"What the hell are we going to do?" Evan asked as he spread the map out on the table. He studied it, his fingers tracing outlines across the wrinkled paper. "It's impossible. I know ... I know there is no other way in."
I'd been through every square inch of these damn tunnels multiple times myself. Keith and I had searched every hall, opened every door before we moved in. I knew every dead-end, every seeping corner, every scrap of graffiti that covered the walls. Evan spent the first two weeks down here drawing map after complicated map of this place. He used my perfect, size twelve foot to measure the length of each hallway, re-walking them twice just to verify his calculations. All of that was useless now. I knew it. Evan knew it.
Keith ripped a bag of ammunition from the stash and began haphazardly cramming extra clips in his pockets. I stood up, momentarily afraid that he hadn't cooled off and was preparing to have another go at Evan.
"Keith, Evan doesn't-"
He turned around abruptly, halting my words. I saw the flash of recognition in his eyes; he'd known all along Evan hadn't taken his stuff. Like me, he was just hoping otherwise.
"What do you think I'm gonna do, Jake? I know it wasn't Evan. Those sons of bitches are getting in here somehow and when they come back, I'm gonna be ready."
"I don't understand," Evan mumbled. He hadn't heard a word Keith and I had said, he was too consumed with the flaws in his map. "There is no possible entry point we haven't checked. There is no other way for them to get in. This doesn't make any sense."
"Well you better check your map again there, Evan boy, because it looks like you screwed up."
Ignoring Keith's comment, I glanced down the hallway to my room. I should be working on a plan, helping Evan make sense of the illogical and Keith prepare for God knows what, but all I could think about was the girl. The terrified look on her face and the fact that I'd forgotten to tell her what was happening when we went topside. Maybe it was better I hadn't clued her in; she was scared enough as it was.
Keith kicked a full ammo box across the room, scattering bullets into our food supplies. The noise didn't faze Evan; he just continued pacing the tight width of the room, ducking as the box nearly grazed his head. No doubt he was still running the details of silo schematics through his analytical mind, but it wouldn't help. His map wasn't flawed; our sense of security was.
I backed out of the room, stopping in my tracks as Keith called out behind me. "Where are you going? Those assholes could come back any minute and you're running off to play with that head-case of yours?"
"I'm not playing with her." I growled, clenching my fists. Idiot was lucky I didn't have time to deal with his mouth today. The crack of my fist against his jaw would be the perfect release for my boiling rage. She was guarded, still mute, and I was irritated she still wouldn't give me an inch of trust. But she wasn't crazy, that much I knew. "And she's not crazy." She's scared, I silently added.
My eyes traveled the length of our supply wall, my pulse quickening as I counted the boxes of ammo. We had twelve boxes, but who knew how many of them were damaged or unusable. We'd been collecting them since the day we found the rifle, picking up moldy, half-emptied boxes of ammo in the abandoned farm houses surrounding the silo.
"Go through our ammo. Pull out everything we can use. I'll be back in a minute," I said.
"You better be, because Evan here isn't any better with a weapon than he is with drawing maps," Keith mumbled, reaching for the first box.
Keith had a point, and for the first time I wondered if Keith's constant razzing of Evan's uselessness had nothing to do with being mean and everything to do with forcing Evan to hone his skills. Badger him long enough and maybe Evan would pick up a gun, practice firing it just to prove Keith wrong. Either way, starting tonight, I was getting involved, making sure Evan became intimate with the weapon of his choice. And it wasn't going to be that damn map!
My room was only a few doors down, easily within hearing distance of the supply room. I stopped mere inches from the door, the blood freezing in my veins. I'd shut that door, had purposely closed it behind me when we went topside, sealing her in. There was no lock, but the door was made of steel and as heavy as hell. I doubted she could've budged it without some help.
Inside. Whatever ... whoever was taking our stuff was coming from inside.
It made perfect sense. Shit, none of this had happened before she arrived. But how and why? What plausible reason could that girl have for screwing with us? For screwing with me?
