Flawed (24 page)

“How many?” Rein asked.

“I see two cars,” Trista answered, her hand shelved across her forehead, “but I can’t tell how many people. It’s too bright.”

Ellyssa closed her eyes. “There are five. Two in front, two on the left, one on the right. They are looking for Renegades and they know about Dyllon.”

Rein shuddered. “Figures.”

As the van came to a stop, Ellyssa reached up and broke the mini-bulb in the dome that came on when a door opened. Wondering what she was doing, Rein blinked, and she was suddenly crouching behind Woody’s seat. He didn’t even hear her move.

As Trista straightened her uniform, Dyllon reached to pull the box hiding the compartment. A
click
sounded as the panel slid back.

“Get in,” Ellyssa said in an inflectionless voice without looking at Dyllon. Her face was pressed between the paneling and the side of the driver’s seat.

Feet first, Dyllon slid in and disappeared from Rein’s sight.

Ellyssa looked at Rein. “You are next.”

Something told Rein, the way she looked, the way she spoke, that Ellyssa had no inclination of crawling inside the compartment. That was why she’d broken the bulb; she didn’t want to be seen. She was in soldiering mode. “What about you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

She glanced away and shook her head. “We do not have time. Please.”

“I’m not getting in there without you.”

The beam of light expanded, their unwelcome company drawing closer.

Ellyssa pulled the box back into position as Dyllon said, “Wait.” She cut off his protests.

“No time for us,” she said, looking at Rein. “Hide.”

Where?

Woody’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, a grim line pressing his lips together. With as little movement as possible, Trista reached between her legs. She shifted to the side and slid the pistol Rein knew she had into her pocket.

The beam of light swung back and forth as one of the soldiers approached. Soon afterward, he heard a male’s voice from directly in front of the van

“Papers,” the man yelled.

“What am I going to use?” Woody asked.

“Dyllon’s,” Ellyssa whispered.

“This isn’t going to end well.” Woody reached into his pocket and withdrew a black wallet.

As Woody started to roll down the window, Ellyssa reached under the seat, and the K100 appeared in her hand. Rein reached for the AK-47. He slid the bolt back. As quietly as possible, he lifted the door handle. The latch released with a
snick
, drawing Ellyssa’s attention. She looked over her shoulder, fear replacing the blankness. She shook her head.

Rein had no intention of listening to her. He paused, his fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, as he waited for the perfect opportunity.

Woody stuck his hand out the window and waved the wallet.

“Both of you, get out of the van with your hands extended in front.” A different voice with an accent that held a familiar twang. The words sounded more like,
both joo, get outtah d’vahn wit yo hahnds extended in fwont
. He sounded a little like Mike had, Rein thought with a pang, when Mike had first joined the group. If he remembered correctly, Mike was from the Northeastern coast.

Trista leaned over to speak out of the driver’s side. “I’m Inspector Klein. We are in a hurry.” She tossed a look over her shoulder. Panic stressed her face, but her voice remained surprisingly calm. “I have a Renegade.”

“I’m sorry, Inspector, but we have to follow orders. Please exit the van with your hands where we can see them.”

“I understand,” Trista said.

As Trista and Woody opened their doors, Rein swung his open. He turned back toward Ellyssa, the blankness faltering as her wide eyes begged
no
.

For a moment, Rein considered staying with her, but he couldn’t. He had to protect them. His eyes darted from her to the box covering the hidden space. “Stay here,” he mouthed.

The last thing he saw was fear melting away the last of Ellyssa’s vacant demeanor before he slipped through the gap. Kneeling behind the bumper, he listened to the tap of boots on asphalt. Slowly, he edged to the corner and peered around it. Two floodlights illuminated the night. Woody wisely hung back, close to the corner of the van.

“Papers, please,” said Mr. Northeast. Luckily, he hadn’t asked for Woody’s yet.

There was rustling, then silence. “Inspector Klein.”

“Specialist,” Trista answered with disdain, “as I told you, I have detained a prisoner, and you are interfering.”

Trista kept talking, holding their attention, her intonation commanding with no-nonsense authority. Rein was impressed.

“It’s late, I’m beyond tired and I don’t have time for this delay.”

“I’m going to have to ask to inspect the back of the van, Inspector,” No-Accent said.

