Exiled

EIGHT

 I press my back hard into the cold brick wall behind me, thankful for the training that has prepared me for moments like this. My gloved fingers slide down the wall, leading the way for my body to descend into a crouched position and crawl forward.

My body is stiff, blood running cold as I peer between the broken wooden planks that conceal my location.

A large black vehicle sits directly across from my location. It is parked and running with two doors open in the rear.

A van. How odd.

Though even more odd is there are men I have never seen—men dressed completely in black with black cloths wrapped around their faces and large rifles slung over their backs.

Two men emerge from a building to the right, each carrying a limp body I immediately recognize. My eyes grow wide, cold washing down my spine instantly—Beau and Mason.

I scan the area frantically for the other three as Beau and Mason are laid in the back of the van, hands and feet bound with what appears to be rope.

One of the men grunts as he attempts to shove Mason's body all the way into the van. "Dammit, move the blond! This one's heavy as hell!" He grunts again, and an unknown person in the van seems to help heave Mason the rest of the way in.

I rub my chin, carefully weighing my choices.

The blond? They must have Grace too.

"Where the hell is Gibs?" The same man clicks his radio as he talks. "Gibs, come in Gibs. This is Crow."

A staticky voice immediately responds on the radio, "Go ahead for Gibs."

"Gibs, we've got two more. Over"

"Roger that Crow. Last two are in our sights. We've tracked them to the old bank. Anticipate contact in two minutes. Over."

The man called Crow slaps his forehead and shakes his head. "Gibs you ass, I'm sending back up. These two tried to kicked our ass and I know that one's bigger. Over"

I clench my jaw, watching in absolute silence.

Sounds like Rhett and Dallas.

Crow turns on his heels, waving his hands in an obvious display of frustration as he barks at one of the men. Moments later a tall stocky man hops out of the van and sprints quickly off to the left.

A staticky laugh. "I've got Martin, we'll be fine. Anticipate we'll be at the meet up in ten minutes. Over"

"We've gotta head back soon Gibs. Nelson is heading to you now. Over"

"Metralta will be fine if we're a few minutes late." A staticky chuckle mingles between his words. "Thanks for the confidence in us there, Crow. Over"

Two or three armed men probably wouldn't be a problem for me. But I'm no fool. Five armed men and five unconscious Relegates means the odds of walking away victorious are not in my favor.

Seconds tick by so slowly it feels like a millennium has passed in the span of ten minutes. I can hear the thump each time my heart beats, rolling between my ears like a loose boulder.

Three men emerge from the left. The tall stocky man struggles and grunts under the weight slung over his shoulder— a limp body that I immediately recognize as Rhett.

The other walks as if the body he is carrying in his arms so gently weighs almost nothing. The world around me halts and freezes over at the sight of her. Dallas' limp body is curled against his chest, her hair disheveled, and dirt smudged across her face.

I suppress the rage building and watch intently. The other two men climb in the van and help heave Rhett's body into the van with some struggle and a few muttered words. The tall stocky man wipes his forehead and walks around to the passenger side of the van and climbs in.

The man holding Dallas pauses for a moment, looking her face over and brush his hand through her hair and down across her neck. His fingers linger there for a moment too long and it takes every ounce of control in me to not burst out from this spot and tackle him to the ground.

He says something to the men in the van. Outstretched hands help him hoist himself into the van with Dallas still cradled in his arms.

The doors slam shut quickly and the van speeds off.

Metralta?