Into the Fire (Flame in the Shadows Trilogy #1)

41. Mel

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

MEL

Deep, excruciating waves of agony ripple up and down my leg, emanating from my ruined shin as if it were a pulsar. Every breath hurts. Every sob sends splinters of glass stabbing through my chest, my head, my jaw.

Only one thing holds steady in the shifting mist of pain. Tommy’s bright gaze, so intent on mine, keeps me tethered to reality. It reminds me who I am, and why I’m here, and why I must be strong.

I peer blearily across the space between us, determined not to let go of my lifeline. I thought I heard explosions, and now people are screaming and running outside. Is that gunfire too? The truck must’ve blown up.

But no, that can’t be right. I missed my shot. They captured us.

I’m so … so confused…

“Mel,” Tommy moans, my name mangled on his tongue. I twitch, wanting to reach for him, but my bound wrists burn, drenched in hot, sticky wetness. Proof of how hard I struggled. Proof it wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry,” he cries, again and again.

Forcing myself to focus, I give him a quick once-over. He looks terrible. He’s bound too, his tan skin chalky and shining with sweat. His lips are bloodless, his eyes puffy, his cheeks glazed with tears. There’s a huge red welt beside his eye that stretches from his hairline down to graze his cheekbone.

Worse than any of that is his expression. It’s like he’s being continuously scalded. His tortured eyes burn into mine, half-mad with anguish.

“D-d-don’t be,” I rasp between the harsh gasps hissing through my teeth.

Tommy stares, looking like he’s been lit on fire.

“Th-th-th-they’re g-g-gone?” I can barely spit the question out through the pain in my jaw.

“For now.” Tommy’s words are no more than a breath.

This is the chance I hoped against hope for. Tipping my face up, I lower my braid as far down between my shoulders and the chair’s back as I can, reaching for it clumsily with my burning, tied hands. My fingers brush the tuft of hair at the end and I desperately pinch at it, sliding my grip up until I find the hair tie.

Please, please let this work.

The aches and awkward angle make it difficult, but I manage to slip the tie from my hair, keeping hold of the braid as I do. Carefully, I start to unwind the thick plait.

“What are you doing?” Tommy whispers.

“Y-you’ll see,” I pant through the pain. “If it w-works.”

The tresses loosen and I tip my head farther, arching my back to ensure I don’t lose contact with the entwined locks. My ribs scream, but it’s got to be close … somewhere around… here.

My fingers slip against something long, thin, and razor-sharp, woven into the center of the braid. Hissing at the sting, I squeeze the smooth, jagged shard of glass with everything I have and yank it free, along with several broken strands of hair.

Yes.

Tommy gasps as I awkwardly saw at the rope binding my wrists, sliding the shard back and forth with as much force as I can muster. Fresh, sticky warmth runs down my hand, but I don’t loosen my grip. The rope starts to fray.

“You hid that? In your braid?”

I glance up. Tommy’s even paler than before. How much blood has he lost?

“Yes. After I raided weapons storage, I broke a baking dish. Thought maybe … if they took my weapons… it’d come in handy.”

“You’re amazing.”

After another few seconds, the binding snaps and my arms are free. Immediately, I get to work on the rope securing my waist. My hands shake so badly I can hardly use them.

To calm myself, I keep talking. “I got the idea from a project my mom did with me when I was a little girl. Weaving macrame bracelets. She said she and her … her best fr-friend”—I stutter, realizing who that best friend must have been—“used to pass messages that way. You know, by weaving them into…”

I freeze.

Tommy’s bracelet. Twin to the one I wove with my mom all those years ago.

I’ve seen it every day for the past two months. It’s as much a part of Tommy as his ethereal grace, or his pensive nature. He’s never without it.

How did I not make the connection?

My mind hums, blank with shock.

Tommy gives me a knowing nod. “Mel? We don’t have long.”

Now isn’t the time to think about this. I shove the matter from my mind and get back to work.

