I succumb to Wyler's idea of starting the bon fire. There's part of me that knew this is where we would wind up all along, in Environettix's hands. Even if Lex and Kelly are alive, the chances of them making it back to Wyler and I while I'm still alive, are slim to none. I'm going to die. Of that I am certain. It's just a matter of when and how torturous the last moments of my life will be, either as a guinea pig at the hands of Environettix scientists or dying a slow miserable freezing-cold pain-filled death from my wound and this monstrous storm. But for now, we will continue on as if we stand a chance, as if we can beat the odds even though they are stacked against us.
Wyler lifts me carefully into his arms and I try not to scream at the pain. I wince and bite my bottom lip, unable to completely hide my feelings.
"Should I stop?" he asks.
"No, just go slow."
My body is dead weight as he lifts me from the car. Immediately, we're hit by a gust of wind and pounded by snow as we exit the vehicle and make our way to the cave. Our new temporary shelter is about 100 feet away, just close enough for us to feel the heat, but hopefully not so close that we go up in flames.
When I'm settled in the cave and covered with the only remaining blanket, not drenched in my blood, Wyler makes his way over to the Defender. He hesitates for just a moment, perhaps taking in our last moments of freedom before he seals our inevitable doom. He turns back briefly to look at me. His face is tense with anguish. I sense he needs my final approval, so I nod for him to proceed. He turns and lights the match, flicking it under the vehicle, into the pool of gasoline. It ignites immediately. The flames reach a tremendous height within minutes and black smoke billows up into the atmosphere. There's no turning back now. Environettix is sure to pick up on our SOS signal quickly, and within minutes my prediction is confirmed by the chopping sound of a helicopter in the distance, making its way through the blizzard.
"Here, take this," Wyler says once he's back in the cave. He hands me the beacon that Kelly gave him. I look at him confused.
"They'll search me, but not you. They'll be too preoccupied with your wound. Hide it wherever you can before they take you into surgery."
"What for?"
"On the off chance that Kelly and Lex reached help, I want them to know exactly where you've been taken. Hopefully they can get a message to Ivanov and send backup."
I have little hope that this will work, but I nod in understanding.
"I need you to know something," Wyler says as the rumbling sound of the aircraft grows increasingly louder. They'll be here soon.
"I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, but I had to do what was right in the moment, even if it doesn't seem that way. I never wanted anyone to get hurt, especially you."
"I know," I respond, trying to make sense of the agony I see in his eyes.
"I meant what I said to you last night."
My cheeks turn red at the memory of his confession, that I'm still not sure is real.
"You were drunk." I turn away towards the sound as it grows louder, but he grabs my face with his gloved hand and turns it back towards him.
"No, I wasn't. Mods, even the defunct versions, metabolize alcohol much faster than a normal human. It's one of the reasons why I had to drink so much to get drunk. I meant everything I said. I need you to remember that."
Does he really think I could forget the words that I've been longing years to hear him say?
"How could I forget?" I reply, to which he gives me a look of distress. I can see the torment in his soul. He's holding something back. There's something he's not telling me.
But before he can answer, the snow begins to whip and spin in vicious circles as the helicopter is nearly directly above us, only it's not a helicopter. It's some sort of hovercraft. I've never seen anything like it before. Definitely not civilian grade. This has military written all over it. Any small shred of hope I had that this might be Ivanov's people, is gone.
A spotlight shines brightly, illuminating the area surrounding us, as the predator hones in on its prey. But I'm too distracted by something else to be scared of what lies ahead. The light from the hovercraft has lit up the ground for several hundred yards and I'm taken aback by the sight of human sized snow banks, one after another. There must be at least 100, under which lie the bodies of one innocent person after the next, all of which have experienced a horrendous death and have been laid to rest in shallow nameless graves that no one will ever visit. A single tear rolls down my face in mourning for their lives that will soon be forgotten, and I wonder if I will meet a similar fate, or perhaps worse.
