Mark tried the door lock, carefully, quietly, and opened the door. Whyte looked back at him and Mark said, “Need some fresh air.” He stayed buckled in his seat and left the door open. Whyte turned around and he waited, gauging the best opportunity to run. His fingers hovered over the buckle, his thumb quivering above the button. Heather was shaking her head, and he jerked a thumb to the thick foliage nearby. She continued refusing, but they had to try. The helicopters’ guns and rockets were primed and ready, and he could feel Lionel in the car behind them staring right at him, itching for a chance to choke the life out of him.
He put one foot on the ground and then the other. Mark breathed the cool air deeply and dipped down. He had to do this.
Before the convoy, a great mechanical whirring noise and ¬click-click-clanks interrupted his plan. Two disguised panels in the mountainside just off the road drew open with a thunderous boom! right before them, leaving a hole wide enough for a large vehicle to enter. Outside, he heard cheering and hollering. Whyte smiled and nodded to Emeryl. “Let’s go. Can’t keep them waiting. Shut the door, Mark.” The boy looked longingly at the freedom at his fingertips and, with a heavy heart, closed the door. The APCs and tank left their semitrailers, falling in line behind the Humvees, and then the convoy rolled forward and into the tunnel carved in the mountainside.
“Get ready, everyone,” Whyte said over his walkie-talkie. “Find and take Lydia alive. Leave Arthur for me. As for everybody and everything else: go nuts.” Then to Heather and Mark, “I’ll be watching.”