Chapter Twenty-five
As soon as Lily is through the other door I hop out of the bed, making my way down to the door she came through, undoing other binder's straps as I go, telling them to run, to get out of here.
Some follow the way Anna went, while I go with a group through the other door. I don't have the time to argue with them, to convince them we need to stay together, and now I feel guilty as I sneak down the hall with these three other binders, our bare feet making little sound against the natural stone. No one speaks to each other, too scared to draw attention, but we don't need words. We're all in this together with one goal. I will help them get out until I find someone who might know where River is.
A petite brunette woman leads us as we look through various doors for the exit. A few times we have to duck into an empty room as someone walks by and we wait, holding our breath, until the coast is clear. We hear yelling and shattering glass down some of the other halls. It sounds like the underground is breaking out into chaos.
We continue on and I peek around a corner. A white coat is walking down the hall. It's Gene. He scurries into one of the labs. My blood starts to boil.
I pull on the man's shirt in front of me. "There's something I have to do. You guys go on, if I can catch up I will."
He nods his head. "Good luck."
I rush for the room Gene had entered, skidding to a stop just beneath the glass panel. Slowly, I raise my head to peek through the glass, my whole body shaking with anger. Gene is stuffing blood vials from one of the fridges into a shoulder bag. He looks a bit frenzied. All the better for me. If he puts up a fight that'll make this much more satisfying.
I don't try to be quiet when I open the door. I want him to see me. I want him to know I've come for him. When he turns around I can make out the label beneath the row of vials he's been taking: "Jane."
When Gene sees me he clutches the bag to his chest and grips it tightly. His face is bright red and a vein in his temple is throbbing angrily.
"You! It's your fault she left me! You told her to go! All this time she has stayed to be with me. And now she's gone!" he yells at me, holding the bag tighter. "You think I didn't know she could get out of her restraints? Of course I did! I watch her! I'm always watching her! To protect her! And you tore us apart!"
With every word I move closer.
"She was lost when she came here!" he continues, yelling and squeezing the bag to his body. "Pining like a stupid little puppy for her family. I helped her forget! I made it easier for her! And this is how she repays me? I protected her! When she proved resistant to the drugs, when she became difficult, I saved her from the trackers. They wanted to throw my beautiful Jane to the trackers!"
We're maybe two feet apart when he sees the scalpel in my hand. His eyes widen, but he's not scared. If anything he calms down. He sets the bag with the vials down next to him like it was the most precious possession in the world.
Right now, it doesn't matter that I can't shift. I want to do this with my own two hands.
It takes me by surprise when he lunges at me. My muscles are slow to respond, but I manage to duck underneath his outstretched hands and circle behind him, running the scalpel across his back. It tears open his shirt and slices the skin beneath open. He doesn't cry out but pivots on his foot to face me, still eerily calm. He picks an aluminum tray off the table next to him, scattering the instruments on it all over the floor, then throws it at me. I knock it out of the air just as he follows behind it, lunging again, this time grabbing hold of my gown and taking me down to the floor with him.
He's not nearly as strong as I was hoping; his frail frame is easy to hold back. With one hand I push him up enough for me to position the scalpel, then drive it down into the crook between his neck and shoulder. This time he yells. I yank the scalpel out then curl my fingers around its handle, sending my fisted hand into the side of his head. He stands and backs away, dazed, then slips in blood on the floor from his back wound. His feet fly out from beneath him and he falls.
This time he screams. Blood is gushing out from his right leg and when he lifts it I can see the round blade of an electric bone saw stuck deep into his thigh. It was one of the instruments he flung off the tray earlier and he landed right on it.
When he pulls it out, blood spurts from the gash like water from a faucet. It's punctured an artery and he knows it. He looks at me, almost like he expects me to help him, he eyes wide and mouth gaping slightly. I don't move an inch. His hands slip around the wound as he tries to apply pressure to it, his beige pant leg turning dark with blood. He spots a tourniquet hanging off the same table from earlier and reaches for it, but I'm faster, snatching it away. He yells out in frustration, then seems to give up on stopping the bleeding. Instead he drags himself, smearing red across the white floor, towards the counter next to him. He reaches up for the bag, managing to wrap shaky hands around the strap, before his eyes roll back in his head and he falls to the floor, unconscious.
This man has drained so many of my kind of their blood and now his own blood is spilling out of him, bright red on the floor and still hot on my hands from when I stabbed his shoulder. I remember how I felt when I saw those dead poachers in the woods, bloody and lifeless. I've seen so much death since then. I've been the cause behind so much of it.
Do I feel bad about killing this man? Was his life worth any less than mine? Than any of the binders they're killing and keeping here?
I think of Anna. Of my twelve-year-old self, sitting in the corner of the playground just trying to keep Wolf calm. Of how she came to me and pulled me into a hug and made it all feel better. I think of her children, who miss her everyday, and her husband who will never be the man he was before she disappeared. I think of the woman Gene made her become.
Do I feel bad about killing him? Fuck no.
