Sugar & Squall Page 17

  Awkwardly, I crouched beside him, attempting to keep pressure on the wound with one hand while lifting his arm with the other and wrapping it over my shoulder. My legs blazed beneath me as I did so.

  Logan’s arm was heavy, like an iron bar, completely absent of animation or life – a dead weight.

  Never move a patient. That was another little pearl of wisdom. But there was no choice here. Logan was right. If we were both out here in the hall it wouldn’t be long before one of the others came to finish the job. The room, if nothing else, provided some measure of seclusion.

  It took great effort on Logan’s behalf to even get up. He made no noise, but it was plainly obvious from the way his entire body strained it pained him gravely. I couldn’t look at his face. It would only take me one more step towards vacuity.

  Hunchbacked together, we hobbled into the room. It smelled musky. It was also lighter and louder in here than the hall, the rain beating against the window and black, pearly clouds beyond raging with one another.

  I maneuvered Logan sideways up next to the wall shared by the hallway just inside the room, his back against a dresser. It wasn’t long before he’d slumped sideways against the wall itself, a large black-and-white of a melancholy James Dean looking on.

  “Get – some clothes. Put them here,” Logan said, waving above the wound.

  There were various articles of clothing on the floor. I went for what looked like a dark cotton shirt in the macabre hope it’d better conceal the blood.

  I balled it up as best I could and brought it towards him. He held my hand again, pressing it firmly against himself. I was glad to have a collection point in place. Even so, my hands were almost completely wet with blood. It’d been warm and slippery at first, but now it started to stiffen, pulling at my skin.

  The voice was there. It always was. You did this. How could you not know? How could you not know his eyes?

  “What happened?” I questioned softly, to distract, rather than reprieve, myself. “I thought you were dead. I saw your body.”

  Logan’s eyes were closed. He was concentrating on breathing. It was a horrible wheezing sound, like an accordion that’d been punctured in the side.

  “Not – my – body. I – killed – him, the one – that took me. Got his – gun. Shot – him.” He paused, letting his breath catch up. “I – swapped – clothes. I – put on – his uniform, took – his gun.” Again, he paused, eyes still shut. “I – heard you – run – but, when I – went out – no one – was there.”

  “You swapped clothes with the goon, left his body there and went looking for me and the others?” I repeated.

  He nodded.

  The jacket over the body’s head. I should have looked harder. I should have known it wasn’t Logan.

  “It was – a stupid – idea.”

  “Shhhh. It’s my fault.” I spoke softly, scared volume would somehow further the damage already in place. “How did you get his gun?” I knew I shouldn’t barrage him with questions, but it seemed loosely better than sitting in silence watching him bleed in agony.

  “I – have – skills,” he said, eyes opening and looking to me. Something between a smile and a scowl crossed his face. He tried to laugh.

  It came out like a coughing fit.

  “How do you know my real name?” I asked.

  He should be resting, but I had to know the truth. Although I felt such a strong bond between us, I couldn’t stifle the feeling deep down he was still a stranger in some part. That closed door he was hiding behind stopped us from fully connecting.

  He looked away from me, to the roof. When he turned back there was such a depth of seriousness in his expression I feared whatever would come from his mouth. I let him speak.

  “I know – you’re – the President’s daughter.”

  I swallowed. “How?”

  He paused again. “I was sent here – by your father – to protect you.”

  “My father sent you?” I squeezed his hand, attempting to play it off. “What are you saying?”

  “I was – sent here – as your bodyguard.”

  “You’re Secret Service?”

  “Yes – and no.”

  I was confused, and in some way I was mad, but at who, I couldn’t be certain.

  “Is what’s happening here because of me?”

  He shook his head. “No. I think – it’s coincidence.”

  I pictured the body in the room. “God, I thought you were dead.”

  He nodded again, closing his eyes. Even with what scarce light there was, I could tell he was far whiter than normal.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, a lone tear finding its way free of my eyelid and onto his lap.

  “I’ve been – through worse,” he joked.

  “Who are they?” I said, attempting to hush him down.

  “I think – they kidnapped – the school.”

  “You actually think they took everyone?”

  He nodded. “By boat – after – lights out.”

  “But why?”

  And then it almost made sense. Why not? Carver was isolated. Better yet, the kids here were from the most privileged, powerful families in the country. Take them away and you could demand almost anything. As much as I hated to admit it, it was a perfect storm, ripe for a scenario like this.

