dragged me into consciousness. He didn’t sound scared…. I rolled onto my back, listening to the drawn out howl.
“It’s Bangor,” said a voice so close I flinched.
Sitting up, I searched the darkness. As my eyes adjusted, my memories came flooding back. I was still in the supply-room closet. Twisting, I found Everson seated behind me. My gaze narrowed on his lap. “Did I —”
“I’m sorry about the Lull. I didn’t mean —”
“How long was I out?”
Everson rose, avoiding my gaze. “A couple of hours. I’m not sure. I fell asleep too. Look, I didn’t —” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
A couple of hours — that was all? The muddy flow of my thoughts felt like the result of a weeklong coma.
A gunshot rang out, startling us both, followed by another scream — agonized this time. Everson dropped his face into his palm. When boots sprinted into the supply room beyond the door, I rose on usteady legs.
The chair wedged under the knob was flung aside with a crash and the closet door opened.
The infected guard, Bangor, stood before us, wavering on his feet, though his yellow-eyed gaze seemed sharp enough as it settled on me. When he lunged, Everson shoved me back and grabbed Bangor by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.
Where were the other guards?
I had to help Everson. I snagged the tranq gun from his thigh holster. Who knew if the safety was on or if the thing was even loaded? Still, I aimed it at the yellow-eyed guard.
“Lane, don’t” Everson said.
What? I stepped aside to see his face, but his gaze was locked onto Bangor.
“Help me, Ev.” The man clutched at Everson’s shirt. “Don’t let them put me out there. I’m okay. The fever’s broken. I’m going to be okay. Tell Dr. Solis he can try anything on me. Just let me stay here.”
The guards arrived then, and Bangor bellowed as they dragged him backward out of the closet doorway. A guard knocked Bangor’s hands off of Everson so that the others could force him to the floor. Everson took the tranq gun from me, reholstered it, and stepped out of the closet. I stayed as far back as possible and pulled on my cap.
“You shot him?” Everson stared down at the scuffling men.
I followed his gaze and found the hole in the thigh of Bangor’s pants, the growing aura of blood around it.
“What were we supposed to do? He ran.” The tremor in the guard’s voice matched the one in my stomach. His gaze flicked to me and then back to Everson. “What are you two doing in there?”
“We were locked in.” Everson pointed at the chair Bangor had flung aside. “Rafe.”
Another guard shot to his feet and looked around the supply room. “Is he still here?”
“Long gone.”
“I hate that guy,” the guard muttered, rubbing his side as if he’d just taken a punch.
Bangor wept as the guards set to work binding his wrists and ankles with leather straps. I edged into the doorway of the closet. No one seemed to be paying me any attention at this point. Not with a crying, bleeding man on the floor. “Where are they taking him?”
Something dark flickered in Everson’s expression. “He’s infected. He can’t stay in camp — patrol rule.”
Once Bangor was trussed, a guard put on latex gloves and gingerly wrapped a hospital gown around Bangor’s thigh. He began to struggle, trying to get away, but there were too many of them. “I’m okay now. I’m not going to infect anyone. Just leave me here and let the doctor study me.”
Without a word, the guards hefted him up and carried him from the room.
Everson went back into the supply closet and threw some things in a cloth drawstring bag. Then he took off after the guards, skirting the puddled blood on the floor. I snatched up my dad’s messenger bag and followed. If they were going to force Bangor into the Feral Zone, they’d have to open the gate. This could be my chance to cross the bridge. But did I really want to?
I caught up with
“It’s Bangor,” said a voice so close I flinched.
Sitting up, I searched the darkness. As my eyes adjusted, my memories came flooding back. I was still in the supply-room closet. Twisting, I found Everson seated behind me. My gaze narrowed on his lap. “Did I —”
“I’m sorry about the Lull. I didn’t mean —”
“How long was I out?”
Everson rose, avoiding my gaze. “A couple of hours. I’m not sure. I fell asleep too. Look, I didn’t —” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
A couple of hours — that was all? The muddy flow of my thoughts felt like the result of a weeklong coma.
A gunshot rang out, startling us both, followed by another scream — agonized this time. Everson dropped his face into his palm. When boots sprinted into the supply room beyond the door, I rose on usteady legs.
The chair wedged under the knob was flung aside with a crash and the closet door opened.
The infected guard, Bangor, stood before us, wavering on his feet, though his yellow-eyed gaze seemed sharp enough as it settled on me. When he lunged, Everson shoved me back and grabbed Bangor by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.
Where were the other guards?
I had to help Everson. I snagged the tranq gun from his thigh holster. Who knew if the safety was on or if the thing was even loaded? Still, I aimed it at the yellow-eyed guard.
“Lane, don’t” Everson said.
What? I stepped aside to see his face, but his gaze was locked onto Bangor.
“Help me, Ev.” The man clutched at Everson’s shirt. “Don’t let them put me out there. I’m okay. The fever’s broken. I’m going to be okay. Tell Dr. Solis he can try anything on me. Just let me stay here.”
The guards arrived then, and Bangor bellowed as they dragged him backward out of the closet doorway. A guard knocked Bangor’s hands off of Everson so that the others could force him to the floor. Everson took the tranq gun from me, reholstered it, and stepped out of the closet. I stayed as far back as possible and pulled on my cap.
“You shot him?” Everson stared down at the scuffling men.
I followed his gaze and found the hole in the thigh of Bangor’s pants, the growing aura of blood around it.
“What were we supposed to do? He ran.” The tremor in the guard’s voice matched the one in my stomach. His gaze flicked to me and then back to Everson. “What are you two doing in there?”
“We were locked in.” Everson pointed at the chair Bangor had flung aside. “Rafe.”
Another guard shot to his feet and looked around the supply room. “Is he still here?”
“Long gone.”
“I hate that guy,” the guard muttered, rubbing his side as if he’d just taken a punch.
Bangor wept as the guards set to work binding his wrists and ankles with leather straps. I edged into the doorway of the closet. No one seemed to be paying me any attention at this point. Not with a crying, bleeding man on the floor. “Where are they taking him?”
Something dark flickered in Everson’s expression. “He’s infected. He can’t stay in camp — patrol rule.”
Once Bangor was trussed, a guard put on latex gloves and gingerly wrapped a hospital gown around Bangor’s thigh. He began to struggle, trying to get away, but there were too many of them. “I’m okay now. I’m not going to infect anyone. Just leave me here and let the doctor study me.”
Without a word, the guards hefted him up and carried him from the room.
Everson went back into the supply closet and threw some things in a cloth drawstring bag. Then he took off after the guards, skirting the puddled blood on the floor. I snatched up my dad’s messenger bag and followed. If they were going to force Bangor into the Feral Zone, they’d have to open the gate. This could be my chance to cross the bridge. But did I really want to?
I caught up with
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