The Thrust Page 17

Mason hugged Emily to him and whispered in her ear. Emily glared at him. “That man tried to murder me, or have you forgotten? I need to be there.”

  “I’ll come too, for backup,” Samuel said. Their friend from upstate, the one whose radio she’d given to Annie. Had Annie played the women her message? Had it worked?

  Clarissa glanced nervously at the exit. Where was everyone?

  Suddenly, Annie climbed through the small hole in the door. “We need to make this bigger!”

  Three men got to work on the plywood boarding up the door until it came crashing down. A sea of scared women stood behind the glass, staring at the armed men and women on the other side.

  “Step back,” a man said, and when they did, he cracked the glass with his crowbar until it shattered down, leaving a gaping, ragged hole where only a small one had been before. “Watch the glass.”

  As the women poured out the exit, Clarissa turned to Annie. “Stay with them. Trent won’t be able to concentrate unless he knows you’re safe.”

  Annie nodded with fear in her eyes. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

  Clarissa hugged her fiercely. “I don’t want anything to happen to him either.”

  “Trent will be okay,” Annie said. “I’m talking about Evan.”

  Clarissa smiled, both at Annie’s unfailing faith in her big brother, and her affection for Evan. “I’m on it.”

  Jenna called to her, and Clarissa climbed into the hole with her and Barker, Emily, and Mason. It wasn’t easy sidling past the women streaming out, but it was the safest entry point. The rest of the people from Letliv would have to wait until they could get in.

  How long would that take? Minutes? A half hour? How long to evacuate?

  She wanted to get inside, get to Trent. See for herself that he was safe.

  Clarissa never should have let him come back to Grand Central without backup. Thank God she’d realized her mistake before it was too late.

  Or was it?

  Everything depended on not just taking out the main targets, but convincing the rest of the soldiers to back down. And if they were only seconds late, that’s all it would take for their mission to end with Evan dead, instead of alive.

  Focus. Get to the OCC.

  It was time to save Evan—and kill Colonel Lanche.

  Outside the OCC

  TRENT

  Trent and Evan’s bunkmates, all stripped of their uniform shirts and down to dirty white undershirts, stood silently around the corner from the Operations Control Center.

  “What if Lanche doesn’t bring Evan here?” Trent whispered.

  “He will. He won’t execute him in public,” Lawrence said.

  “Evening rations are over. If we’re wrong, if we’re in the wrong place . . .”

  Lawrence shook his head and cocked his ear toward the door to the OCC. “Listen. Lanche is in there.”

  Trent wished he could put his ear to the door. But they couldn’t be visible when the guards brought Evan out of his cell.

  “There’re two of them in there,” Trent said, struggling to hear the voices. “Two men.”

  “Lanche and Scar,” Lawrence said. “Hernandez should have killed the bastard. How the fuck is he still alive?”

  They heard the sound of scuffling feet, and flattened against the wall.

  The guards were bringing Evan, and from what Trent could tell, Evan wasn’t walking on his own.

  “Get the fuck up, punk,” one of the soldiers said.

  A low oomph as the guard punched the boy.

  “Enough,” another said. “The Colonel will want to talk to him, so lay off his face.”

  Next to him, Lawrence mouthed, “Dobson.”

  The names didn’t mean much to Trent, other than that Dobson was on his kill list. He nodded, wishing he could round the corner and put them down.

  Four soldiers marched Evan down that hallway to his execution. Three guards, and Dobson.

  Dobson knocked briskly on the door to the OCC, and it sounded like Lanche opened it.

  “About fucking time,” he said. Then, to two of the guards, “Stay outside and keep people away.”

  “Yes, sir.” The door slammed shut, and now the room had Lanche, Scar, Dobson, and one guard inside with Evan, and two guards outside.

  Fuck.

  What were they going to do now? What would happen when Clarissa showed up with her friends . . . and came face-to-face with those two guards?

  I’ll protect her or die trying.

  The conviction felt strong and true within him. Through everything, Clarissa had touched on his soul like only his late wife had ever done before. He’d examine the why and how of it later.

  Right now, there was no time.

