Salamander

Chapter Eleven: The Traitor

Chapter Eleven

We all froze like statues as the pounding persisted. “Open up!” the voice continued to shout over and over and over and over . . .

Eventually, the pounding stopped almost abruptly, like the man that had been hitting the door was caught off guard mid-knock. “Open this door now!” It was a female voice this time. “We will break through it if you don’t let us in!”

            “Maybe they’re a family trying to hide from the Collectors?” Mariam suggested.

            Mrs. Falker shook her head. “No, I highly doubt it. And besides, even if it was a family, I wouldn’t risk opening up that door.”

            “We’ll give you five seconds!” the female voice continued.

            “Daddy,” the girls cried.

            “You’re going to be fine,” Mr. Falker said, but even I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

            “Don’t let go of me,” Mrs. Falker told Mariam. She grabbed me with her other hand, and though her voice was firm and confident, her face was ridden with fear. When her wide eyes met mine, I felt myself begin to fear for the Falkers. Just because I wanted to give myself up to the Collectors didn’t mean that I wanted a family to be ripped apart in the process.

            Mariam looked toward me and tried her best to give me a reassuring smile, but it was ruined by her arched eyebrows and trembling body. “We’re going to be fine,” she mouthed to me.

            I didn’t nod or even acknowledge that I understood what she had just tried to say. My heart pounded inside my chest, and I could feel my hands begin to clam up with hot, sticky sweat. I suddenly didn’t want the Collectors to take me away. Not yet, at least.

            The sound of wood clashing upon wood rang throughout the house, and I knew that the Collectors had broken down the front door. “Upstairs,” I heard the female say. Her voice was familiar somehow, like I had heard it not too long before . . .

            I could hear the footsteps of the Collectors as they ran up the coiling, wooden staircase. By that time, I was guessing that they had made it to the second story, and now they were making it to the third, where they would find themselves in the small hallway that led to the bedroom that we were currently in.

            “There!” the female voice shouted. Their footsteps now shook the floorboards beneath us, and I knew that they were just behind the door that Mr. Falker had flung his body against. The sound of grunting came from beyond it as the female struggled to open it. Eventually she gave up and said, “You! Come here and help me . . .”

            And that’s when I recognized the voice. “Madeline.”

            Mariam passed me a knowing look, but Mrs. Falker looked just as confused as she could ever be. But she didn’t dare ask me how I knew the female Collector; she didn’t want to run the risk of being overheard.

            Soon, with the combined strength of both Madeline and a male Collector, they began to push on the door. Mr. Falker struggled to keep it closed, but I could see that his energy was beginning to diminish when the sweat beaded at the top of his forehead. I knew that he would have asked me to help if it weren’t for my injuries, but I couldn’t help but wonder: would I have helped if that were so?

            No, not like this, I told myself. I don’t want to risk Mariam and her sister’s lives.

            The door started to slightly open with every grunt and push, and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before the Collectors broke through Mr. Falker’s protective hold on the door and took all of us children away. My fingers were trembling, and I found it hard to swallow through all the thick mucus that had somehow formed in my throat over the past couple minutes.