Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“We need to travel light.” Displeasure colors Abe’s voice. “Don’t punk out now.”
“I’m not punking out. I’m just thinking if there are ten men chasing us, it’ll be good to have some backup.”
“Our contact didn’t make arrangements for a group that size. He’s made arrangements for three.”
Three.
Not four.
A lump of trepidation forms in my throat, and I blink at tears. If there is a rescue being staged, it may not be in time to save me.
We march through the brush, and the more distance we put between us and the cave, the more conflicted I feel. Obviously Abe’s men spotted some kind of rescue team heading in our direction. By the time they arrive at the cave, we’ll be long gone. Absorbed into the lining of the hungry forest’s belly. Untraceable.
We’ve walked at a quick pace for about fifteen minutes when we reach the river. The water rushes, the rapids intense and raging. As soon as we wade in, we’ll be taken. They may as well shoot us now if they’re going to toss us to those turbulent waves.
“Go,” Abe tells Nixon with a curt snap of his head toward a cluster of mangled branches. “Get it. Hurry.”
Nixon nods and runs toward the trees.
Abe grabs my chin, tilting my face up and peering down at me with masked malice.
“I’m usually a stickler on deadlines,” he says, evil gleaming from his eyes. “And technically we have another two hours before I’m supposed to kill you, but I’m flexible. I didn’t account for a rescue party. I wonder if it’s Mr. Moneybags?”
I struggle to control my breathing. “Who?”
“The man who tried to negotiate for your life. Apparently, no one told him money doesn’t buy everything. I think I’ll leave your dead body here on the shore to teach him.”
It must have been Maxim. I can’t even imagine his fury, his frustration with Abe’s brand of callous impudence. I’ve never heard the words from Maxim, and he’s never heard them from me, but I know he loves me. And I hope he knows that I love him, too. I thought him having my body would bring some kind of comfort, the way having my mother’s would have for me, but now I don’t think it will, and my heart aches for him.
A yellow raft emerges from the trees bordering the river. Nixon pushes it out to the edge of the water from behind and then jogs over to join us.
Abe nods toward the boat. “No room where we’re going, lady. This is the end of the road for you.”
“No!” Wallace steps forward, but Abe puts the gun to his forehead.
“I suggest you cooperate or get your head blown off, too,” Abe says, every word like a bullet. “Don’t make me forget I need you.”
“Come on!” Nixon shouts. “We gotta go.”
“Time’s up, pretty lady,” Abe says with mock-woefulness and turns toward Nixon. “Take Dr. Murrow to the boat.”
Wallace grabs my arm even with his hands cuffed. “No. Please.”
Abe shifts the pistol down, aiming at Wallace’s leg. “I could shoot off your kneecap and still get my vaccine.”
“Wallace, go,” I say, my voice soft but insistent.
“I won’t leave you.” Wallace says, his hands tightening. “He’ll have to kill me.”
“Oh, well,” Abe says, shifting the gun to Wallace’s head again. “These things happen.”
“No!” The word rips from me. I’m horrified and absolutely certain he would do it. “Wallace, just go. Please.”
“I love you, Lenny.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper, heedless of the two men listening or of the tears wetting my cheeks.
“Come on.” Nixon pokes Wallace in the back with his automatic weapon. “Get in that boat.”
Abe raises his gun and points it to my forehead. Everything in me wants to squeeze my eyes shut, to take refuge in that darkness, but I force my eyes open. I refuse to hide from evil, locking my glance with his through the slits of his mask. The last time he sees me, I won’t be cowering, I won’t be in fear.
The shot fires.
I wait to fall and wonder if I’ll float above my body, look down on myself dying on the ground…but I’m whole and unharmed. Abe’s gun falls. He howls, grabbing the hand that was holding his gun moments ago, which now gushes blood. Nixon looks in the direction of the shot, but before he can fire, he’s hit. Still holding the gun, he wears that startled look of the men they shot not even an hour ago. Blood gurgles from a hole in his throat. He drops the gun, both his hands going to his neck to stop the gushing.
“Jack!” Abe shouts.
My feet are planted in the sand. I’m paralyzed for long seconds while Abe takes in the scene, the emotion on his face reshaping, skewing the mask.
Wallace looks at me, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. We stare at one another for a moment, both shocked and strangely immobile.