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I head straight to the barracks. Zombie will start near the back, where Barrack 10-- our barrack-- and Barrack 12 are. I'll go to Barrack 5 and Barrack 7 and meet him somewhere in the middle, or back to the buses if time is too tight.
Halfway down the hallway and the blaring of the air raid drill sign almost knocks me off of my feet. I'm grinning hard and whipping around to go the opposite way. This is much easier now. Instead of searching each barrack, I can now head straight to the safe room, grab the little turd we came for, and find Zombie. Perfect.
Right, left, another right. Get into the elevator leading to the lobby, almost vomit because the meds are screwing with me, then shuffle to the stairs leading to the underground bunker. If I'm right about the timing, Zombie is currently 60 yards to the right and down a corridor, heading into the stairs just like me. Then again, I've always been faster than him-- even with my injury.
Down the hall and halfway into the stairwell when I collide with someone else. I stumble back, hands outstretched in front of me. Crisp green uniform with the red cross on the shoulders. Parker. He's holding his M16, lifting it to my head. Will he recognize me under the mask? I hope not. "Parker! Thank God I found you," I say, voice slightly deeper to appear much older than I actually am. "We need help upstairs, stat!"
His rifle falls to his side. He's nodding, about to move past me when he stops. "You're bleeding," he states. He's right beside me, now, staring at the wound on my back. Without a second thought to process, my elbow crashes into his nose with a satisfying crack. Blood gushes from my attack, falls over his lips and dribbles down his chin. Just as I'm reaching for the gun in his right hand, everything explodes. The blast sends me straight off my feet, knocking into the cement wall behind me. Parker is thrown into me, a rippling sensation running all the way up my spine.
We both land in a crumpled mess of limbs and screams. I manage to grab hold of the rifle as the ceiling begins to fall apart. He kicks it from my hand, pushes me down and wraps his hands around my throat. Squeezes. Hard. I'm gasping for breath and clawing at his eyes. Another explosion hits, much, much closer this time. It knocks Parker off of me, but sends cement raining down on both of us. I don't have time to take him down-- I'll have to trust the base to do that.
I grab the rifle, kick Parker in the face, and lunge for the stairs. I roll down the first flight, lift my weapon and fire two blind shots at Parker (who may or may not even be there anymore) and force myself onto shaky legs. My entire body is on fire, my eyes wide with the fear of a wild animal about to be slaughtered. The adrenaline pumping through my body is enough to have me down the next two flights of stairs and through the door leading to the bunker.
A third explosion, right above my head just as I make it to the corridor. Something hits the back of my legs, knocking me over as other debris falls onto my head. I'm screaming bloody murder, trying to block out the sounds. It's like I'm back in the tree house and trying to drown out the screams of homes ripped from their roots, people ripped from their families. I keep feeling Ms. Abbott's fingernail scrape across the heel of my foot, my father let go of my hand, Thomas squeezing the life out of me. I'm screaming because I watched my dad be whisked away by the sea. I'm screaming because I watched my mother choke on her own blood. And I'm screaming because Thomas screamed both times, and then I screamed, again, when he died. And I scream because it's so fucking unfair, this world we live in, that the aliens get to win.
Something slices open the skin across my eyebrow. A large chunk of concrete almost crushes me, but a hand grabs my wrist and pulls me from my death with inhuman strength. I don't even get a glimpse at the person before they're lifting me up and covering my head, racing away from the falling debris.
Another blast throws us off of our feet. I land in a crumpled heap three feet from my savior. It's a man, maybe two or three years older than I am. He has a scruffy beard and brown hair. Human. Maybe.
I point my rifle at his head. He pulled me out from under the debris with little to no effort. No human can do that. Or maybe the adrenaline helped him. Before the Arrival you'd hear about woman lifting cars off of kids to save them. It could be like this.
Zombie's gotten to you. No wishful thinking, Ghost. It will get you killed.
"The commander is an alien," he shouts over the sound of sirens and the muffled screams of children. I nod. I know. Continue. "And I'm going to take him down."
"What are you talking about?" Blinking furiously. There's dust in my eyes. Blood from the cut above my brow. I'm so screwed. "You're fucking crazy."
"Take out the power," he says. Like it's that simple. "Hack into the mainframe and override the program. I just came back from there. In forty minutes, the program will fail. But right now, we need to go."
I shake my head. Behind me there is a wall of concrete separating me from Nugget and Zombie. Looking around, there's no way out. 'We need to go'? Go where?
"The control room," he says, like he knows I'm confused. "Video cameras, all around the base--"
"Why do you need to see the base?" I demand. Whatever plan he has, I don't give two shits about. It's taking far too long for him to explain. In other words: get to the point, jackass. I have places to be.
He sighs. "I'm looking for someone."
The look in his eyes is what gets me. Sincere. Scared. Whoever this person is, he cares about them. A lot. That's the reason why I lower my gun to my side and nod in agreement with him. "I'm looking for someone, too."
He nods, seeming relieved that that was finally over. "I'm Evan."
"Ghost," I say, squinting at him. He doesn't have a name from Reznik, which makes me wonder how the hell he got here. He's also wearing civilian clothes. Did he just get here today? What fucking luck is that? "What's her name?"
He glances at me. "What?"
"The girl you're looking for," I reply. If she doesn't have a ridiculous name, then I'll worry.
He pauses. "Mayfly," he says after a moment. "Her name is Mayfly."
Right.
He takes two steps forward, pulls a strip of cloth from his pocket, wipes the blood from above my eye. My entire body is so tense by the touch that, if he decided he wanted to punch the crazy girl with the gun, his hand would shatter.
"Try to keep it out of your eyes," Evan says to me. Then he looks at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. Then he's back to me with a short smile. "How do you feel about tight spaces?"
