Heightened: The Federation Series (13 page)

I back up close to the pillar and slide around to the far side. I look to the darkness beyond. There are more fallen trees and a lot of places to hide. It’s about a fifteen-foot dash to the woods. My ankle is still throbbing, but I take the chance. I hobble as fast as I can to the nearest downed tree. I fling myself over and fall to the ground.

I try to slow my breathing.

It won’t be long before the others realize that I am missing, and they will return to find me; I hope. They will be walking straight into whoever it is slinking around in the shadows. I gather up all my strength and crawl away from the sound. I’m conscious of my movements. I move quietly and slowly through the fallen branches.

After a few minutes, my hand lands on something hard. It is the path. I am far enough away that I dare stand and move forward, but I stay close to the dead trees, using them to hide me from anyone who might be walking up the path behind me.

I hear a noise coming from the path ahead of me. I stop and kneel behind a tree. I can see the path. I sit still and hope that if anyone passes by they will not notice me. I can see movement, but I can’t tell who it is.

They pass by me. I shift my weight so that I can see the other side of the tree. A stick snaps beneath me. I freeze; my eyes fixed on the figure. They stop. I can see them turn their head towards my direction. They heard me.

They turn around and walk my way. My heart is racing. I hold my breath. My palm is resting against the bark of the tree. It is dry and rough. I have no place to go. Behind me is a large log and my ankle is too painful to be able to leap over it and make an escape. I feel around for anything; I find a stick. It is not very big, but it is all that I can find. I grab it in my hand and prepare to protect myself.

They stop a few feet beyond my position. I take the opportunity to slip myself around the tree to better conceal myself. This time I am quiet. But another noise from down the path towards the pillar draws my attention. I look, but I can’t see anyone.

They hear it too. They enter the woods only a few feet to my right. I don’t move, but there is no way to avoid being seen. Our eyes meet.

It is Quinn. He places his finger to his mouth and shakes his head. I take a shallow breath and close my eyes. He came back for me. My heart flutters.

A shuffle from the path, followed by a quiet scrape and a static sound makes me open my eyes. I can feel myself losing control again. My breaths quicken. I concentrate on each inhalation and expiration. Quinn is close enough to me that he can hear my breathing. He edges closer to me. He is sitting facing me; his side is touching my side and his face only a breath away from mine. His hand slips around my neck. I can feel his fingers slide through my hair, touching my skin. A cold shiver runs throughout my body, heightening each touch.

His lips are next to mine. I want to feel them, but I am terrified to move. I close my eyes; I can’t look into his because I won’t be able to control myself. In my nightmare; we always end up together, in peril, in deaths grasp, and he always dies. I try to save him, but I never do. And now he is here, touching me, protecting me, and I am afraid. I should be happy. I should be taking this moment to love him, to finally know what it is like to be in his arms, and to be safe. But we are not safe.

Something hard jabs into my side. I open my eyes, and he is there, so close that I can see nothing else. He slowly shakes his head. I glance down, but I don’t need to see it, to know what it is. He jabs his gun into my ribs.

“Don’t,” he says, just barely above a whisper.

I look back into his eyes; it is not love that I see in his warm brown gaze. It is hostility. He jabs his gun deeper. An acute awareness of danger replaces my heightened sensation.

I can feel the panic rise within me again. When I was younger, I would hold my breath until I passed out. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I want to escape, and this is the only way I know how to stop my panic. I can feel my lungs tight against my chest; my throat is still and numb. The pain spreads across my chest. Each heart beat slams against my ribs, lungs and reverberates inside my skull, making my ears throb. I fight the urge to gasp for air. I bite down on my lips and press my tongue to the back of my throat, sealing my airway.

I can no longer feel his gun against my side; all I feel is my pain, but even that is giving way to the numb feeling associated with my lack of oxygen. I slump, and everything goes dark.

I’m not sure how long I was passed out, but when I wake up I am alone again. I’m no longer sitting against the tree. I am lying on the ground, but I do not see stars. I see the empty ceiling above me. I glance to my left and then to my right. I don’t see anyone. I listen for any sound, but there is nothing. I wait a few moments.

I sit up. I am surrounded by fallen trees. I can’t see over them. I get up cautiously and peer out into the darkness. I can’t see anything. I sit back down.

“You okay?”

I jump. I look and see Quinn. He is standing on the other side of one of the trees. He climbs over and kneels next to me.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Well?”

“I’m fine,” I say. My head hurts a little bit, and my ankle is slightly throbbing but other than that I am okay. “Where are the others?”

“They’re going to meet us,” he says.

“Why did you…”

“Let’s get something straight,” he says, “my job is to get you back, alive and well to your fiancé.”

“Adam,” I say. I shake my head. I hadn’t thought about him. He is going to be furious with me. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear about your gentle, kind approach with my rescue.”

“Just as pleased, as he will be to hear about your adventures tonight,” he says, “drinking, associating with criminals and throwing yourself at me.”

“What, I never…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

“You wouldn’t,” I snap.

“Cooperate,” he says, “getting out of the Under is not easy. I don’t need any more crazy fits, from you.”

“I can’t control it,” I say.

“But you did,” he says. “You made it stop.”

“Holding my breath, until I pass out, is hardly a control mechanism,” I say. “It was more of a survival technique. I don’t want to die, or be caught.”

“I wasn’t going to kill you,” he says.

“Then why?” I wonder what he would think if he knew his body against mine was all I needed to be calm; if he would’ve kissed me, instead of pulling his gun.

“It’s what I do,” he says, “I control, with force.”

“And that works for you?”