  EVAN

  The room seemed to tilt, the floor coming up to meet Evan’s face. He fell to his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back. The guard who’d punched him moments before didn’t catch him—he was already several feet behind him, blocking the only exit from the room.

  Colonel Lanche leaned against the table that dominated the Operations Control Center. Scar was seated beside him.

  Evan risked glancing at Scar. The last time he saw him, the man had looked half-dead and was covered in blood.

  Scar had a cloth bandage on his head. The medic had shaved off part of his hair to suture the wound, leaving Scar with a lopsided, dangerous look to him.

  If only Hernandez had killed the man, it would have been worth it. Fuck.

  Dobson stood near Scar, leaving Evan alone on the floor.

  “Evan, Evan,” Colonel Lanche said. “You’ve disappointed me.”

  Fuck you, Lanche. That’s what Evan wanted to scream. But with his life on the line, his pride would have to take a back seat.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Evan whispered. “I don’t want you to kill me, sir.” He paused, thoughts of everything Lanche had already done to him rushing through his mind. “I’ll do anything. Daddy—I’ll call you Daddy, like you want.” Evan hated the fear in his voice, but he was desperate. “You want that, right? Don’t kill me, Daddy. Don’t.”

  Survive this second.

  “I’ll do whatever you want,” Evan said. “Let me make it up to you. Please, God, please.”

  Lanche laughed and clapped Scar on the back jovially, making Scar wince from the force. “Oh, so now I’m your Daddy. Just had to get you desperate enough,” Lanche laughed. “You’ll make it up to me, huh? Looks like Scar here turned you into a whore, just like your sweet little girlfriend.”

  Evan’s insides clenched with anger. Annie was not a whore. But if Evan had to be one, to save his life—fuck it. He didn’t even care anymore.

  “I . . . I could give you information, in exchange for my life,” Evan said.

  At this, Lanche paused. “You’ve already told me everything. And Private Hernandez told me everything else about what happened with Scar.”

  “No, sir. I’m talking about those pamphlets. About the . . . the Letliv terrorists. I could tell you about that. But only if you don’t execute me.”

  Lanche smiled. “I’ve been hoping you’d give me a reason not to shoot you, son. Because I like you, I do. And Scar—well, Scar really likes you. It would be such a shame to kill a pretty boy like you.”

  Being kept alive just for more nightly visits from Scar made Evan want to scream, and cry. And vomit. He bit back a whimper of despair. Where the fuck was Trent? How could Evan fight these armed men alone, handcuffed and on his knees?

  “But,” Colonel Lanche said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “how do I know you’ll be a good boy from now on? How can I possibly trust you after you let Private Hernandez bash Scar’s head in like that?”

  “I-I didn’t let him,” Evan mumbled. Hernandez was already dead, it didn’t matter what he said about him now. “Scar came in, I didn’t fight him. And then Private Hernandez hit him. That’s all I know about that.”

  “And it won’t happen again,” Scar growled. “Maybe I’ll just move you into my own sleeping q
uarters.” He grinned, an expression that appeared even more malevolent with his black eyes and head bandage.

  Evan looked away, not trusting himself to answer.

  “Tell me what you know about the pamphlets,” Lanche said.

  “A man came into Grand Central with them,” Evan said slowly.

  He had to be careful how much he gave away. But Lanche was like a fucking mind reader, always knowing when Evan was lying or omitting something. The time Evan had spent being interrogated when they’d first brought him in proved that. He still bore the scars, both physical and emotional.

  “Did you know this man?”

  “No,” Evan said honestly. “Never saw him before. He was dressed like a soldier.”

  “Could have been Private Barker,” Dobson suggested.

  “No, you idiot,” Lanche said. “Evan here was tight with Barker and his bitch Jenna. With Clarissa too, before we brought you here, isn’t that right, Evan?”

  Kidnapped me, more like it, Evan thought, but he merely nodded.

  “What did the man say to you?” Lanche asked.

  “He said his name was Trent, and he was from Letliv. That they were free there, and that you are keeping us prisoner here at Grand Central.”

