Agent (Book 1)

Chapter 28-Nolan

28

Nolan Hood

Agent: 21

Mission: Not Applicable

Date: September 4th, 2089

Time: 1200

Too much bouncing. Several times I find myself nodding off, only to snap awake at the sound of voices, broken out in a cold sweat. I believe for an instant that I'm back in that sewage tunnel, being dragged through branches of cold darkness. There are no thoughts of being saved. Only the enemy. The enemy, with all of their sadistic tricks, their mind games. To evoke more torture, in the hopes of breaking me down for the information I'll never tell.

This nodding off, snapping awake business continues for I'm not sure how long, until I finally prepare to keep my eyes open for good. As always, there's voices, more urgent ones, yells. Bleary eyed, I squint into the bright lights ahead.

I'm being yanked over a threshold. I can't make out much, besides the fuzzy blackness of vests and the backs of heads, crowded around me in a shield formation. Everyone's guns are drawn, focused on some lost point in the distance that I struggle to see clearly.

That's when the gunshots start. I for surely would've cried out in surprise, if my throat wouldn't have been stark dry. I can just barely hear the shouts of the men dragging me.

"There's not the numbers to fight off this many! We've got to abort!"

"The Commander hasn't called for an immediate evacuation yet!" Another replies.

"I don't—"

They're both silenced as another bullet whizzes passed us. I hear the sharp cry of agony before a figure falls behind, yanked into everlasting silence.

I can't make sense of this. It's enough of an effort to control each one of my limbs properly, let alone see through the haze. I'm too stubborn just to play along, so I purposefully shift all of my weight forward, sending myself hurdling towards the pavement.

They aren't prepared for the sudden weight change, and I'm released, unprepared for the ache that surpasses me the second I hit solid ground. As I pass through the air, a distorted image reaches my eyes.

First thing is an assortment of red robes, draped over moving feet. Hands on guns, knives. Thundering footsteps all around. A mob of cloaks, before one tiny flash of metal in between. I sense something larger that they are covering, but the one piece of silver that remains visible catches the light of the mid-day sun, and glitters.

The two agents grab ahold of my arms and yank me back up again, muttering curses under their breaths. They continue moving forwards, ever so slowly, tightening their holds under my arms to make sure I can't pull another slip away.

Apparently, weakness is no match for instincts, because the second the person in front of me collapses, I've flung myself into the men positioned at my back. They shove me up again with the tips of their guns.

"What's happening?" I manage to ask, swallowing enough to clear my parched throat.

"An attack," one says, hoisting me a little higher while he reloads his gun. Another gunshot strikes the air, sending an agent down in front of us. I force myself not to let my eyes find him on the ground, but I don't have to; the other agents fill in the space that he had occupied not a moment later, circling around me.

I feel the object in my hand for the first time since I'd received it, the dagger that Fifty-three gave me, clutched tight against my chest. Even so, I tighten my fingers around the handle, until my knuckles have gone white. Just breathe, Hood. Breathe, I think, taking a few gulps of the smoky air.