I’m in my room with my hands pressed against my temples, staring at the floor.Okay, what now?
The honest answer is that I didn’t plan much past the door. I can’t just run away. We have more guards now. It’s more likely than ever that I’ll get caught. I need to create a distraction, maybe a fire?
I push the thought aside. Too dangerous, someone could get hurt...Think, Ellie, think!
The explosion answers the question for me.
The house shudders. A bone-deep vibration, same as that other day. Fear crashes over me, and I’m temporarily paralyzed by it.
Shouting.
Gunshots.
Anya.
No. I shake my head, snapping myself out of it, and then I’m moving.
First, to the window.
From there, I manage to see that the guards are converging on the east side. I count — eight, ten, more still coming. The east approach is a mass of controlled activity.
The west side is empty.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. My hands shake as I text Maren.
I have my distraction. Wish me luck.
I don’t wait for a response.
The west corridor is empty. The side entrance is empty. The stretch of property between the house and the perimeter wall, running along the garden border, is all empty.
I push through the exterior door, and the air hits me — cold, sharp. I pull in a breath and feel a knot loosen in my lungs.
Then I run.
The perimeter wall has a service gate on the far west corner. I found it three weeks ago and noticed that it has a mechanical latch rather than a keypad. My feet follow the route before I’ve consciously directed them there.
I make it to the wall. It seems there’s already been a battle here. Black marks litter the concrete. Stone debris covers theground. The remains of a security camera lie sparking just past my feet.
The attackers must have come in this way, but I can’t see anyone left. Not even a corpse.
It should raise alarm bells, but I’m too overwhelmed to think it through.
My lungs are burning, a bright, acidic pain that I push through as I move along the wall. From behind me comes shouting, the sharp percussion of gunfire, more explosions. Ahead is the gate, the latch, the freedom of a door that opens outward.
Then my hand is on the latch.
My chest pounds with violent heaves. My skin is cold with sweat, and my nerves are on fire. But that’s not what keeps me from taking the next step.
Instead, I pause.
Tears well in my eyes.
Somewhere behind me, a little girl is sitting in a bunker, holding her stuffed rabbit and arranging pencils in chromatic order. The thought tugs at my chest, begging me to stay.
I stand at the gate and take a deep, raspy breath.
Everything hits me at once.
