Page 125 of Chaos

“Can I borrow your gun?” Shane straightens. “Frankie, I need your gun.”

I follow his gaze back to the door to Ephie’s cell.

“Okay. Okay.” I hand my gun over, then hunch over Church’s head and cover my ears while Shane steps back and takes careful aim.

“Get back,” he shouts.

The sound rips through my skull, ringing in my ears. One shot, then a second, the bullet pinging wildly down the hall, ricocheting away.

Then silence.

I straighten up and take the proffered gun, tucking it back onto my hip, shaking my head to clear the ringing as he kicks open the door.

A second later, Ephie and he step out into the dark hallway, their hands joined.

I’ll have to process my feelings about them together later. She watched his hand get smashed. She brought me antibiotic ointment. People deserve second chances.

“Duane did it,” she says the second she sees me. “He picked Ben’s lock, but left me here. They went to get the birds.”

“The birds?” I ask, through slowly-dawning sickening awareness.

“The pigeons,” she clarifies.

He’s going to send a message to wherever those pigeons call home.

“He’s sending them back to Charleston,” Shane adds.

A large part of me wants to get outside, where the air is fresh and let this be someone else’s problem. But there is no one else. Everyone else who can fight is on the wall. Just me.

“Help me get him to his feet,” I say tugging on Church’s insanely heavy arm.

Shane gets his shoulder under one of Church’s armpits, while Ephie shoves at his back.

Together we haul him to unsteady feet, one arm over my shoulder, the other over Shane’s, but it means the blanket falls from the back of his head.

Ephie holds it there as we move in an awkward, inelegant shuffle.

Church helps as much as he can, staggering, unsteady, mumbling incoherently. We lurch sideways like sailors on a swaying ship, smashing Shane into the wall on one side, then me into the one on the other.

Ephie skirts around us to get the door to the closest stairwell open. It’s a small fire escape stairwell rather than the large main one that runs up the entire clocktower.

It’s dark, but immediately, the smell triggers an internal warning, hot and primordial.

Shane freezes at the same time I do.

“Wait.” I scramble for my light as Ephie comes back and helps with Church’s weight. I work the flashlight loose from my pocket, my hands slick with blood and shaking. I manage to flip the switch, and the ghostly beam scatters over the body of a soldier.

“Oh, god,” Ephie whimpers.

That same eerie coldness settles over me.

My skin rises.

Church.

Now, this soldier.

It must be the one Colleen sent, the one who never made it.

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