Behind the warehouse are some large storage sheds. I run behind them and slip between the building and the sheds. In my arms, Niahm moans, rousing. I stop and turn back toward Jean who hurries forward to touch her granddaughter.
“Niahm, sweetie, are you okay?” she whispers as she brushes her hands down Niahm’s cheeks.
“What... where...” Niahm’s eyes finally focus on me, and then Jean. I watch as memory rushes through her mind and she looks around. “Where are we?” Her voice is too loud in the silence, and Jean immediately lays a hand across her lips.
“Shh,” she hisses at Niahm. Niahm silences.
“We’re behind some sheds, but the Sentinels are behind us,” I whisper. “We need to find a place to hide until it’s safe to escape.”
“Okay, put me down,” she whispers back, more calmly than I would have expected. I let her legs down but retain my hold on her until I’m sure she has her balance. Jean gives her a quick hug as she pulls away from me, and I’m insanely jealous that I can’t follow suit.
“We need to hurry,” I say more harshly than needed. “Follow me.”
I continue down the small alley in front of Niahm, Jean behind. We don’t need to speak to know that this is the best way to keep her alive. We come to a gap between two of the sheds and I peer around the corner. No movement, so I follow this new path. When we get to the front of the sheds, I look around the corner. I can’t see the Sentinels but I can hear them. I reach behind me and take Niahm’s hand which she immediately rips from my grasp. I cringe but don’t look back at her.
Across the lot there is another warehouse with a metal door on the side for entrance that is only held closed with a padlock. To my right is a pile of rebar. I send a silent prayer of thanks to the sky and turn toward Niahm and Jean.
“I’m going to grab one of those rebar and see if I can open that door,” I say, pointing. Niahm immediately begins shaking her head frantically.
“No, Sam. You’ll be out in the open, they’ll see you.”
I brush a thumb across her jaw, gone before she can react. “We’re sitting ducks here. If we can get inside we have a chance.” I look at Jean.
“Go, Sam. I’ve got her,” she says, wrapping her arms around Niahm. I give Niahm on last look, trying to convey my concern for her before I slip stealthily around the corner. Staying tight against the front of the sheds, I manage to reach the rebar without incident. As I lean down to pick one up, I hear movement behind me and dart behind a forklift.
“They’re here somewhere,” I hear a man’s voice say, low. They aren’t near me, but I hear them clearly.
“I’m aware of that,” another answers impatiently. “How long before police show to investigate the accident?”
“Doesn’t matter,” says the first. “We’re concerned citizens who saw it happen, and stopped when we saw the driver and her passenger run away.”
“Who’s the girl?” the second asks and my gut clenches in anger and alarm for Niahm.
“I don’t know, but Kory’s on it. He’ll get the tapes if they have any.”
I throw another prayer heavenward that the restaurant doesn’t have any kind of security cameras for Kory to look at. Even if they don’t, they’ll find something somewhere else. Niahm’s life is now in danger.
A beep sounds, and the two men turn back toward the first warehouse whose door I shot out. They begin running, and I take the opportunity to move. I pick up one of the metal rods and hurry toward the warehouse. It doesn’t take long to pop the lock off. I’ve had a bit of practice. I run back to where Niahm and Jean wait and once again we sandwich Niahm as we run toward the warehouse.
Once inside we bypass the offices and enter the area in the back which is piled high with large wooden crates. We hurry down between them ducking between two high stacks.
“Do you have the phone?” I ask Jean. She pulls it from her pocket and I give her a kiss on the forehead. I quickly punch in some numbers and wait while they send. After thirty seconds, it vibrates and I get the confirmation I was looking for. “Shane’s on his way with the van,” I say and Jean grins at me.
“What van?” Niahm asks, confused.
“Bullet-proof,” I say. Niahm blanches. I curse myself once again for my thoughtlessness. “It’s what will get us all out of here alive,” I say.
