Song: Bad Dream by Ruelle
***
"I'm sorry - our lives are up for debate? And I assume we don't get much of a say," my sister pipes, narrowing her eyes.
Everything that has occured over the last few minutes has all been so surreal. First, I learn that the girl I was supposed to kill is my half sister, then my full sister shows back up and I'm not allowed to celebrate, and then suddenly it's my family's fault that so many people are dying and to top it all off, my half sister is the daughter of a crazed maniac.
What a day. Definitely one for the books.
"You're three kids in a small room, defenseless, and surrounded by about twenty armed men ready to kill you at any moment. So in a way, yes you do get a choice - by complying, you save your own lives," Lucas says, clapping his hands together.
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. I'm done being scared, being a coward. It's time to man up a little.
I start by singing that one "I'll Make a Man Out of You" song in my head from that really old movie.
I give Ally a look, an oddly specific look that I hope reads "woman up and don't show him that you're terrified because that's probably exactly what he wants but what he DOESN'T want is for you to be sassy, so do that". She gives me an odd look back, and I'm pretty sure my look just came off as "I'm constipated".
"What exactly are we complying to?" I inquire to Lucas. "You have yet to tell us."
Lucas chuckles. "You have three options, but you all have to-"
"What is it with people giving us - or namely, me - options? For literally everything?" I interject, running a hand through my hair. "It's like you people are too afraid to make your own choices or something."
"As I was saying," Lucas sighs, "the choices are: allow us to terminate you and we will release your family; work for us, unpaid, and we will release your family under the pretense that you are dead; or lastly, allow us to terminate your parents, and we will release all of you."
"Wow," Ally snorts, shaking her head. "What great choices."
Maybe she did understand my look.
"So death, slavery, or suffering," I say, counting all three off on my fingers. "I gotta tell you, that's harder than picking an ice cream flavor - and that's really hard."
Lucas slams his hand down on the table. "What is it with you? You were terrified of me a few minutes ago and now? Nothing."
I shrug nonchalantly, proud of myself for having not winced when he hit the table. "Everything gets old after a while, even your act," I smirk. My sister shoots me a look, but stays silent.
"Charming," he deadpans with a sigh. "The fate of yourselves and your families are in your hands now. So tell me - which is it?"
We all know the obvious answer. We can't let our families die, but we also can't allow ourselves to work for him. The choice is so obvious it may as well be screaming at us. It'll just be a matter of who has the courage to say it.
Ally gives me a sympathetic look before quickly saying, "We'll work for you."
Eleanor and I whip our heads to look at her. "Wait what?" I jolt to sit upright in my chair, shaking the table as I do so. "No, we can't," I argue, turning to Lucas.
"You can choose differently from her, you know," Lucas pipes.
My heart racing, I turn back to Ally. She gives me a small, but confident nod. She's working something up in that brain of hers, I can tell. Settling back into my chair, I say, "No, I agree with her." The table rattles once more, loud against the granite floor.
Lucas raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Very well then. I'll have the guards-" he pauses, staring at the table, which now rattles nonstop. In fact, everything in the room begins to rattle ever so slightly, in the same way it would if a plane were to pass over, only multiplied by about five. I can feel my chair shaking beneath my weight as well. "The hell- is this an earthquake or something?" he asks, ducking beneath the table.
As tempting as it is to get up and whack him, I stay in my seat. I don't think he was bluffing about those guards trained on all of us, after all.
Ally suddenly sits upright in her seat. "Do you guys hear that?" she asks.
I listen closely. Muffled, but distinct shouting radiates from somewhere in the building. Somewhere nearby. Not panicked shouting either - more like a war cry.
And it's growing louder.
My heart seems to drop out of my chest. "Get under the table!" I shout, and all three of us duck beneath the table. I whack my forehead on the table's smooth edge as I slide down, but ignore the pain.
With an enormous crash, the shouting suddenly grows deafening. I pull my chair closely in front of me, shielding me from whatever may be coming.
Behind my chair I'm able to see that the door's been kicked in, and hundreds of men and women swarm the room, guns ablaze and still shouting.
Panels along the top of all four walls open up, revealing men dressed in SWAT uniforms. They begin firing at the massive crowd.
Eleanor shrieks beside me as gunshots ring through the air. I motion for her to be quiet, then plug my ears. Ally does the same beside me, her eyes wide with panic. I press my back up against the table and try to control my breathing as I watch the onslaught before me.
A man falls to the floor directly in front of us, slamming down hard and splattering us all in blood. Ally, Eleanor, and I all jump back in surprise, pressing even more against the cold table. Blood pools around the man, and I realize he's been shot. Eleanor turns away, shutting her eyes.
More people continue to fall, including the SWAT members up in the wall panels. Ally turns to look at me, mouthing the words, "What do we do?" I merely shrug, shaking my head. All I know is that leaving these spots now would be suicide, so our best bet is to stay put.
My head spins and my ears ring from all of the noise. I lay my head back against the table, shutting my eyes tightly. I try to drown out all of the terror and noise.
Why us? Why me?
A furious tapping on my arm forces my head up. Ally, panic-stricken, points out beyond our hiding space. Three men are running towards us, bloodied and bruised. I make to get up and run for it, until I see the terrifyingly long rifles the men hold.
I notice Ally doesn't have her fingers in her ears anymore. I take mine out too, noting that either I've gone deaf, or the gunfire has stopped.
The men's boots thud loudly on the floor, and they skid to a stop in front of us. All three crouch down; they're all quite young, but are covered in so much blood and bruises that I can't see much more.
"We're gonna get you three out of here," the man in front of me says with a gentle smile, extending a hand. "Come on, we gotta move fast."
Normally, I'd hesitate to go anywhere with a stranger. But anyone who's trying to get me out of this place, heck, I'll jump in their arms and let them carry me over the threshold bridal-style.
Kicking my chair out of the way I jump up, Ally and Eleanor following. I give both girls a reassuring grin, which they both return. The men each grab one of our hands in their rough ones, running towards the exit door. I focus on keeping up, and not slipping.
Several other men and women, the few survivors of the raid, follow us loosely.
A single gunshot rings through the air, and we all duck. The men shove us in front of them, training their rifles behind them.
"Not so fast," the familiar voice of Lucas pipes as he rises from behind the table. "We're not done here."
The exit door suddenly floods with more uniformed men, weapons held at the ready. We're surrounded.
From beside me, I hear my sister croak out, "Mitchell?"
I turn to look at her as a spot on her light blue shirt grows bigger. And redder.
***