Connor and Vince fight their forbidden attraction as they attempt to rescue themselves and fellow residents of the underground Refuge facility from a toxic breach.
*****
Conn...
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My eyes snapped open to a bright red light, similar to the lights that announced our failure during tactical training in the simulation, but accompanying this crimson glow was the ongoing piercing ring of an alarm. It took a second for it all to register, but thanks to the dozen or so drills we've had, it finally clicked that there was an emergency. A fire? Some sort of outbreak? Contamination?
A chill crept down my spine.
Throwing the sheets aside, I tossed my legs over the edge of the bed. Still a bit disoriented from being awakened during a deep sleep, I sniffed the air for a trace of smoke but instead detected others' fear in the form of sweat and body odor. I stood and caught the glow of the hour on the wall: zero-three hundred.
A shout came from nearby and blurred figures rushed left and right in the hall outside the room door. Shadows passed in front of me like wisps of dark mist accentuated by the red hue of the emergency lights. A voice called out orders, "Move it, cadets. To your gear. Move, move, move!" The commands mingled with the distant noise of pained whimpers, panicked cries, and the nearby sounds of rapid and flustered breathing.
Chaos.
Panic rose from my gut, but I inhaled slowly to stifle it. I scanned the space for the source of the orders. Then a tug of my arm pulled me from the room.
Not sure, I wondered aloud, "Vince?" Not recognizing much but his slender fingers around my forearm.
"Snap out of it, asshole." Vince pivoted, gripped my shoulders and shook. "We got a job to do."
"What's going on?" I focused, trying to get a grip on what was happening. The frightened expressions on many of the residents' faces kick-started my adrenaline, and suddenly my legs were keeping up with Vince as he hastily made his way down the hall, passed more panicky people and toward our lockers.
Inside the locker room, I met some of the other male cadets. They each were in various stages of removing sleeping garments to slip on the tough, stretchy combat gear with their last names stamped on the left breast directly below the red Refuge Inc. emblem. Some were already suited and were quickly securing their helmets, weapons belt, and ... armored vests?
"What's going on?" I asked, cutting my eyes to Vince. Why weren't orders being delivered over the P.A. system as planned during the many drills? Where was the routine message explaining, "In the event of an actual emergency, instructions will be given for your safety"? Where were the instructions?
"What the hell are you doing?" Vince grabbed a vest off the shelf beside the rifle rack, where only a few of the weapons remained. He tossed the heavy vest to me. "Did you not hear? There's a contamination leak on Ten. Dad sent orders, via higher officers, to meet him on Nine. I think he doesn't want to broadcast the contamination leak to anyone other than cadets and higher officers just yet. Otherwise, he would've used the P.A. to send orders."