Yelling and the metal door slamming open let us know the Sentinels have arrived. Jean and I both grab one of Niahm’s hands and we begin moving again, quickly but quietly. This time Niahm doesn’t pull her hand from mine. We wind down between the crates, watching and listening for the Sentinels. But they are now being stealthy themselves, no doubt aware that they have us trapped. As we round another crate, I stop. We’ve reached the back corner of the building with nowhere to go. Instinctively, we turn back but a nearby footfall stops us. I push Niahm behind me into the corner, taking a stance in front of her with Jean helping to complete the wall. After a few tense moments the footsteps move further away.
Suddenly, Jean grasps my hand. I look at her and she is staring at me intently. Immediately understanding, I open my mind.
Can you hear me?
I nod.
We aren’t going to be able to get out when Shane comes, not from where we are. You know that, right?
I think about arguing, but finally nod. Behind her clear thoughts she’s sending my way, I’m seeing everything else that resides in Jeans mind, her childhood with a cruel father, her loveless marriage and feelings of worthlessness, the despair that drove her actions.
I’m going to distract them so you can get her out of here.
No!
Her eyes widen. So you can project thoughts as well?
I nod, jaw clenched.
She has a better chance with you. You know that. I’ll do everything I can to get away.
I shake my head. She’ll never forgive either of us.
Jean’s mouth quivers a bit as she nods, acknowledging my words. Abruptly, she turns toward Niahm and pulls her into her arms. Niahm fearfully clings to her. Jeans hand shoots out and I grasp it tightly.
Tell her, she thinks frantically, tell her this was my idea. You have to take her away, Sam, keep her safe. They’ll figure out who she is.
I nod.
In six months I’ll be here. She sends a picture into my mind of Bryce Canyon, at Rainbow Point. I know it; I’ve been there. I’ll go every six months until you have the chance to come.
I’ll be there, I send to her.
Only when it’s safe, she admonishes. I know you love her. I nod fervently. I’m counting on that, Sam. I’m counting on you. Make her understand and keep her safe. The last three words are thrown at me, as if she’s thinking them as separate words with an exclamation point after each.
I will, Jean. And... thank you.
She nods again, letting go of my hand to wrap both arms tightly around Niahm. Then she releases her and begins to move away. Niahm grabs her arm, alarm on her face. Jean looks back at her with a small smile. She takes Niahm’s face between her palms and then leans forward to kiss each cheek. She whispers something in Niahm’s ear, and though Niahm still looks terrified, she nods.
Jean moves quietly away, peering around the corner before moving out of sight. Niahm and I listen quietly. Tension thrums through my blood. After a few stress-filled minutes pass with nothing, Niahm grasps my hand tightly. I keep my mind closed, but I don’t have to open it to know how frightened she is. Not for the first time I wish I could go back in time and not enter her life so that she wouldn’t now be in this predicament.
Then, the metal door slams loudly. Niahm jumps and the tiniest squeak escapes her. Two sets of footsteps run in the direction of the sound as one of them curses. They noisily slam through the door themselves. I don’t waste time. Keeping hold of Niahm’s hand I pull her toward the front of the stack. I look around the corner and don’t see or hear anything. I put a finger to my lips to remind her of the need for silence and she nods, eyes wide. We hurry along the front of the cr
ates toward the front office, bypassing the metal door which has swung back to rest within inches of being closed.
We move into the front office area and toward the front door as I punch a couple more numbers into the phone. The front door is glass, but the office is dark. I urge Niahm into a crouch as we near the door. Then I see it—the van screeching into the parking lot, not even making an attempt at stealth. Shane brakes and turns the wheel, forcing the van into a squealing circle in front of the office. The sliding back door of the van gapes open and I wrap an arm around Niahm’s waist as I push the bar which allows me to shove the door open. An alarm immediately sounds.
Niahm pulls against my grip for just one second, clearly intending to not leave without her grandma. In that second, a shot rings out as I unceremoniously toss her into the van, following closely and shoving the door closed behind me even as Shane stomps down hard on the gas pedal, sending Niahm and I tumbling toward the back of the van.
