Agent (Book 1)

Chapter 37-Lynn

37

Lynn Kramer

Agent: 53

Mission: Not Applicable

Date: September 12th, 2089

Time: 0630

If I were to shoot, there's no way I could guarantee the accuracy of my shot. Instead, I do the only other thing I can think of. I throw myself in the way of others, shielding them with my body, tackling them to the ground when a bullet goes hurdling straight for their chests. Bodies. Bodies everywhere. I can't help but choke on the sight of it. Can't help but feel a piece of my heart ripped away at the sight of blood dribbling down innocent chins.

I duck bullets and push others down beside me, but it's no use. It seems that everyone I desperately put myself in front of, falls a moment later. I figure I still have some chance though, because after narrowly avoiding rounds of bullets and blades, there's a clear path to the doorway up the stairwell. I make my way towards it without thinking, ignoring the impulse to throw myself to the floor when the bullets race towards me. I whip myself through the frame and pin my back to the wall, huffing.

My eyes find the stairs. It would be so easy, so easy, to jump back up those dozens of steps, to flee to the security exit and make my way out. To run through the forests and deserts and swamps and whatever else there is to run through. To save myself.

I turn back and peer into the room, grabbing the shoulders of the nearest person I can find, shoving them up the steps. "Come on!" I shout, begging for them to hear me. I catch sight of Slivinski, blood running from an open gash in her forehead, but she spots me immediately and dashes over with civilians at her back. I dive into the raging battle, reaching for anyone still able to keep on their feet and shove them behind me. They mount the stairs, scrambling their way up the flights as fast as their broken bodies will take them.

The Kings are aware of our escape attempts now, because they've flooded through the doorway again, and are gunning down those of us climbing the steps, taking out anyone who doesn't duck down low enough. Some are easy targets, those who topple just from sheer exhaustion and the extent of their wounds. I force myself after them, taking up the rear of the group with Slivinski, while they gun us. I search for Hood. I can't find him. I can't find him.

"Keep going!" I shout. And they do, as fast as they can, but at this point we are so heavily outnumbered, I must force the determination on my face. I scream more encouragements, but it only seems to be adding to the casualties. There's ten, fifteen, twenty Kings on the stairs now. I fire back with my semiautomatic, taking out a few with Slivinski, but they only keep advancing.

I try to push them on the best that I can, but the truth is, not one person seems fit to continue. They all pause for at least ten seconds, leaning heavily on the railing. I want to yell, to scream, but I don't.

I feel ashamed for thinking it, but I want to shove them out of my way and leave them in the dust. I want to forget that this has ever happened, and pretend that it all belongs to some dark fantasy in one of my nightmares. A dream back in my sleeping quarters, brought on by my constant worries.

But I feel too much pain for a dream. We stumble up the first flight, then the second, the third. A collection of bullets collide with a mass of those struggling in front of me, and they all collapse at once. Bile rises in my throat and I gag when I see the woman fall at my feet, head lolling to one side as her lifeless eyes stare up into my face. I try to focus on my shoes, to move as fast as I can, but I just can't. Several times I have to pull myself over the bodies and ward off the tears stinging the corners of my eyes.