Trista sighed dramatically, and Rein used the opportunity to sneak to the left side of the road. He lowered to his belly behind a bare bush and long-dead grass. The plants crunched under his weight. The frosty ground served as a reminder of the freezing temperature—adrenaline had held it at bay until now. The glacial cold seeped through his thin T-shirt. A shiver gripped his spine.

The two men, dressed in thick olive-green coats and grey breeches bloused into black leather boots, faced Trista as she ranted. Woody stood as inconspicuously as possible, keeping his grey eyes averted—a dead giveaway that he wasn’t part of society. Rein couldn’t see the others, but he knew that Woody and Trista were both targeted in their sights.

Trista threw up her arms. “Of course you do,” she replied irritably. Her hand kept going toward her pocket as if to ensure the pistol was within reach. “The prisoner is locked in the back.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” No-Accent said.

Ellyssa
.

A sinking feeling, like a boulder, crashed through Rein’s stomach. He felt sick as he leveled the rifle at No-Accent as he broke away and walked along the side of the van. At the back corner of the van, the soldier paused and swung around, looking past Trista, who was still raving, and unobtrusive Woody, toward the tree line. There, Rein was sure he saw a shadowy movement. The soldier gave a nod and the shadow slipped behind the tree.

Three accounted for. Rein had no idea where the other two were, but he knew Woody and Trista were the ones in immediate danger.

With No-Accent centered between the crosshairs, Rein’s finger tensed on the trigger, the cold metal curving smoothly. The soldier pulled down on the handle. Abruptly, the door swung outward, almost knocking into the unsuspecting man. The soldier didn’t even have time to step back. In a white blur, two hands struck out of the van, and in less than a second, No-Accent dangled limp, the hands holding him by the side of the head. Ellyssa dragged him silently inside.

Relief washed through Rein, but only for a moment. Ellyssa popped from the back of the van. Crouching, her face hidden within the shadows, her head whipped left, then right. With predatory speed, she darted to the opposite side of the road and disappeared into the leafless vegetation.

What was she doing?

Rein’s heart slammed into his throat. Fighting every compulsion to go after her, Rein stayed put, his muscles twitching defiantly. It was against every instinct, but deep down, Rein knew Ellyssa could take care of herself and was better equipped to do so.

A long time ago, she had told him how emotions weakened people, how they could get in the way of rational thought. In the effort to ensure her safety, he could understand. Following Ellyssa would be a mistake, one that would end up in death for them all.

Rein swallowed his trepidation. In the distance, Trista kept Mr. Northeast’s attention, her words hollow, like crossing through a tunnel. Woody shuffled, his head hanging down, keeping his telltale eyes away from the spotlight.

As the pounding in Rein’s chest subsided, his head cleared. If Ellyssa went to the right, she had gone to dispose of the single soldier. Rein glanced toward the tree where he hoped the other still hid.

Planning to belly-crawl deeper into cover, Rein dropped onto his elbows, the AK-47 snug against his underside. A sharp jab to the back stopped him.

“I would stay real still if I was you,” said a female.

Rein’s heart jumpstarted to overdrive, his mind becoming a jumbled mess. Fear, not for him but for his love and friends, almost incapacitated him. He had to get a grip. Rein inhaled deeply, trying to calm his nerves, which was hard with a barrel digging into his spine. Given little choice, Rein did as requested.

“I knew I saw something crawl out of the back of the van. Put your hands to the side and roll over, real slow-like. Let’s see what you got under you.”

“What’s going on over there?” said the specialist from the northeast.

“I got one of the sneaky bastards, Sir,” the woman answered.

“What?” Specialist Northeast asked disbelievingly. There was a pause. “You,” he pointed his weapon at Woody, “over there.” Woody went next to Trista. “Private Stoker, bring your prisoner here.”

“Get up,” Private Stoker said with a painful jab. “Keep your hands to the sides where I can see them.”

The pressure of the muzzle slightly lessened as the private took a step back, the sole of her boot crunching the ice-laden grass. Without a second thought, no real plan of what to do next, Rein flipped over. He swept his arm to the side, knocking the barrel away just as a round slammed into the ground next to him. Slivers of frozen dirt spewed in the aftermath and the crack rang deafeningly in Rein’s ears.