As I right myself, I look to see Niahm still crumpled in the corner. I quickly crawl toward her, knocked back a bit as Shane sharply corners the van, the feeling of two wheels not quite making contact with the asphalt clear.
“Niahm, are you okay?” I ask as I finally get to her side.
“Jean,” she moans.
“She’ll be fine. They won’t stick around with the alarm going off. When she’s safe, she’ll find us,” I say. Niahm nods sluggishly at my words. “Did you hit your head?” I ask with concern. She isn’t responding as she should be.
“Get Stacy,” she says, her words garbled and slow.
“Shane,” I call to the front of the van.
“Got her,” he says back. Stacy peeks around the front passenger seat, pale, lips pulled tight. She glances at Shane.
“Just sit tight a few more minutes,” he says in answer to her unspoken words. “”We’ll be in the clear soon, and then you can have your reunion.”
Stacy narrows her eyes slightly at him, though the gesture is rather unthreatening in her fear-filled face. She doesn’t unbuckle or try to come back though.
I turn back to Niahm who is lying with her eyes closed. “Niahm?” I ask. No response. I’m worried about a possible head injury between the way I threw her in and the tumble she took as Shane sped off. I reach down and slowly, gently probe her skull. I can’t feel anything obvious, so I do the thing I know will infuriate her. I take her hand and listen.
All I see are confused images overlapping one another. Images of Jean, Stacy, and myself rotate and merge. Then I see it... feel it really. “No,” I mutter, pulling her up from the floor of the van, pushing my hands frantically against her back. Sticky wetness greets me. I don’t need to pull my hands up to know it’s blood, but I do anyway. My hand is covered.
“No, no, no,” I moan, pulling her limp form into my arms.
“Sam?” Shane questions as Stacy’s gaze comes back around.
“Shane, you’ve got to get us to a hospital. Now.” I’m pleading with him, pleading more desperately than I ever have before. “Niahm’s been shot.”
Chapter 52
Sam
“We can’t do that,” Shane says calmly as Stacy, who managed to unbuckle herself and move into the back of the van in one fluid motion turns back to him with a horrified, “What?” Perhaps it’s a good thing she’s not within striking distance of him, because I think she might have belted him if she were closer.
“If we take her to a hospital, she’s dead,” Shane replies.
Stacy swings frantic eyes back to me. I know he’s right, because I’ve seen it. Without help, she’s dead anyway.
“Sam!” Stacy exclaims, the single word demanding and pleading all at once.
“Mac an donais!” I curse. “He’s right,” I admit miserably.
“What do you mean?” she practically screeches, leaning down near Niahm and soothing her hands across her hair.
“Those men ...” I begin.
“What about them? What do they want, Sam? Why are they after Niahm?”
I pull Niahm up into my arms, tight against my chest.
“They don’t want Niahm,” Shane says from the front. “They were after Jean. And now us.”
“Then go to the hospital,” she demands, confusion lacing her voice. “I’ll take her and you guys can get away.”
“Too late,” I moan, rocking Niahm as her breathing becomes labored.
“They know her now,” Shane says. “Her life is in danger. And yours if they see you with us. We have to get you to a safe place where we can let you off. We’ll give you money to get home.”
“No way,” Stacy says firmly, her eyes locked on Niahm. “I’m not leaving her.”
“Shane, please,” I say, not knowing how else to express what I need.
“I know, Samuel,” he answers. “Okay, I’ll find somewhere safe where I can look at her.”
“Why in the world would that help?” Stacy asks. Before he can answer she leans toward Niahm. “Sam, she’s not breathing right,” she gasps. “She’s going to die if we don’t help her.”
“I don’t think they’ve followed us,” Shane says, turning to glance at us quickly. His eyes drop to Niahm before returning to the road. “I don’t have my equipment, Samuel.”
“Anything,” I say. “Anywhere.”