I silently propped my rifle against the wall and pulled the blade from the waistband of my jeans. My room was small; if I fired a shot in there, in the dark, I had as much of a chance of hitting her as I did the intruder. Steeling my nerves, I took one step into the room, melded myself with the wall, and waited for my eyes, my ears, my instincts to tell me which way to lunge.
It took an excruciatingly long, few seconds for me to register the complete and utter silence. Scanning the room, I saw no sign of the girl. Her usual corner was empty, the blanket she used to keep herself warm also missing. I stepped further into the room and did a full three-sixty, keeping my blade up and my fist pulled back. That's when I heard it - the soft shifting beneath the stack of dirty clothes in the corner that gave her away.
I lowered my weapon and crouched down, slowly began peeling the layers off until I saw her small arm, trembling and covered with angry, red welts.
Her eyes flashed open and she flew at me, slapping at whatever part of my body she could reach. I did the only thing I could. I grabbed onto her wrists and yanked her into my chest, not caring what part of her bruised body I was holding onto or how many claw marks she'd leave on chest. She needed to get herself under control, and if she couldn't do it herself, then I'd do it for her.
"It's okay; it's just me," I soothed, trying my best to get her to calm down, to stop struggling against my hold, but she wouldn't let up. She got in one good, swift kick to my inner thigh before I lost my patience.
"Enough!" I screamed, and she stilled instantly, the sound of my voice breaking through the terror that consumed her. Her arms flew up to shield her face, and I realized she still had no idea it was me.
"Look at me," I said, giving her a good shake when she didn't respond." Look. At. Me!"
She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and I gasped. Her hair looked wet, blood tricking down the side of her face. I quickly scanned the rest of her body, my eyes flashing to the red welts I'd seen as I uncovered her ... bruises that weren't there an hour ago.
"Holy crap." Unable to control myself, I shoved my arms beneath her tiny body and lifted her up. A two-inch cut at her hairline becoming visible. Blood trailed down the side of her face in small, crisscrossing streams and pooled at her neckline. I stumbled over something, nearly dropping her as I made my way to the mattress and set her down, pried her hands away from her eyes so she could see my face.
"It's Jake," I said, searching for the words to make her trust me, to make her open her eyes again and realize that I would never hurt her. "They're gone. It's just me."
Not knowing what else to do, I wrapped my arms around her, felt the warmth of her blood seeping though my shirt. She pushed back, wrenched herself from my grip, and tried to stand. Her legs buckled, sending her tumbling back into my chest.
My fingertips hovered over her skin, her beautiful face marred with the marks of someone who felt entitled to her, someone who'd come in here and done this to prove a point. Bile rose into my throat as I stripped off my shirt, pressed it against the gash to slow the bleeding. I wanted to pull her into my arms, to hold her tightly against me and promise that she was safe now, that nobody would hurt her again. But I couldn't. Not anymore.
Slowly she opened her eyes and stared at me. "I'm not going to hurt you," I said, but I am going to kill whoever did this to you, I silently added to myself.
"Can you tell me who did this to you?" I asked. I needed this girl to talk, not only for her own safety but for Evan's and Keith's as well.
She shook her head and shoved me away, her eyes trailing to the floor by my bed. I eased her back down to the floor, and stood up. There was a wallet by my mattress, one I hadn't seen before. I picked it up, my hands trembling with anger as I opened it. There was no need to go hunting for an ID. I knew instantly whose wallet this was. There was a picture on the inside of the wallet, the thing piece of plastic covering it cracked. It was my sister and Tyler at Homecoming. I stared at the picture for a minute, remembering that night - the music, the chintzy decorations, and the party afterwards.
Was there nothing those assholes hadn't taken? Did they loot every dead body on that bus? Were they so cruel that they couldn't even leave Tyler with this one thing - a picture of the girl he loved. A picture of my sister Katie?
Anger, raw and out of control, coursed through my system. I turned and slammed my hand into the wall, didn't care that I probably broken my hand, didn't even feel the pain. The only thing I registered was pure, unadulterated rage.