Whatever. I don’t have time to think about it.
It’s already been five minutes, by my estimate. Five minutes, which means they should be here any second now. There are twelve bodies incoming. There are only four of us here.
Me, Haider, Castle, Warner.
I’m freezing.
We’re standing quietly in the darkness, waiting for death, and the individual seconds seem to tick by with excruciating slowness. The smell of wet earth and decaying vegetation fills my head and I look down, feeling but not seeing the thick pile of leaves underfoot. They’re soft and slightly damp, rustling a little when I shift my weight.
I try not to move.
Every sound unnerves me. A sudden shudder of branches. An innocent breeze. My own ragged breaths.
It’s too dark.
Even the bright, robust moon isn’t enough to properly penetrate these woods. I don’t know how we’re going to fight anyone if we can’t see what’s coming. The light is uneven, scattering through branches, shattering across the soft earth. I look down, examining a narrow shaft of light illuminating the tops of my boots, and watch as a spider scuttles up and around the obstacle of my feet.
My heart is pounding.
There’s no time. If only we had more time.
It’s all I can think. Over and over again. They caught us off guard, we weren’t prepared, it didn’t have to go down like this. My head is spinning with what-ifs and maybes and it could’ve beens even as I face down the reality right in front of me. Even as I stare straight into the black hole devouring my future, I can’t help but wonder if we could’ve done this differently.
The seconds build. Minutes pass.
Nothing.
The rapid beating of my heart slows into a sick stutter of dread. I’ve lost perspective—my sense of time is warped in the dark—but I swear it feels like we’ve been here for too long.
“Something is wrong,” Warner says.
I hear a sharp intake of breath. Haider.
Warner says softly, “We miscalculated.”
“No,” Castle cries.
That’s when I hear the screams.
We run without hesitation, all four of us, hurtling ourselves toward the sounds. We tear through branches, sprain ankles on overgrown roots, propel ourselves into the darkness with the force of pure, undiluted panic. Rage.
Sobs rend the sky. Violent cries echo into the distance. Inarticulate voices, guttural moans, goose bumps rising along my flesh. We are sprinting toward death.
I know we’re close when I see the light.
Nouria.
She’s cast an ethereal glow above the scene, bringing the remains of a battlefield into sharp focus.
We slow down.
Time seems to expand, fracturing apart as I bear witness to a massacre. Anderson and his men made a detour. We hoped they’d come straight for Warner, straight for Juliette. We hoped. We tried. We took a gamble.
We bet wrong.
And we know The Reestablishment well enough to understand that they were punishing these innocent people for harboring us. Slaughtering entire families for providing us aid and relief. Nausea hits me with the force of a blade, stunning me, knocking me sideways. I slump against a tree. I can feel my mind disconnecting, threatening unconsciousness, and somehow I force myself not to pass out from horror. Terror. Heartbreak.
I keep my eyes open.
Sam and Nouria are on their knees, holding broken, bleeding bodies close to their chests, their tortured cries piercing the strange half night. Castle stands beside me, his body slack. I hear his half-choked sob.
We knew it was possible—Haider said they might do this—but somehow I still can’t believe my eyes. I desperately want this to be a nightmare. I would cut off my right arm for a nightmare. But reality persists.
The Sanctuary is little more than a graveyard.
Unarmed men and women mowed down. From where I’m standing I count six children, dead. Eyes open, mouths agape, fresh blood still dripping down limp bodies. Ian is on his knees, vomiting. Winston stumbles backward, hits a tree. His glasses slide down his face and he only remembers to catch them at the last moment. Only the supreme kids still seem to have their heads on straight, and there’s something about that realization that strikes fear into my heart. Nazeera, Haider, Warner, Stephan. They walk calmly through the wreckage, faces unchanged and solemn. I don’t know what they’ve seen—what they’ve been a part of—that makes them able to stand here, still relatively cool in the face of so much human devastation, and I don’t think I want to know.
I offer Castle my hand and he takes it, steadies himself. We exchange a single glance before diving into the fray.