  “Carver is an easy target,” I concluded.

  Logan nodded.

  I kept going. “The ferry would be a week away. Everyone could have been herded onto a boat, if it was big enough, and after a week they could be anywhere, right? Another country, even.”

  I thought back to geography, of what countries were near, which could pose the most danger.

  “International – waters,” Logan said.

  I moved in closer. “What?”

  Then it came to me. A week would be more than enough time to sail beyond international waters. The government couldn’t just dive in after them then. It’d be a political nightmare. They wouldn’t have any jurisdiction.

  “The blood, at the pier,” I continued. “The security guard must have put up a fight.”

  Again, a nod. “And the picture on that girl’s cell, the lotus sign. That could be the name of the boat.”

  Another nod.

  The rain intensified outside. There was a low tremor as clouds came together in the distance.

  “But why didn’t they know we were missing?”

  Logan rolled slightly to his right, pained.

  I went on. “I was down at the beach that night, with the others. You were in the cave under the chapel. That explains where we were, but surely they would have checked the roll?”

  “We’re not – on the roll,” Logan said, glancing in my direction.

  I suddenly recalled that day in math. It was true. My name hadn’t been on the roll, nor Logan’s.”

  The rain fell harder.

  I was trying to box it out, put it into some logical, manageable order.

  Only the principal knew I was here, my real identity, or at least that’s what I thought. Maybe they truly hadn’t known I was here. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe she told them, but why?

  “How many are left?” I said. The grenade, I thought. That was one. The rat’s nest another. The one Logan swapped clothes with. “One of them, the one that chased after me, fell into the rat’s nest. That leaves just the one, the ringleader. Did you see where he went?”

  Logan breathed in. “When I came out, all I saw – was his back – taking off after you. They call him – ‘The Eagle’.”

  “You can understand them?”

  He nodded.

  The Eagle. It resonated in my head.

  “This Eagle then, the leader. He’s the only one left. Has to be.”

  My mind was racing away from me. “Can you fly the helicopter?”

  “We don’t – have the keys. The – tall one – had them. I saw them.”

  The tall one. I racked my brain.

  Shit, I thought. There was one significantly
taller than the others. I’d pushed him into the rat’s nest – keys inclusive.

  “He’s at the bottom of the rat’s nest,” I confessed, “dead, with the keys.”

  There was no way out of the rat’s nest. I knew that. The keys were as good as gone.

  “What do we do?”

  “Get – the gun.”

  I stood up, ran into the hallway and was about to pick up the gun before I stopped dead.

  Gunfire forced me back into the room. The bullets penetrated the floor of the hall, sending splinters of wood flying. The noise was deafening.

  They aren’t shooting to kill, I reminded myself. They’re shooting to box you into the room.

  It worked.

  And then he was there, the Eagle, standing in the doorway.

  14. HOPE

  “Do not move,” he said. The command was loud and resolute. The gun Logan had dropped was behind the Eagle on the floor. My chance was gone.

  But there was something I hadn’t realized. Because of the way the room door swung inwards, Logan was completely out of the Eagle’s sight. It had to be close, though. Another step inside the room and he’d see his outstretched legs. But if Logan could keep quiet, under the rain, he might be okay.

  I stepped forward to make sure. The Eagle stepped back, holding the gun higher.

  “Stop,” he barked, in a deep rasp.

  “Do exactly as I say and you won’t suffer the same fate as your friend.” His English was surprisingly good.

  It took me a while to work out what he was saying. Then it clicked. He thought Logan was dead.

  The Eagle’s eyes locked with mine. He pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt and raised it to his ear, speaking foreign words. The only reply was static.

  It might have been the fact we were cocooned somewhat by Carver’s stone walls or maybe that the person who he was trying to contact was rotting away at the bottom of the rat’s nest. I didn’t imagine moisture and mud would be conducive to a clear radio signal, not with a storm like this passing over.

  Snap.

  I could still hear the sound of bones breaking in my head.

  I knew Logan was right there, but I didn’t dare look at him directly.

  The Eagle addressed me. “We are leaving. If you try to escape, I will shoot you in the leg,” he said, tagging it with a shift of the gun barrel. “Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Move,” he ordered, and stepped back out into the hall. As he did so, I looked to Logan. He tilted his head in acknowledgement, but I couldn’t make out what he meant. Did he want me to go? Did he want me to try and get away? I hated not knowing. I hated being in the dark, in a storm and feeling like I’d just been dragged across a bed of nails. I hated Logan sitting there, bleeding out by my hand.

