride," Hector told her.

Long, shining blades sat on top of it and whipped furiously, emitting the noise she'd confused with flapping wings before. The masked man who had been stunned by the dart in the leg was struggling to run; one of his companions came up behind him, slung his arm over his shoulder while continuing to shoot with his other hand.

They used the cars for cover, jumping behind them to avoid the onslaught of bullets. These poachers were not shooting darts and she figured maybe Nicolas's plans had changed and now he just wanted them all dead instead.

Hector ducked behind a metal trash bin, and gulped down big mouthfuls of air as he set her down next to him. He rummaged through his vest as she watched him with panic-filled eyes.

"They're blocking the way!" Aaron shouted from a few yards away, to their right. He had his back pressed against the sleek metal of a car, face drenched in sweat, gun hugged tightly to his body. "And there's more coming up around the south side, that way." He jerked his gun behind him.

"I've got two left, how bout you?" Hector asked while holding up two little, green grenades.

"All out." The fog was all but gone now which meant the rest of the poachers would have no trouble reaching them—if they didn't get out of there and soon they'd all be in Nicolas' possession.

As she waited, she tested her limbs—they seemed to be working just fine. "Robinson's got one left, though. Hey Robinson, can you hear me?"

"I hear ya," The one named Robinson shouted back. He was somewhere in front of them though she couldn't see him. "Man, listen, Tony's been hit; shit, I—I don't even know if he's breathing."

"Fuck," Aaron muttered. "Cover me." Aaron peered around the car and Rachel resisted the urge to do the same. Hector readied his weapon, stood for a moment, and shot out a round of bullets. When the poachers retaliated, he ducked back down, pressed up against the trash bin, and couldn't quite keep the concern from his eyes.

"It's gonna be okay." He said to her. His face was sweaty, the dirt washed away by perspiration. She could see poachers coming closer through the reflection in a bakery window—at least twenty of them on one side and another five coming to merge from a southbound street.