Page 95 of Beehive

“Follow me,” Will signaled. An air of command settled over his features.

Pride swelled in my chest.

We crept along the wall.

The voices grew louder, closer.

I heard the metallic clink of their equipment, the unmistakable sound of boots on stone.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through me. It was all that kept me upright.

Will led us into a narrow passageway, so tight we had to move sideways. The walls pressed against us, their rough surfaces scraping against my coat. It was claustrophobic, but it offered cover. I focused on Will.

He is my anchor.I repeated it over and over in my mind.

He was the thread keeping me tethered, keeping me moving forward.

We emerged into an open courtyard, its expanse daunting.

Will scanned the area.

“We need to cross this plaza,” he said. “There’s no other way.”

“They’ll see us.” My voice was tinged with panic I tried to suppress.

“Not if we’re fast.”

Fast wasn’t something I was capable of, but I nodded anyway.

Will didn’t wait for me to second-guess, darting out in a blur of movement. I followed, my legs and shoulder screaming in protest. The open space felt endless, every step exposing us to unseen eyes.

Halfway across, a shout rang out.

My heart seized as a spotlight flared to life, its beam sweeping the courtyard.

It caught us in its glare, and for a moment, time froze.

Will grabbed my arm and yanked me forward.

“Run!” he shouted.

I did, pain be damned.

Bullets ricocheted off the stone around us, each sharp crack deafening.

Will ran toward an archway, its dark maw promising safety.

I stumbled, my footing unsteady, but Will turned back and grabbed my good arm, his grip keeping me upright and stumbling forward.

Another volley filled the courtyard, as a second floodlight joined the first.

Engines, too close, roared to life.

We reached the archway and dove into its shadows as bullets tore through the space we’d just occupied. My chest heaved. Every breath was a struggle. Will crouched beside me, his eyes scanning ahead.

“We have to keep moving.”

“I can’t,” I confessed, the words tasting like defeat. My side throbbed, and I felt the warmth of fresh blood soaking through the bandage.

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