  Lanche scoffed. Evan resisted the urge to point out that it was absolutely true.

  A thump outside the door behind him made Evan turn his head. What was that? Could it be Trent, trying to get in?

  Please, God, he prayed. Evan looked at the men, at their guns. How could Trent possibly fight all of them, and win?

  “What the fuck is that?” Colonel Lanche asked when another thump sound occurred. He turned to the guard at the door. “Get out there and find out. I want this hallway clear. Because even if we don’t execute you tonight, son”—he turned to Evan, smiling thinly—“you will still be punished. I think Scar deserves to see that, at least. I want to hear you call me Daddy again—and mean it.”

  Grand Central Terminal

  CLARISSA

  FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

  CLARISSA ran, with Barker, Jenna, Emily, Mason, and their neighbor Samuel at her heels. As the women from the Tracks flowed past them to evacuate, they rushed to the OCC to meet up with Trent and the soldiers who had taken off their uniforms in solidarity.

  Two of Colonel Lanche’s guards stood outside the door. She knew Trent was right around the corner, but if those guards saw them they’d sound the alarm and start shooting for sure.

  “What do we do?” Clarissa whispered to Emily, who was right behind her.

  “I’ll knock one out,” Mason said. “Barker, you get the other, and Samuel can back us up. Can’t shoot them or they’ll hear it inside.”

  Barker nodded gamely, and Clarissa could feel the adrenaline spike in the air as Mason, Samuel, and Barker slipped around the corner.

  All she heard was a thump as a body hit the floor, then another thump right after.

  Clarissa, Jenna, and Emily entered the corridor and saw Mason still had his arm wrapped around one of the guards’ necks. Barker and Samuel were holding the other guy down.

  Trent and Evan’s bunkmates joined them in front of the door to the OCC.

  One lifted his rifle.

  “Lawrence, don’t,” Trent whispered. “If they hear shots before we can get in, Evan could die.”

  Suddenly, the door to the OCC opened. So they had heard them, after all.

  Fear washed over her, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

  The guard opened his mouth to scream for help at the sight of two of his colleagues on the ground, and a small group of men and women armed to the teeth.

  Trent caught the door with his foot before it closed, and ran into the OCC with his rifle up.

  Shots rang out. Clarissa watched in horror as Lawrence shot all three guards.

  “Change of plans,” Lawrence said grimly.

  It shouldn’t have bothered her to see those men die. They had done horrible things. Horrible, despicable, evil things. And had watched and guarded the Colonel as he’d done even more.

  Those guards were a threat. Lawrence had every right to shoot them.

  But the blood, the wet splatter of a bullet ripping through flesh—

  She turned and vomited on the floor.

  Emily grabbed her arm. “We have to back up Trent, and get Evan. Now.”

  Clarissa nodded and hefted her gun.

  Inside the OCC, Trent and the other soldiers had their guns on Colonel Lanche, Scar, and Dobson.

  “Get the boy over here,” Lanche yelled, and Dobson lifted Evan, who was in handcuffs and looked like he’d been abused badly since she’d seen him last, off his knees. With a hard shove, Dobson threw Evan over to Lanche.

  “Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads, motherfuckers,” Trent yelled.

  Dobson did so immediately, but Scar and Lanche faltered.

  One of the soldiers fired a shot into the ceiling. “Do it.”

  Scar grimaced and slowly pulled his gun from his lap, dropping it to the floor.

  Emily ran up and grabbed it, getting it out of his reach.

  “Colonel Lanche,” Clarissa said, “I will shoot you myself if you don’t drop your weapon. Now.”

  Lanche smiled. “Oh, it’s like a reunion. Clarissa. Jenna. Emily. And Barker, the traitorous Private Barker.” He turned to the soldiers in their undershirts, their muscles shining with sweat. “How dare you. After everything I’ve done for you. Kept you alive. Kept you safe.”

  Lanche pulled Evan against him, using him as a human shield. Evan struggled to get away, but stilled when the end of Lanche’s gun pressed against his temple.

  “Trent from Letliv, am I right?” Lanche asked. “Here to save the day. How very gallant. But, as you can see, we are at an impasse. You have us at gunpoint, but I have Evan.”