Slightly disoriented and with a consistent buzz in his head, Rein followed the motion with his leg. The private landed on her backside with an
oomph
. Leaving his rifle where it lay, Rein managed to clamber on top of her when the gates of hell broke open.

A scream resonated from somewhere up the road. A short burst of gunfire sounded. Someone—Trista?—yelled. Another barrage, closer this time, rattled. Pings sounded as the van was hit. More yelling.

Rein’s head snapped to the side as pain exploded in his lower jaw, adding to the discomfort of the buzzing. As his vision tunneled to a pinpoint, the private bucked hard, almost sending him to the side. He grappled, finding his balance, and had barely repositioned himself when fingernails raked the side of his face. Private Stoker pitched beneath him again. This time his balance was completely thrown off. Reeling, Rein’s face met the cold ground.

The private spun out from under his legs and scrambled for the rifle lying a meter away. Rein grabbed her ankle and she stumbled, but not before her hand clasped the butt of her weapon. She swung the weapon around and he pulled back, the muzzle zipping in front of his face in a black blur. Grabbing the barrel, he tried to pull it free from her grasp. She yanked back and pulled the weapon free as Rein toppled forward. The private kicked and screamed, her hands everywhere, the rifle slamming into his backside.

Then, suddenly, Private Stoker stilled, the rifle clacking to the side as her finger relaxed, her lids peeled back in a look of surprise. It took a moment for Rein to realize the woman was dead even as he watched a thin stream of red lazily seep from a bullet hole in her temple. In his frenzy to stay alive, he hadn’t even heard gunfire.

Surprised at the sudden turn of events, Rein turned, thinking Ellyssa or Trista would be standing by the road, but his eyes rested on a figure clad in green and grey. A rifle rose and he found his eyes locked on the gaping hole of the weapon.

Moving as little as possible, Rein felt behind him. His fingers curled around the butt of the woman’s rifle and he moved just as the flash lifted from the barrel. Air disturbance lifted his hair as the round zipped by. Instinctively, Rein brought the weapon up at the same time he fell. He squeezed the trigger, and the rifle, recoiling, slammed repeatedly against his shoulder. Cartridges went wild. Gunpowder scented the air. He was thrown off-balance. Silence followed as he landed on his side behind the dead private.

As the smoke, weighted by the icy air, lifted, Rein heard Ellyssa call his name.

The world shifted and everything faded away.

As puffs of breath escaped Ellyssa’s mouth, she squeezed the freezing water from the cloth, then dabbed at the scratch over Rein’s right ear, where the bullet had skimmed his head. He lay on a blanket; his head was propped on another, and he was covered with the thick coat of the dead soldier, warding off the early-morning cold with little effect. Besides the wound from the bullet, three long scratch marks marred Rein’s cheek.

White noise squelched annoyingly, catching Ellyssa’s attention. She turned to look at Dyllon, who still hovered close to the soldiers’ ATVs, waiting to respond if anyone called for updates from the patrol. His stance was rigid, still angry at being shut inside the human stash alone. When Woody had finally opened the panel, Dyllon had scrambled out, spewing words Ellyssa had never heard anyone say, though she caught the gist of the meaning. He’d gone directly to Trista, alternating between pulling her close and checking her for injuries despite her reassurances.

Ellyssa didn’t blame him. She couldn’t image the turmoil he’d endured, locked away in a metal box. She could have at least stayed connected to Rein on a mental level. Dyllon had had nothing to reassure him.

Trista huddled safely within his arms. Constantly, Dyllon would touch her cheek or press his lips against her forehead, as if to reassure himself.

They were sharing moments Ellyssa wished she was sharing with Rein.

Inhaling deeply, Ellyssa went back to caring for the reason her heart continued beating, refusing to acknowledge the worry that kept trying to wiggle through the cracks of her carefully constructed wall.

Rein was going to be fine. She’d examined his wound a dozen times. The edges were smooth and blackened from the heat. The blood had already coagulated, sealing out any infection. The round hadn’t done any permanent damage, nothing Rein wouldn’t recover from. Just a scratch. It could have been a lot worse, if the soldier had moved the muzzle a millimeter to the left. She could have been covering his corpse with her body, crying tears of hurt and rage and loss, depleted of the will to live instead.