The two soldiers who entered through the door looked shocked, but they didn’t have a chance to react as Clara threw two more knives. Neither landed where she aimed, but both hit enough to distract. She grabbed two more from her waist, aware she only had only two more knives.
She needed to run. She had the vials. She needed to get the hell away from here.
“Clara!” The voice barely flicked into her recognition, and she turned. A form ran out from the trees, a gun held out in front of him. Everything about the hand position was wrong. Had he ever held a gun?
He fired at a soldier behind her and the noise snapped her back into the moment. Run. She needed to run.
“Clara!” He called again, “Run!” He stopped running towards her, planting his feet as he aimed at another soldier behind her. The boy who had never killed anyone. She didn’t have time to contemplate that as she sprinted past him, through the alleyways, winding back to the bookstore. She wadded up the lab coat and threw it in the corner of an alley, adding her bloodstained shirt to it.
Her tank underneath provided enough coverage as she ran back to the bookstore. She had to get back. The door came into sight, and she opened it, practically slumping against it as she fell inside.
She groaned as she kicked the door closed behind her, head spinning.
“Clara? Clara? My gods, Clara, what happened?” The lights flashed on as Marsh knelt next to her, hesitating before shaking her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
Clara groaned again, blinking against the bright light. All at once she seemed to come back into herself. First, noticing the concern and fear in Marsh’s eyes. Second, feeling for the bag and breathing a sigh of relief when she found it. Third, “Where’s Carver?”
Marsh’s eyes widened, “He went after you.”
Clara’s head pounded. “I don’t…I…” She squinted, trying to remember. “He had a gun? I don’t think he’s ever shot a gun. He,” she breathed in, grimacing at the pain in her side from the motion. She could feel the adrenaline fading, and everything became more painful. “He was still there,” She finally said. Entirely numb.
“What do you mean he’s still there?” Marsh’s voice was harsh, and Clara flinched.
49CARVER
Carver had only felt panic twice in his life. Usually, he was the first person to respond with reason. He was capable, level-headed, and unruled by his emotions. He was calm and able to take whatever came his way.
The first time he ever felt true panic was when Clara had slipped off the roof at 17. He felt his heart fall with her, and though it was only one story, he had been convinced she would be dead or require medical care. He rushed down the side of the roof, almost falling in the process but not even noticing, so desperate to reach her. She had landed hard, the air completely knocked out of her lungs, but by the time he reached her she sat up and was laughing. The worst of her injuries were soreness and bruising.
The same form of panic hit him now. All concern for his own safety banished, and he was halfway out from behind the tree, holding a pistol out in front of him, before realizing he hadn’t shot a gun in years. His first shot was wildly off, but still the guards ducked and he kept moving towards them.
The door opened, and he saw Clara. Her eyes wild, knives held out in front of her, surrounded by blood and carnage. Hekept moving, ready to fire again. “Clara!” He yelled. She didn’t seem to notice. “Clara!” He yelled again.
The guards from the outside posts charged at her, and holding his gun out with one hand he hoped against hope he could land the shot. It grazed one soldier's arm, just enough to slow him down. “Clara, run!”
Her eyes snapped to his now, and she scrambled out of the doorway. He planted his feet, holding the gun out with two hands and fired consecutive shots. He barely aimed. It wouldn’t matter. His only goal was to help Clara get away.
This was all his fault. He had broken the rules, and now he was paying the price. He knew from the moment he saw Marsh she was just attractive enough to cause problems. He couldn’t blame her for this. It wasn’t her fault. He blamed himself. He was so stupid to leave Clara to her own devices.
She’d always been reckless. Why did he assume training had tampered that? If anything, it only further convinced her of her ability to do whatever she wanted.
His gun clicked, and he knew that was the end for him. The soldiers had increased in number, and were running towards him. He looked behind him, unable to see Clara, and grateful she had gotten away. That was his only goal.
Everything moved in slow motion. He felt each beat of his heart in his chest, in his throat, in his hands still tightly wrapped around the gun. Had she done it? Had Clara gotten the vials and made it back alive?
He knew she wouldn’t come back for him. He wouldn’t ask her to. Her role, her entire goal was to save Quorath. And because of him, she could. A small amount of pride swelled in his chest. He, too, had accomplished his mission. He saved Clara.
He dropped the pistol and held his hands up at the guards approached. “Where is she?” One soldier gruffly motioned to the others, “Spread out and find her! I’ll take care of him.”
The soldiers dispersed, but Carver knew Clara was long gone. They wouldn’t find her. “On your knees.” The soldier ordered and Carver complied. Whatever happened to him now was irrelevant.
“I should kill you right now.” The soldier muttered, instead cuffing Carver’s hands behind his back. The metal bit into his wrists, but Carver barely felt it. The butt of the guard’s gun came down on his temple, and Carver’s world turned black.
50CARVER
“I can’t do this anymore.” He watched himself say the words. He watched his form turn to walk away. He watched Clara’s face crumple and her shoulders fall.
He watched as he again walked away like all of those years ago. He tried to yell at himself, tried to tell Clara that wasn’t him, he wouldn’t hurt her like that. But his mouth wouldn’t form the words and everything hurt. The pain rushed in like a tsunami until it covered every inch of him and became the only reality.
