Induction, Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Don’t Freak Out

My heart leaps. Oh, thank god!

I look at Elizabeth. She’s getting to her feet, injured hand clutched to her chest. On her way over to me, she stoops down and picks up a thin piece of metal—what she had used to pick her restraints. She casts a wary glance at the dead guard as she steps around him, skirting the pool of odd gray blood around his head.

Her hands shake but she still works in quick, easy movements to unlock my own restraints. When she gets them open, she guides my arm down so it doesn’t drop.

“It’s going to hurt a bit as the blood rushes in,” she warns, in a gentle tone.

She’s right. Directly after the relief of having my arm no longer elevated, prickling and pinching set in. I focus on the fact that I’m free. That’s what this pain means. Freedom. My other hand is free, and it reacts the same way. But I’m free.

Once she’s done with the shackle around my ankles, she puts a hand on my shoulder and guides me out. My shoes drag along the cement with each step, as if my legs had started to atrophy.

Hell, I hadn’t been hanging from the chains like Elizabeth had. Which leads me to wonder what kind of training she’s been put through. How does one prepare for this? Plus, she came prepared to pick locks. Who are these people?

We pass empty cells, an unpleasant distraction from my thoughts. They’re identical to ours, down to the shackles on the ceilings and floor, a thick black hose on the wall outside each cell, and a drain in the floor within the cell. I don’t want to stare, but I do.

How many others has she chained up in here? Dark splatters stain the floor in a cell at the end of the hall. A large, dark reddish-brown stain below the chains on one side of the cell is the scene that finally forces my gaze away. My stomach keeps churning.

Don’t think about it, don’t think. Which, of course, makes me think even more about the horror these walls have seen.

Cries and grunts from a fight down the hall only add an eerier soundtrack.

“I guess they finally approved it.” Sahara’s voice comes from behind us. “The trackers. A couple years too late, don’t you agree?”

Elizabeth keeps her hand on my shoulder as we both turn to face our captor. Sahara stares at us, finger tapping the metal rod in her hands. The fight continues down the hall, out of sight.

“Run!” Elizabeth whispers.

I look at her, starting to argue, but I catch myself. How am I supposed to help? I can barely stand on my own two feet; one arm aches furiously from the mountain lion’s scratch, and I can’t feel my other arm, save for its tingling.

Clenching my jaw, I turn on my heel and pushing off on numb feet to run. A snarl sounds behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Sahara hurls the electrical prod through the air like a spear, directed at me. I stumble, hands out to catch myself. I hit the ground, pain flaring through my arms. I scramble, unable to breathe, expecting to be electrocuted.

Nothing hits me. I look up to see Elizabeth swinging the rod in a fluid, easy movement, blocking a blow from Sahara. They perform a series of moves, each anticipating and blocking the other’s strikes.

“You forget, we had the same mentors and teachers.” Sahara cocks her eyebrow as she pulls a long knife from the sheath on her hip.

“Yeah, yeah. Except I—” Elizabeth lunges, swinging the rod in a low arch, aiming at Sahara’s side. The rod connects with a bone-jarring thwack. “—didn’t drop out.”

Pain flashes in our captor’s eyes, but she growls and grabs the rod. She jumps, twisting in the air and ripping the rod from Elizabeth’s grasp. In the same second, she slashes out with the knife, the blade inches from her sister’s face.

Elizabeth’s hands fly out, knocking the knife away. Her other hand grips Sahara’s throat. She slams her against the wall. The crack of her skull hitting concrete makes my own head ache.

I push myself to my feet just as Elizabeth releases her grip from our captor. She rips the knife from her twin's hand and knees her hard in the stomach, doubling her over. Then Elizabeth runs toward me.

“Go, go, go!” she shouts. Her injured hand is on my shoulder, pushing me along, her other hand white-knuckling the knife.

Just ahead, a masked figure appears around the corner—racing toward us, a black sword held low.

“Took you long enough, Elvis,” Elizabeth shouts with annoyance, but the words are heavy with relief.

The figure continues running toward us, then passes us. I glance back to see them pulling something from a pouch on their belt. Elizabeth nudges me, making me pay attention to my running. All I need is to trip and get recaptured.  

Seconds later, the figure—Elvis—is racing along the other side of me. Their hand touching my back, keeping me moving forward.

“Don’t freak out,” they say in my ear. Voice male—and my stupid brain is trying to place it. Do I know this ninja too? Who cares? Reason shouts at me. Focus on the escape.

A loud blast erupts behind us, hot air shooting past us. I flinch at the cacophony, but I don’t freak out. Connecting the dots. This new ninja laid some sort of explosives to help our escape, to slow down the bad guys. I hope it made glorious art of blood and brain matter across the walls.

We round a corner and race into a vast, open space. The room stretches before us, cement flooring almost endless until it slopes upward and disappears under a granite doorway. Steel structural beams lead up to the high ceiling. Bold, circular LED lights illuminate the area.

Tall, thick-barred cages line the stone walls on both sides, some of them empty. Two of the beasts, identical to the one I encountered, are in their separate cages, pacing their too small enclosures, hungry eyes watching us. One of them yowls, sending a chill down my spine.

Well, that answers the question of whether there’s more than one. At least I know that I am without a doubt not crazy. The monsters are real. And I’ll forever have nightmares. I swear I’ll never enter another forest again.

If not for the ninja’s hand on my back keeping up my momentum, I would have collapsed, and that would have been the end of me. But they keep me moving, toward what I hope is the exit.

“Circe. ETA seven minutes,” the ninja says, holding his hand to his ear.

We get to where the floor starts to tilt up and out. I can see light. Cool air, with the scent of dirt and dead leaves, breezes in.

“Savanna!” A guttural scream.

We all look back. Sahara stands in the hallway, rod in her hands. A coating of dust and dark smudges on her face and clothes. She’s breathing hard, glaring as if she could kill us with a look.

“We’ve got to go. This isn’t the place for this,” the ninja says, giving me a push up toward the exit and gesturing for Elizabeth to follow. The ninja reaches into his pouch and tosses small, round objects to the floor. They roll fast down the slope.

A pained look crosses Sahara’s face that only deepens right before we turn our backs and run up and out of the lair. A single word follows us, echoing, before being obliterated by an explosion.

“Traitor!”