Soon the binding around my waist falls away too. I reach down for the knot holding my good ankle to the chair. Yes, there it is, and yes, I’m sure I can undo it.

Huffing in relief, I slip the glass shard into my pocket and fumble with the knot instead.

By the time I pull my ankle free, the sounds of chaos outside have dimmed. I gulp down several shaky breaths, ignoring the stabbing in my chest. This is really going to hurt, but we’re out of time.

Without letting myself consider what’s to come, I wrench my injured leg off the chair supporting it. White-hot pain cracks up my shin, a scream sharp in my throat. I lock my jaw desperately against it and swallow the noise. It’s never been so important to keep quiet.

Tears blur my vision, but I don’t pause. I crawl toward Tommy as fast as I can. He watches over his shoulder as I reach for his bindings.

It doesn’t take more than a minute to untie them all. Quick as a flash, he’s out of his chair and hauling me to my feet.

I sway on the spot, leaning heavily on his forearms. My injured leg dangles under me.

Tommy frowns. “We won’t get far like this. I’ll have to carry you, okay?”

I don’t want to hold him back, but if I try to send him away without me, he'll argue. We’ll waste precious time, and neither of us will make it out. “Okay.”

His every movement gentler than I’d have thought possible, Tommy sweeps me up into his arms and cradles me against his chest. It hurts, of course it does, but I sigh, almost happy in a weird way. Even though we’re in extreme danger, I feel safe.

Tommy steps to the cabin’s door and pauses just behind it, his ear tilted toward the camp beyond. He gives his head a tiny shake, then listens again.

“I can’t hear properly.”

I lift a wobbling hand, tracing the brutal swelling over his temple. “We have to go for it anyway, or we’ll die.”

We’re probably dead either way, but still.

With a grimace, Tommy uses the doorframe to help support my weight as he turns the knob. Inch by inch, he nudges the door open. There are no guards immediately beyond.

Tommy slips out into the freezing night and glides around the corner of the cabin. Immersed in shadow, he pauses to survey the scene in the camp.

There’s no evidence of the explosions we heard, no fires burning besides those tended by the Organization. The camp itself is mostly empty, except for the guards who still circle the truck, but the apparent lack of watchmen doesn’t make me feel better.

“Where are they?”

Tommy draws us deeper into the gloom cast by the cabin. His breath tickles my cheek as he answers. “Look at the forest.”

I scan the dense ring of trees around the clearing. The darkness underneath moves, crawling with guards.

Alarmed, I peek over Tommy’s shoulder to search the woods that brush up against the back of the cabin. Sure enough, there are people moving there too, not far from us. Thankfully they’re heading deeper into the forest, away from the camp.

“Back there.”

A tremor runs through him. “Yeah, I know.”

Fighting a crescendo of panic, I gulp down several mouthfuls of chilly air. “We have to sneak through the camp while their focus is elsewhere.”

“Too exposed.”

“Well, what do you suggest then?”

He drags his gaze from the woods, peering down into my aching face. My chest tightens at the desperate hopelessness in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

I bite my lip, examining the camp, searching for…

My heart stands still. Our weapons, including the extra grenades, are scattered near the cabin’s door. The guards must’ve dropped them when the explosions went off in the camp.

If Tommy were armed, it would make all the difference. Gunfire would reveal his position, but I’ve seen him with a dagger. He’s lethal. No more than shadow given substance. He could fight his way through the swarm of guards, silent as a wraith. They wouldn’t even know he passed by until he was already gone.

Of course, I’d have to make him leave without me because I’m not going anywhere. I can’t walk, let alone run. I’d weigh him down, make it impossible for him to fight.

Also, the M320 is right there.

We’re not far from the truck. By my estimation, we’re about one hundred meters out. Well within the weapon’s range.

I stare into Tommy’s lovely, anxious face. If I can convince him to sneak away without me, the explosion I’ll cause will draw the guards out of the forest and back into the camp. It’ll be only too easy for him to escape once the woods are clear.