The aircraft comes to a landing. At least twenty armed soldiers exit the hovercraft shining the bright lights attached to their guns in every direction, looking for their target, looking for me. Instantly, my sorrow is replaced with hatred. Hatred for the corporation that could be helping to save millions of lives, but instead, all they are concerned with is one life. Mine. And I'm not even sure saving it is exactly what they want to do. I take a deep breath as Wyler steps forward slowly with his hands in the air. This is it. This is how the end begins.
They move in aggressively and Wyler shouts, "Be careful! She's injured!"
One of the men approaches cautiously, pointing his gun at me, making sure it's not a trick. I unwrap the blanket slightly for him to see the gruesome state of my abdomen, which I haven't dared to look at since it happened. It doesn't look great, but it's far better than I expected.
He moves in close and grabs a flashlight that is strapped to his right pant leg, pointing it at one of my eyes and then the other. The color of the light is odd, and unlike a normal flashlight, my pupils are unfazed by having light shined directly at them.
"It's her," he says to the other men, then he presses a small button on his left shoulder and radios for assistance. Within minutes, the cavalry arrives, placing me on a stretcher and rushing me towards the aircraft while Wyler is escorted with a gun pointed to his back.
As soon as I'm on the plane, I'm placed on a gurney and a team of people surround me, all wearing masks over their mouths and noses. They're dressed in white lab coats with the word, Environettix, embossed on the left breast pocket. I can see a sick sort of excitement in their eyes. To them, I'm not a person with a soul. I'm a rat in their lab experiment. I can only imagine what they will do to me, but in hopes that I might not have to find out, I sneak the beacon under the pad beneath me, as the men and women in white coats are distracted by someone shouting directions at them. I glance around nervously, praying that no one saw what I did. One of the men in fatigues notices my hand as I bring it back to my stomach, eyeing me with suspicion. No! He couldn't have seen me. This is our only hope and I may have just screwed it up, but I didn't know how many chances I would get to make a move unnoticed. I had to take it.
He lowers his gun and slings it to his side as he moves towards me. I try to keep a straight face so that he won't be able to read the panic racing through my body. I contemplate reaching down, grabbing the beacon and smashing it against his head, but that would only injure one of their men and I would surely be punished for my attack. Instead, I try to remain calm as he pushes one of the doctors out of the way.
Once he reaches my side, he looks me up and down, gauging what I'm up to. I want to spit in his face. I despise him and it's impossible to hide. He can see the fire in my eyes. He may not have seen me hide the beacon, but his distrust of me is clear. His lips turn up in a disturbing smile. He knows he holds all the power, and that I have none, and it gives him a sick sort of fulfillment. He towers over me for a moment before grabbing my wrists and strapping them into the leather cuffs at my side. I try to wriggle my arms free but all my squirming does is send a searing pain through my abdomen. I scream and my arms fall limp at my sides as my stomach contracts in agony.
"No!" Wyler shouts. "Don't hurt her!"
At his outburst, two large men grab his arms, twisting them behind his back. A man, who appears to be in charge, steps forward and pats Wyler on the shoulder.
"Good work Wyler," the man says. "You proved to be more useful than I expected. A pity that is no longer the case."
"You promised you wouldn't hurt her."
"Oh Wyler, don't you know? Promises were meant to be broken," the man sneers.
"I'll kill you," Wyler threatens with hatred coursing through his veins.
"I think it will be the other way around," he chuckles. "Take him away," the man orders.
Wyler thrashes violently, trying to break free from the hold they have on him.
My face twists in confusion as he looks over his shoulder at me with pleading eyes. Good work Wyler. Good work. The words repeat in my head over and over. You promised you wouldn't hurt her. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks and I can tell Wyler sees the realization on my face as he mouths the words, "I'm sorry."
Wyler is a double agent, just like Kelly. Only he's playing for the wrong team. This whole time I thought I was safe, but really, I was sleeping with the enemy.