“No talking,” he says. He stops after a few more steps and looks around. No one is watching us. Are we hiding from someone?
Hayes ducks behind a row of thick hedges that obscure the mechanical boxes for the building. We follow and watch as he drops to his knees and rolls back—yes, rolls—a thick section of faded grass. Just beneath is a piece of metal that he quickly heaves upward.
“Is that a door?” Jude asks, shifting Paul’s weight. I grab onto my old friend to give extra support.
He doesn’t reply, but one by one we leave the darkening evening for a darker hole. Parker’s hand clasps mine to steady herself, or maybe for courage, I don’t know.
The stairway is narrow and steep. Jude takes over carrying Paul on his own. Thankfully, a light flickers on above and at the bottom of the stairs it’s clear we’re in some sort of bunker. A short hallway stretches in front of us, ending in some sort of room. I spot tables and a few chairs. Rooms jut off to the sides. Hayes opens one and points to a sparse bed before helping Jude get Paul settled. He rolls over and sighs, seeming content to stay asleep.
I turn and walk out of the room and head toward the bigger one at the end. Lights flip on, apparently triggered by movement, until I get to what I can see now is a small kitchen and living area. A leather couch is pushed against one wall, cabinets and a pantry, the other. A kitchen table is in the middle, surrounded by plastic coated chairs. Jude pulls one away from the table, the legs scraping against the cement floor, and sits down.
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“How did you know about this?” I ask.
“There are bunkers like this along every highway across the country, most under welcome or rest areas. High level officials in each state were supposed to use them in case of an emergency—a real one,” Hayes replies.
“When did you find out about it?”
That, he doesn’t answer. “You guys will wait here until Wyatt gives us the clear.”
“You’re not staying?”
He shakes his head but offers nothing else. Soon after, he leaves the way we came in.
Parker groans with frustration. “Why did he bring us down here now? It’s not like we’re under attack.”
“Not yet,” Davis says, glancing over at me. “We stumbled into a hornet’s nest at that school. Someone wanted everyone dead and no signs of the experiments. We brought back survivors.”
“So we’re targets?” she asks.
I laugh through a shiver from the cold and head over to the kitchen to check supplies, adding, “Welcome to my world.”
*
Being down here must have helped lower my guard, because I fall asleep in an instant on the musty lower bunk in one of the rooms. I only wake when I hear—no, feel, a presence in my room.
I wrap my fingers along the cool handle of my hatchet and blink the sleep away. The room is pitch black and I can see nothing, but I know someone is nearby.
The good news is that no one has tried to kill me yet, so it must be a friendly, right?
“Wyatt?” I ask quietly, barely loud enough to hear myself.
“Is there a reason you expect Wyatt in your room while you’re sleeping?” The reply comes from so much closer than I expected, and I’m halfway out of the bed in panic before I recognize the voice.
Unfortunately, not before I’ve punched Cole in the gut.
“Holy crap, Cole!” I drop the hatchet to my bed with a soft thud and grab his shirt with a shaking hand. He gasps from the hit. “I nearly took your head off.”
“It’s good to see you, too.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s wasted in the dark. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, no thanks to that right hook.” His hand moves up my arm to squeeze my bicep. “You’ve gotten stronger.”
I pull him into a tight hug, pushing past the shock of him being here. His body is warm, his shirt smells like the soap from PharmaCorp, but his skin carries the tinge of sweat. I revel in the weight of his hands against my back, happier to see—feel—him than I expected.
“Give me a second,” I say, stepping away and waving my arms around, seeking the wall. It takes a few tries but I manage to find and push the button that flips on the small sconce by the door. The room brightens and he’s standing by my bed.