He nods. He knows what I’m asking. A few long, eternal minutes later, after several turns, he stops the van. He climbs into the back of the van and pushes me out of the way. I move, but retain hold of her hand. The images are fading, becoming more discombobulated and obscure. He turns on the overhead light. Stacy whimpers when she sees the blood covering the floor. I’m not altogether sure that I don’t join her.
“Samuel. Sam!” Shane says when I don’t look up at him the first time. “This is a clinic,” he says. “You know what to do.”
Stacy turns questioning eyes on me. I move as quickly as I can to the sliding door. When I open the door, I’m facing a rundown clinic, windows barred, graffiti, dirt, and oil smudging the sides of the building.
“Sam, wait,” Stacy calls worriedly. I step out, slamming the door behind me. I look around for a weapon, not to defend myself but to slow anyone who would try to stop me. A rusted hammer lies on the ground beneath the barred windows and I scoop it up. At the front of the clinic, the metal door is locked tight, a doorbell and camera facing me. I press the doorbell several times.
“What do you need?” A tough-sounding female voice crackles out of the ancient door speaker.
“I need help,” I say, trying not to sound threatening.
“Hold your hands up and turn in a circle,” the voice commands. “Lift the back of your shirt so I can see your pockets, pull your front pockets inside out, lift your pant legs so I can see your socks.”
I drop the hammer and do as she says, trying not to look and sound rushed. The last thing I want to do is panic and blow my only chance of getting inside. Once I’ve followed her instructions, my mind ticking down the amount of time that is passing, she asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Shot,” I say.
“We don’t have no narcotics here.”
“I don’t want any,” I answer.
Long seconds pass before I hear the multiple bolts being opened from the inside. A burly man opens the door and holds a gun on me. He looks me up and down, the blood on my clothes obviously convincing him of my claim. He waves me in.
“Back here,” the tough voice calls, waving me to the hallway next to her. She doesn’t look as tough as she sounds, standing maybe five-four, rounded body, hair pulled up into a black bun, ebony skin gleaming in the florescent light. The look on her face would be convincing enough, though. The clinic is in dire need of paint, flooring, and new chairs. But it’s clean. I hurry back and she waves me into a room.
“Where you shot, honey?” she asks, her words at odd with her tone.
“I’m not,” I say, and she opens her mouth to call for the guard. “Please,” I beg, holding my hands up toward her. “I don’t want
drugs, either. My... friend, she’s outside in the van. She’s been shot. Shane can help her, but he needs equipment. Please, she’ll die. I have money.”
She looks skeptical, and I reach into my back pocket, a look of threat and worry crossing her expression. I hold one hand up in supplication, and pull my wallet out. I pull out all the money within and drop it on the exam table. Her eyes widen. She looks at the impressive pile of money before turning suspicious eyes on me.
“Please,” I beg. “Please don’t let her die.” I don’t add that I won’t let her die, even if it means hurting her and the burly guy to get what I need.
“Bring her in,” she says.
“No, we can’t, we need to—”
“Bring her in,” she repeats firmly, overriding my words. I stare at her, but decide it’s not worth the fight. I nod. She steps to the door and commands the burly guy to go out to the van to get them. I call Shane and tell him what’s going on.
“Who’s Shane?” she asks as soon as I hang up.
“My uncle,” I say. “He has some medical training.”
“Uh-huh,” she answers, clearly not believing me. “My name is Mary.”
“Sam,” I say, then hear the commotion of Shane entering the clinic. I hurry from the room and see him carrying Niahm in, her face more pale than I’ve seen it. He’s followed closely behind by Stacy who looks terrified and worried in equal measure.
“Good heavens. Get that child in here quickly,” Mary says as she sees Niahm’s still form in Shane’s arms. Shane carries her into the exam room and lays her on the bed. He starts spouting off supplies he needs, and Mary seems to recognize his knowledge. She doesn’t question, simply hurries to get what he needs.
Shane pulls Niahm’s shirt up, exposing the hole where the bullet exited on the front lower quadrant of her abdomen, cursing under his breath. Stacy moans and moves to sit in the chair in the corner of the room.