“Too late,” said Brigid. “Through that door. The Small Chapel.”
“No,” said Abby, her voice strange. “I won’t go in there.”
“Go.” Brigid pushed the group toward a door. “Out the back.”
“Come on, Abby,” Luc urged. He grabbed her arm and pulled. Reaching past Sammy, he found the door, twisted the knob, and they stumbled through. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting out all light and air.
Blind in the pitch black, he felt around for Abby and found her, child in her arms. “Which way?”
“I can’t, Luc. This is… Down this hall is the Small Chapel. It’s where they…” She shook as she spoke, and a shiver slid up his spine.
This place smelled of stale ashes. And fear.
He waited.
“I can’t go through that room. They hurt me there, Luc.”
“Okay, Abby. Okay. We stay here. Or we can turn back and bust our way out, if you want. I can do my Rambo impersonation.”
She didn’t speak for a second, and he stood, with Sammy breathing hard against him and the men’s voices getting louder next door. “Rambo? Is that a superhero?” she asked finally, and oh fuck, he wanted to kiss her. No, he wanted to marry this woman.
They started moving again, Abby leading them through a door, andputain, he could smell the ashes stronger in here. He almost gagged, not from disgust, but from anger. And another emotion, stronger, more protective. Some kind of instinct he’d never known he possessed, inexorably linked to this country and this woman.
Suddenly, Luc didn’t want to hide anymore. He wanted to tear through this place, swinging the ax he still held at his side, to knock them down like a goddamned Viking raider. And then he wanted to tear Isaiah apart. With his teeth.
Beside him, Abby whispered, breaking through the shimmering sheen of rage. “The exit’s right over there.”
Blinking, he moved, making sure the others were right where he could feel them. Their breathing was loud in his ears.
The fucking door wouldn’t open, and Luc felt around until he encountered a massive padlock. Behind them, a door slammed, and somewhere outside—hopefully not too far away—Luc thought he heard a siren.
“Step back.” He nudged the others to the side and hefted the ax, determined enough to chop through the lock on the first swing. A kick finished the job, and they were out in the fiery night.
* * *
Abby’s breath was loud in her ears when she spoke. “We can’t leave the children.”
Luc said, “I know.” He sounded resigned but certain. “This stops now.”
“I’ll go—”
“You take these two to the fence, and I’ll go back.”
“Okay.” She wanted to argue, but what was the point? Besides, if she could get Jeremiah and Sammy out, she could come back and—
Brigid appeared in the doorway along with several women, their arms full of groggy children, others dragged behind them. Her old adversary nodded at her once, and suddenly they were on the same team, aligned in their rejection of this life that had been forced on them. “This is all of them,” said Brigid.
On a rush of adrenaline and something that felt like love or pride, Abby turned to run. Behind them, something popped, and one of the children started to scream.
Pulse beating hard and fast in her throat, Abby pushed herself harder. From behind her came the loud pop and crash of the Center roof caving in. It smelled bad, like gas and…
A gunshot sounded out from not too far away, and Abby couldn’t even look. She refused to turn back, wouldn’t look behind her, because this baby in her arms, and all the others, depended on her to get them out. Smoke billowed out from behind them now, thick enough to choke her as she nearly fell. Gagging, she pulled her coat over Jeremiah’s face and ran faster.
Someone yelled—nothing but a disembodied voice in the blinding wreckage.He would have killed the babies, she thought over and over and over. Seconds more, and he’d have killed the babies. Who could possibly side with him after that? None of them would, right? Mama couldn’t possibly want to stay with that man?
They were close to the property line, the part where the fence was low enough to climb, when a shadow broke out from the trees and turned into a man. Benji, rifle in hand, blocked their way, and the scene was like something she’d lived before. Just days ago, but it could have been a different life.
“You going to shoot me, Benji?” she asked, slowing. “You planning to shoot your own son?”