Tommy stares back, eyes lined with despair. He must know he could make it out alone, and yet, he only holds me tighter.

I’m right here with you.

My eyes fill. I’m terrified out of my wits at the prospect of being hauled back into that ghastly cabin. Tommy was the only thing that kept me sane in there. Even so, I’d go to the ends of the earth to spare him from enduring such agony again. I’d suffer the Organization’s wrath a thousand times over if it kept him out of their hands.

I’ll have to lie. It’s the only way.

My heart burns with regret, knowing the last words he’ll hear from me will be a betrayal.

“Put me down,” I rasp.

Tommy raises a brow. “Your leg…”

“It hurts, but I can walk on it. It’ll be easier for us to escape if I do.”

Tommy’s mouth presses into a line.

“Come on,” I push, a hard edge creeping into my tone. “You don’t need to save me. We can save each other.”

Doubt fills Tommy’s face, but he lowers me to the ground. I bite back a hiss of pain, digging my fingers into his shoulder to support myself.

“Just give me … a minute.”

Tommy’s misgivings visibly mount with every passing second.

Standing here isn’t helping either of us. I have to act now, before my strength gives out, before I fall, before I drown in the prickling, insidious fear.

A surge of adrenaline punches through me. It takes all my willpower to clamp down on the overwhelming energy and moderate my voice into a thin whisper.

“This is what we’re going to do. You’re going to scout the woods behind the cabin. You’re going to take this.” I pull out the jagged shard of bloodstained glass and press it into his palm. “I’ll wait here. When the coast is clear—as clear as we can hope for—you come for me, and we run.”

Tommy’s mouth twitches down, his eyes bleak. “That will never work. You’re not running anywhere on that leg.”

“Carry me, then,” I snap, the rush of adrenaline-fueled strength pushing me over the edge. “We need to know the layout first, either way. Go!”

“But—”

“Go!” Using the cabin’s outer wall to support myself, I shove at him. “You’re wasting time. I do not want to die here.”

Stricken, Tommy backs away. He stumbles a little as he melts into the shadows.

It’s now or never.

Energy flows through my limbs as I fling myself around the corner of the cabin. My shin barks, twisting under me, and I collapse. Fire sears in my bones, but I grit my teeth and crawl, my useless leg dragging behind me.

With a final, monumental effort, I dive for the grenade launcher. The guards by the truck start to shout and run toward the cabin. A hail of bullets peppers the rotten logs behind me as I scramble to load a grenade, the round slipping and sliding in my slick, bloody hands.

Forcing myself to my feet, I concentrate with every fiber of my being on holding the launcher steady while I line up the sights. The soft wood of the cabin digs into my back, supporting me.

Right before I squeeze the trigger, something small and hard slams into my stomach, and I jerk against the wall behind me.

Numbness steals through my belly, reaching out with long, creeping fingers to ice my blood.

I’ve been shot.

Focus. Just ten more seconds. Focus.

I raise the M320 once more, sighting the gas tank. My arms are rock-steady, even as my side begins to warm. Begins to burn.

I don’t let myself think. Baring my teeth against the pain, I fire.

Yes!

A huge, flaming cloud splits the night, and the boom rattles the earth. Bodies and shrapnel fly everywhere as a hot wind slams into me. I slide down the wall of the cabin, the launcher slipping out of my numb fingers.

I did it. I really did it. Innocent people will live. Tommy will live.

My lips twitch up as my side blazes hotter.

“I love you,” I whisper through the burn. “I’m sorry.”

It hurts so much. And still, it gets hotter … hotter … hotter …

I’m drowning in scorching agony. The intensity of it dulls every other sensation, every other thought, until I don’t know where I am. I don’t remember my own name.

All I know is the searing, blistering blaze that eats me alive from the inside out. Make it stop, please make it stop…