After throwing the scalpel down beside his body, I wipe his blood on my cotton gown. I don't bother sneaking out the door, instead bursting through it and taking off at a sprint. Every vampire and werewolf in the building will smell the fresh human blood on me, and if I'm going to find River before they find me I need to move fast.
It's like a labyrinth. Every hallway leads to another hallway, or an intersection of hallways. And aside from the different layout of doors along each one, they're pretty much the same. I could be running in circles.
Not a single person, natural or supernatural, has passed by. I search the air for River's scent, but only find the slight trace of smoke and dampness that I've been smelling since I left the room with the beds.
It's not until I slip while turning a corner to quickly that I realize my feet are still slippery with Gene's blood. When I look behind me I realize I've been leaving a bloody trail of footprints behind, the prints faint now, but probably bright red where I started out.
I tear off the sleeve of my gown and wipe up the remaining blood on my feet, then throw the scrap into an empty room. My head is dizzy with the size of this place. It's like being in the surf and getting toppled by a wave: you don't know which way is up or down. Right now I have no idea if I'm running deeper into this underground maze or closer to the exit.
I listen for the werewolves, knowing they must be barking orders or checking in with each other. It's not until I realize that I can't hear them, any of them, that I realize I can't even hear my own. All this time, Wolf has been quiet. I search for her, but my attention is too divided. I turn a corner, run down the hall, and search deeper for her. Turn another corner, open a door into an empty room, backtrack, search deeper.
She's not there. Her presence is either so deep that I won't be able to find her until I can give the search my full attention or she's...
I can't think about that right now. I have to focus on finding River, on getting out of here.
A door ahead of me flies open and I nearly slam into it, just barely sidestepping in time. It's Cara.
We stare at each other for a moment. She looks at the blood on my gown, sniffs the air to try and identify it. She doesn't say a word. Is she telling the rest of them that I'm here? Will Faustus himself be coming for me? I take a step away from her, but Cara puts out her hand for me to stop.
"You want to find that other binder?" Her hand is still outstretched.
I nod. She nods back at me.
"Follow me," she says, before running ahead of me.
When I hesitate to follow, she turns around and yells, "Keep up!"
At this point, she's my best chance. For the second time I follow this woman whose husband is dead because of me. I don't know how I can trust her, but I don't have much choice.
It's hard to keep up with her; my legs are still weak from lying in a bed for so long and not seeing the outside has drained any energy I might've had.
"He's in the tracker's kennels," Cara says from ahead.
We've been running for a while now. If we have to run much farther I'm not going to be able to put up much of a fight if we run into someone less helpful than Cara. "Kennels?" I ask in between pants.
"It's just down this hallway. They're attached to the gate, that'll lead you outside. You won't have long. They know I'm helping you."
I pick up the pace. "Why? Why are you helping me?"
Cara slows to let me catch up. "I don't know. I—something doesn't feel right anymore. We've been raised to hate you. When we're hunting—when our beast is in control—it's easy to think of you as nothing but prey. To believe that it's a necessary evil, to end an even bigger evil. The Order...The Order..." she stops.
When she turns, her eyes are shining with tears. "The Order kills our babies if they've not sanctioned the breeding. Our children. Garrick he, he refused. To do it. His pride is why... The Order took our infant, my baby, and killed him. In front of us." She backs up against the wall. Silent tears fall down her face.
This. This is why they'll do anything to stop them. Why they're willing to sacrifice our lives. For their own. I try to feel sympathy, but there's only anger.
"You're not our enemy. Your kind would be a much more valuable ally. Breathing weapons who can fight, who have just as much stake in this war as us, that sounds a lot better than coma-induced vegetables."
"We would be. We're stronger than you all give us credit for. It's just not in our nature to fight."
Cara wipes away her tears, her strong façade back up again. "It's in yours." She turns to give me a look. "And they're giving us a hell of a fight right now. They've broken out all over the facility."
My heart swells with pride. And worry. Is it a winning fight? Or are they weak like me and getting put down left and right?
We're finally heading towards a hallway with a dead end and a door, hopefully leading out to the kennels. I pull on the handle, but it's locked. Cara can see my panic and puts a hand on my shoulder, pointing with the other at the keypad next to the door.
"He's inside, the last kennel on the right. The key code for the gate is 5891," She says, keying in a different code for this door. The lock clicks open, but Cara grabs my wrist. "My husband let his hatred and his pride blind him. I won't be blinded anymore. I'm on your side, binder."
I put my hand over hers and nod, then start to open the door when there is roar down the other end of the hallway. Breathing heavily and practically foaming at the mouth is a massive black and grey werewolf with three scars running down the right side of his face. His low growl travels down the hall and into the pit of my stomach. It's Faustus.
Cara is quiet beside me, but from her eyebrow movement and the slight opening and closing of her lips, I can tell she's speaking through her mind. I can hear more wolves coming, their claws clicking on the stone floor. We'll be heavily outnumbered in seconds.
"Go!" Cara yells, making me jump.