“I can’t control it either,” he says. “It’s part of my program.”

“I see,” I say. “I thought Defense citizens had minimal restraints?”

“Only certain emotions are heightened,” he says, “the one’s that the Federation considers beneficial: anger, aggression; things like that.”

I don’t say anything, but I detect a hint of doubt in his voice. He looks away. I take the opportunity to look at him. He has a scar on his face, between his left ear and his eye. I don’t remember this scar like I remember the one on the back of his head.

“Are you ready?” He stands up.

“Where did they go, the people who were following us?”

“I don’t think they were after us,” he says. “I think they just happened to be here.”

“Are they gone?”

“Yeah, they walked through and headed off into the city,” he says. “I followed them for a while. They went the opposite way we need to go.”

We walk through the rest of the park. We don’t talk. I keep close to him, watching his every move. He is strong, and he carries himself in a confident manner. I’m scared of him, but I feel safe from any outside threats. He said he can’t control himself. He’s programmed to protect the Federation. What if I am the threat?

Marcus’ words keep running through my head,
“Don’t trust anyone, not even the officers.”
He said they’d make me cooperate. I wonder how.

We stick close to the buildings, using them for protection. We don’t encounter anyone else on the street, but it is late, and I assume most people down here try to avoid being out after hours. We come to a cross road; there are faint lights in the ceiling, dimly illuminating the street below. Quinn stops; he holds his arm back, grabbing my side.

“We can’t cross here,” he whispers. “We’ll have to go back and find a safer route.”

We ease back into the shadows. We find a side street. There are no lights, but it is not a clear path. There are old cars and piles of junk scattered down the street. Quinn goes first. We duck behind the piles as we make our way down. He checks in front of us and behind us before we duck behind the next pile.

We’re squatting down behind a pile of, what appears to be furniture when I hear a noise from behind us. I look over my shoulder. I can’t see anything. I look back to Quinn; he must have heard it too. He motions for us to move forward. We keep low.

We don’t stop at the next pile. We move quickly, careful not to make any noise. We’re almost at the end of the street. I can see the building beyond our position. Quinn looks at me and nods towards the building to the left.

He takes off. I hesitate for a moment. I’ve been concealing my injured ankle, choking back the pain and forcing myself to use it. But I’m not sure that it will be good enough to make it across the street quickly enough.

I hear the noise again from behind me. I look to Quinn he is already across the street. I go. I start off with a slow run. My ankle hurts, but I push through it. I’m halfway across when I see a man. He’s standing in the middle of the road to my left. I stop. I look to my right, another man. I hear the noise from behind me again. I don’t look.

Quinn is grabbing me, pulling me; I don’t resist. We enter a space between the buildings. I can feel the walls with both of my shoulders. I can hear the men enter the alley behind us. We are running, each step is excruciating. Quinn drags me along; I don’t have time to think about the pain. My fear is taking over, and I push on.

We burst out into an open area. I have no idea where we are going; I just follow Quinn. There’s not much debris, so we navigate quickly across and into another alley. I just clear the walls, when I hear the shot. It hits right next to my head, breaking the brick and sending pieces out in all directions. Quinn jolts forward, taking me along with him.

I hear another gunshot; I wait for more pieces of brick to hit me, but nothing does. I don’t look back. I don’t want to see how close they are; I just want to concentrate on Quinn. We come out into a street. It’s different than the other streets we’ve been on; there are smaller buildings than before. It’s difficult to tell in the dark, but they look like houses. We run alongside one, and into a backyard. There is a fence, only a few feet high. Quinn jumps over effortlessly and runs for a few feet.

“Come on,” he shouts.

“I don’t…”

“Now!”

I grab a hold of the fence and lift my good leg over. I swing myself over and land solidly on the ground. I turn to Quinn, but I am met with the business end of a rather large gun.

Quinn has his gun drawn and pointed at one of the people, but they also have a gun pointed at him. There are five of them, and no chance that we are going to get away. One of them is a female; she is holding a light.

“I will shoot her,” a rather large man holding the gun at my head says. He is deformed. I can’t take my eyes off of him. His face is not smooth, and his hair is long, shaggy, and gray in color. Their clothes are tattered, and the man next to me is emitting a foul odor. I gag and cover my mouth.

Quinn lowers his gun, and they are on top of him before it hits the ground. They are hitting him, and a tall skinny man kicks him in the side. Quinn lets out a grunt. He grabs the man’s leg and knocks him over. The others quickly pin him down and secure his hands behind his back.

The man next to me grabs my arm, and the others drag Quinn. We pass through a few more backyards until we come to a large two story building. We pass a sign that says: Elementary School.

Someone opens the gate, and we enter the compound. We enter the building through a set of double doors. They lead us to a room, open the door and lock us inside.

“Are you okay?” I untie Quinn’s hands.

He gets up, holding his side. He walks over to the door and tries the handle. It doesn’t move. He walks over to the opposite wall and feels around.

“Are there windows over there?” I say. “Maybe we can break one and get away.”

“There are people all over the place outside,” he says. “We won’t make it.”

“We have to try something,” I say. “I have to get back.”

“How did you and Benson,” he shakes his head, “it doesn’t make sense.”

“Adam is my proctor,” I say. “I thought he was a good man.”

“And you don’t now?”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“What is it that I am supposed to remember,” he asks? “All I know is that Benson is going to demand retribution if anything happens to you.”

“You’re afraid of him?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “He’s the son of one of the most influential members of the Federation. It won’t go well for me, or our friends. It still doesn’t make sense; you’re no one, and he’s a Benson.”