  “Let Evan go,” Jenna said.

  Evan cried out as the gun in Lanche’s hand pushed harder against his skin.

  “Let’s talk,” Colonel Lanche said. “Perhaps we can all get out of here alive today. Even the boy. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Jenna said. “I want you dead. You, Scar, and Dobson. You deserve to die just for what you’ve done to Evan—kidnapped him, tortured him! But you’ve done so much more. So much.”

  “You killed Roy,” Clarissa said, looking at Dobson. “You fucking asshole.”

  She didn’t know what she expected. That they would all beg for forgiveness? Admit they’d done evil things and ask for . . . what? A trial?

  But they just laughed. The sound of it hurt her ears.

  “You won’t kill Evan,” Barker said to Lanche. “Because if he dies, you have no bargaining chip. So take your finger off the trigger.”

  “No can do, my friend,” Lanche said. “This way, if you shoot me, he dies too. His life depends on me not having a little spasm in my finger, got it?” The Colonel grinned. “So put the fucking guns down.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Trent said. No one in the room appeared as though they were anywhere near backing down. Not now.

  “Dobson,” Emily said, training her gun on him. “Go over to Evan and uncuff him.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Lanche hissed.

  Dobson held the key limply in his hand, staring at the barrel of Emily’s rifle and then at Lanche’s red, sweaty face as he held Evan against him.

  “Do it, Dobson,” Clarissa said. “Uncuff him, and push the boy over to us.” When he didn’t move, frozen in place, Clarissa cried out in anguish. “Goddamn it, Dobson! Do something right, for once! His death will be on your hands if you don’t!”

  Dobson nodded and raised his hands, walking steadily across the room to Lanche and Evan.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Dobson whispered, taking Evan’s cuffed wrists.

  “Me too,” Lanche said, and he removed the gun from Evan’s head and shot Dobson in the face.

  Clarissa screamed in surprise, and Evan fell to the ground. The shot had been so loud, her
ears rang. She could only imagine what it had been like for Evan, just inches away from the gun.

  Dobson fell, dead, his face obliterated.

  Chaos erupted. More shots rang out.

  “Run, Evan,” Jenna screamed, and he scrambled to find his footing, his hands still cuffed behind his back.

  But he fell again, knocking his cheek against the table. Lanche grabbed for him wildly. Evan pulled away, scooting across the floor, away from him.

  One of the soldiers shot Scar, first in the chest, then in the head. He slumped in his chair, the bandage on his head turning red with fresh blood.

  He was dead.

  Evan gasped. For some reason, the boy reached out and touched Scar’s shoulder. As if to prove to himself that yes, Scar was gone. Forever.

  Only Colonel Lanche remained.

  And this time, his gun was pointed . . . at Clarissa.

  TRENT

  Trent surveyed the scene before him. Five of the targets dead. Everyone on the Letliv side aimed at Colonel Lanche, but Lanche had his gun trained on Clarissa.

  There was no way in hell Trent was going to let that bastard take Clarissa from him. Not after all this.

  “Drop it, Lanche,” Trent said. “You’re surrounded.”

  “If I die, she dies,” Lanche replied. “So go fuck yourself.” He turned to the soldiers who had once been under his command. “You’ve been brainwashed by this terrorist. If you do this, you’ll be on the run for the rest of your lives. Or . . .” Lanche looked at them solemnly. “Or, you could be heroes. Saviors of Grand Central. Stand up against these terrorists and do the right thing.”

  Jenna’s hand was trembling with . . . what? Anger, perhaps. Or fear. Or both. Her blonde hair had come loose from its ponytail, the strands falling across her face.

  “You’re a sick fucking man, Colonel Lanche,” Jenna whispered. “And I won’t let you take another life. Not ever again. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

  Lanche laughed. “What a fitting end, gunned down by my very own murdering whore.”

  With that, she pulled the trigger.

  Colonel Lanche’s mouth dropped open, a strange grimace of pain and surprise, as the bullet caught him in the shoulder. He squeezed off a shot,