The Long Game
Page 73
I squatted down, running my hands frantically over the floor. There had to be something. I looked for a flip, a switch, a crack in the floor—
“Here,” Henry called. He threw his weight against a bookshelf. It creaked, then started to move. I hurried to help him, not questioning how he’d found it, how we could have possibly gotten so lucky when—
“This way!”
I heard the shout, and then I heard running—toward the library, toward us. The bookshelf gave way. Something clicked, and a second later, I was looking into a dark hole.
The tunnel—if we were lucky.
“You go first,” Henry told me. “Give me the tablet, and go.”
There was no time to think, no time to waste. I handed him the tablet, then dropped down into the hole and landed hard. I looked up.
“Go,” Henry told me again. There was a finality to his tone, and I realized then why he’d asked for the tablet.
He’s not coming.
“Henry!” My yell was lost to the sound of the bookshelf moving back into place. A second after the entrance closed, there was silence, and a moment after that, I heard the sound of feet overhead.
Of gunshots.
They won’t hurt him. He’s a high-value target. He has to be—
There was no way back up.
I have to go.
I had to get help. For Henry—and Vivvie and Emilia and all the others. I stumbled in the dark, feeling my way to the tunnel wall. It was cool and damp to the touch. I kept moving—running, stumbling, falling and getting back up.
I’d crawl if I had to.
They have Henry. I didn’t let myself consider the possibility that there was no Henry anymore, like there was no John Thomas. I didn’t let myself think about Henry’s face belonging to a body and not a boy. They have Henry. They have Vivvie. They have Emilia.
I pushed myself forward. Finally, finally—there was a break in the darkness. The closer I got to the end of the tunnel, the easier it was to make out the slants of light. On the ground, I could make out the outline of two long-dead glow sticks.
Three days. It had been three days since the party, one week since John Thomas had been killed.
It had been less than ten minutes since I’d left Henry, less than an hour since the armed men had fired their first shot.
I put my hands flat on the iron door to the tunnel and pushed. My body protested. So did the hinges on the door, but a second later, it gave. I heard the sound of running water. It must have rained, I thought. The drainage ditch had been dry on Friday, but now I slogged through water to get to a single metal rung. I put my foot on it, hoisted myself up. Removing the grate was easy, but getting through was harder wet and alone than it had been on Friday.
I threw my upper body against the ground overhead for purchase. I made it out. I made it to my feet. And then I heard the voice behind me.
“So nice of you to join us, Tess.”
I turned slowly. Mrs. Perkins stood behind me. She wasn’t visibly armed, but the guards on either side of her were.
Henry stood just behind them.
I could feel my body getting ready to give out beneath me. Henry was alive, I had failed, and the adrenaline that had kept me going for the past hour drained out of me, leaving my body feeling like little more than a shell.
I stumbled. Henry moved past the guards to catch me. The terrorists didn’t turn their guns on him. They didn’t so much as bat an eye as he steadied my body with his.
Henry held on to me a second longer than he had to. He whispered two words directly into my ear, and then he let me go.
“Take her to the third floor. Put her with Raleigh.” Mrs. Perkins offered me a smile, too sharp-edged for her soccer-mom face. “I’ve heard you fancy yourself an expert problem solver, Tess. I’m interested to see what you make of my current problem.”
I barely heard her. I was fixated on two things—the words Henry had whispered in my ear and the fact that the order to take me to the third floor hadn’t been issued to the guards.
Mrs. Perkins had issued that order to Henry.
And the words he’d whispered to me as he’d caught me, his body keeping mine vertical?
I’m sorry.
CHAPTER 53
Kendrick, what you don’t know could fill an ocean.
Mrs. Perkins reached out and laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder. Henry didn’t stiffen at the terrorist’s touch. He didn’t bat an eye.
We’re all liars sometimes, he’d told me.
We infiltrate. Dr. Clark’s words to Emilia in the library washed back over me. We observe, we influence, we recruit.
“Here,” Henry called. He threw his weight against a bookshelf. It creaked, then started to move. I hurried to help him, not questioning how he’d found it, how we could have possibly gotten so lucky when—
“This way!”
I heard the shout, and then I heard running—toward the library, toward us. The bookshelf gave way. Something clicked, and a second later, I was looking into a dark hole.
The tunnel—if we were lucky.
“You go first,” Henry told me. “Give me the tablet, and go.”
There was no time to think, no time to waste. I handed him the tablet, then dropped down into the hole and landed hard. I looked up.
“Go,” Henry told me again. There was a finality to his tone, and I realized then why he’d asked for the tablet.
He’s not coming.
“Henry!” My yell was lost to the sound of the bookshelf moving back into place. A second after the entrance closed, there was silence, and a moment after that, I heard the sound of feet overhead.
Of gunshots.
They won’t hurt him. He’s a high-value target. He has to be—
There was no way back up.
I have to go.
I had to get help. For Henry—and Vivvie and Emilia and all the others. I stumbled in the dark, feeling my way to the tunnel wall. It was cool and damp to the touch. I kept moving—running, stumbling, falling and getting back up.
I’d crawl if I had to.
They have Henry. I didn’t let myself consider the possibility that there was no Henry anymore, like there was no John Thomas. I didn’t let myself think about Henry’s face belonging to a body and not a boy. They have Henry. They have Vivvie. They have Emilia.
I pushed myself forward. Finally, finally—there was a break in the darkness. The closer I got to the end of the tunnel, the easier it was to make out the slants of light. On the ground, I could make out the outline of two long-dead glow sticks.
Three days. It had been three days since the party, one week since John Thomas had been killed.
It had been less than ten minutes since I’d left Henry, less than an hour since the armed men had fired their first shot.
I put my hands flat on the iron door to the tunnel and pushed. My body protested. So did the hinges on the door, but a second later, it gave. I heard the sound of running water. It must have rained, I thought. The drainage ditch had been dry on Friday, but now I slogged through water to get to a single metal rung. I put my foot on it, hoisted myself up. Removing the grate was easy, but getting through was harder wet and alone than it had been on Friday.
I threw my upper body against the ground overhead for purchase. I made it out. I made it to my feet. And then I heard the voice behind me.
“So nice of you to join us, Tess.”
I turned slowly. Mrs. Perkins stood behind me. She wasn’t visibly armed, but the guards on either side of her were.
Henry stood just behind them.
I could feel my body getting ready to give out beneath me. Henry was alive, I had failed, and the adrenaline that had kept me going for the past hour drained out of me, leaving my body feeling like little more than a shell.
I stumbled. Henry moved past the guards to catch me. The terrorists didn’t turn their guns on him. They didn’t so much as bat an eye as he steadied my body with his.
Henry held on to me a second longer than he had to. He whispered two words directly into my ear, and then he let me go.
“Take her to the third floor. Put her with Raleigh.” Mrs. Perkins offered me a smile, too sharp-edged for her soccer-mom face. “I’ve heard you fancy yourself an expert problem solver, Tess. I’m interested to see what you make of my current problem.”
I barely heard her. I was fixated on two things—the words Henry had whispered in my ear and the fact that the order to take me to the third floor hadn’t been issued to the guards.
Mrs. Perkins had issued that order to Henry.
And the words he’d whispered to me as he’d caught me, his body keeping mine vertical?
I’m sorry.
CHAPTER 53
Kendrick, what you don’t know could fill an ocean.
Mrs. Perkins reached out and laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder. Henry didn’t stiffen at the terrorist’s touch. He didn’t bat an eye.
We’re all liars sometimes, he’d told me.
We infiltrate. Dr. Clark’s words to Emilia in the library washed back over me. We observe, we influence, we recruit.