She pushes me through the door and slams it shut behind me. I hear her smash the keypad on the other side and see the deadlock bolt itself shut. No one will be following through this door. Including Cara.
She's going to take on Faustus and whoever else he has for backup? By herself?
I slam my fists against the door. How many times now has someone had to step in to save me? Blythe, Anna, Cara—River and Finn more times than I can count. When will I be able to save people? Instead of leading them to their deaths?
"Hey! Hey, help us! Please!" someone yells behind me.
I spin around and see exactly why Cara called this "the kennel." The room is lined with kennels too small to stand in, each one containing a binder, each of them with their faces pressed up against the chain link.
A man pushes his hand through the gap between the door and the wall and points at a red button on far side of the room. "There! It opens the cages! Please, help us!"
I sprint down the aisle between the kennels, people reaching out to me, pleading for help.
Last kennel on the right. Last kennel on the right.
I pass by the cage Cara said River would be in and see a figure balled up in the corner. The only one who isn't at the door of their cell. My heart falls into my throat.
I smack into the wall with the button and slam my palm down on it, keying in the code for the garage-like door with my other hand. Some of the binders walk cautiously out of their cages, but others, as soon as the door starts to screech open, cower back inside. The room fills with sunlight and I already feel the energy coming back to my body.
"Go! Hurry!" I yell at the emerging binders.
They look at each other confused, whispering amongst themselves.
I don't have time to organize an escape party. "There are no wolves waiting for you out there! You can run!" I'm yelling so loudly that my throat is rasping. "Please! Get out!"
I don't stand there to watch if any of them take this chance or not. Rushing over to the kennel, I crawl in through the now open door. I hold my breath and watch River's back, looking for any rise and fall, any sign that he's alive.
"Took you long enough," he whispers, his voice rough like he hasn't used it in weeks.
My relief releases itself as a sob that sticks so painfully in my throat that I choke as I scramble to his side. River pushes himself over and the face that greets me is barely recognizable. Pale and gaunt, he looks like a ghost—his normaly glowing skin dull and sickly looking, his shining silver hair muddied with blood and dirt.
My fingers shake as I reach out to touch his face, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry it took me so long."
He takes my hand before it touches him, his fingers thin and bony. "I'm sorry we ended up here. And that you had to be my binder in shining armor." He tries to laugh, but cringes instead.
There's a massive bang on the door to the kennels. I crawl back out and can see the steel beaten in. Another bang and another big dent.
"We have to go," I say, crawling back and taking River by the arm. "Can you walk?"
He tries to get on his hands and knees, but collapses immediately. Another bang. I loop my arms under his then around his chest and drag him out of the cage. The activity drains every last bit of color from his skin and he seems to fade before my eyes.
"What did they do to you?" I ask, trying to stand with him.
But he just doesn't have the energy for it. I don't know how many of his bones are still broken, if his wounds are infected, if he's sick. I've never seen something like this before. Maybe a cold or a scraped knee with Niki and T.K., but nothing serious.
Useless. I'm absolutely useless.
But if I can get him into the forest and find the plants I need, I might be able to stop him from getting even worse.
When my hand slicks with a wetness coming from River's shoulder, I panic. One of his wounds has opened up again and blood is pouring down his arm. My eyes focus on the drops that drip slowly from each of his fingers, the red streams of blood on his skin like flowing external veins.
River sags in my arms, passed out from pain or fatigue or illness. It's all my fault he's here. The least I can do is get him out.
Taking a deep breath, I manage to pull him onto my back, holding tight to his forearms to keep him there. The second I feel that he's there securely, I take off, as fast as I can, out into the forest, just as another thud hits the inner door.
Direct sunlight hits my face and the warmth revives me: mind, body, and soul. I'm greeted by the same, unfamiliar woods as before, but this time I know the land a bit better—I can read the flow of the forest like a map. I take a deep breath, inhaling the pines and cedars and the spruces and firs. There are still no souls. Whether they're hiding down in the roots because of what goes on here or because I've lost some of my connection to my binder self, I'm not sure.
Again Wolf's absence eats away at me. But River's weight on my shoulders reminds me that I don't have time to worry about it now. I know exactly what she'd be saying to me right now, "Run!"
The forest floor is clear of the thick underbrush I'm used to in Florida. I didn't notice it as much before, but I can run so much faster here: the path ahead is clear. And with my new energy from the trees and the sunlight and the fresh air I feel like I could run for days, even with River on my back.
There's a howl behind me and River nearly goes over my head as I stop, trying to listen for the direction it came from. How close was it? Are they on our trail? Is Faustus himself coming after us?
Wolf, are you there? Please. If you're there, I could really use your help right now.
There's no answer. Don't focus on the silence. Keep moving.
I adjust River on my shoulders and continue on, trying to listen for a stream or watch for a steady decline in the ground—anything to let me know I'm headed in some kind of direction. I could stop and mark north by watching the tips of shadows move, but even if I did know what direction was north, I'd have no idea what good going north would do.