  I filed out the door, leaving Logan helpless.

  The Eagle kicked the spare gun down the hall. I heard it slide away. And then he waited.

  We moved down the hall, the Eagle walking behind, his gun trained on my back. The rain had not relented.

  Logan could have made it into the hall by now, to the gun. Shoot! I thought. Shoot him. Then I realized that would not be as smart as it sounded. We walked at such close proximity, this Eagle and I, that the bullet might run right through him and into me, or Logan could miss, hit me. It was too risky. Once we were out of the hallway, that would be it.

  I saw the knife glint on the floor to my right. A second of thought and I reached to grab it. The air parted to my side and something hard smashed into my ribs. I cried out, collapsing to the ground.

  The Eagle lifted me to my feet.

  “Walk!” he commanded.

  I tried to slow down the pace, give Logan time to act.

  “Faster!” the Eagle demanded, pointing.

  The further we walked from the room, the more I shook. I wrapped my arms around myself.

  I kept thinking Logan, save me. Problem was, I knew the effort alone to follow us would make him weaker. With every step he’d come closer to me and, in doing so, death.

  The wind had taken on a keen chill outside. Rain dotted my face until it pooled together, heading south over my exposed skin.

  I held my hands up to my face and saw blood caked all over. I wiped them on my jacket, but it did little.

  The Eagle was sporadically prodding me in the back and attempting to find reception for the walkie-talkie. Every time he’d mutter some obscenity when all it gave up was white noise. I suddenly realized why he was so keen to make contact. It was so simple.

  “I know where the keys are,” I shouted, turning to face him, “the keys for the helicopter.”

  He pulled up.

  “Your man. He’s dead on the track, down there.” I pointed in the direction of the rat’s nest.

  The Eagle eyed me suspiciously. “Show me,” he said, raising his voice to power over the din of the storm.

  The walk to the rat’s nest would take fifteen minutes, tops. I couldn’t expect Logan to save me, shoot the Eagle’s head off from a window, especially not in this weather. I had to come up with a contingency plan.

  Worst case, I would be killed when the Eagle realized where the keys were. Or maybe he’d twix some wires together and the helicopter would kick into life. I’d be taken hostage after all.

  Whatever the case, it couldn’t come to that. I wasn’t prepared to be the Presidential jewel in their captive collection.

  The faster I could be done with the Eagle, the faster I could return to Logan, the faster I could help him, help everyone perhaps.

  A fork of lightning kissed the ocean far ahead. I hoped another would strike the Eagle. After all, he was the one with the big metal gun.

  We continued to walk down the path. I was going as slow as I could, emphasizing my limp, which wasn’t hard with my legs aching as they were.

  The rat’s nest drew closer. Before, I’d had the element of surprise on my side. Now I had nothing.

  I could run, but in the open the Eagle would have a clear shot at my leg. I could fight, and lose. No, that wouldn’t do. Every idea and suggestion my head threw up all ended the same way – a big, fat dead end. I had to make a choice, though. I had to do something.

  We’d arrived at the rat’s nest.

  A boy in seventh grade once told me I had ‘kickassitude’ after I punched Lucy Myers in the nose for calling me a PMSing bitch-slut – whatever that meant. My period hadn’t even started. That was the funny thing. It hurt like all hell, the punch, given I’d tucked my thumb in, but she never bothered me again. I had to summon that now. I had to tap into the primal side of myself that had put me here in the first place.

  I took us slowly around the edge of the rat’s nest. I looked back to see the Eagle surveying the pit. If he was surprised there was a giant, gaping hole in the middle of the path, he didn’t show it. I just hoped he wouldn’t get the urge to use his walkie-talkie. The other end of it was lying at the bottom. If he worked that out, what I’d done, trouble would come fast. It was just as likely lightning would illuminate the bottom, but that relied on the Eagle looking down at the same time. Even with the extra light, it still might be too far down to make anything out, though.

  Two for one? My head was spinning. Could it work again?

  Could it? The Eagle was keeping his distance. I had to bring him closer if I had any chance. Coming to the other side of the hole, drawing as close as I could to its edge, I made my move.

  I feigned tripping over, but put too much effort into the action, collapsing largely on my funny bone and sending nervous oscillations down my arm. I cried out, a little too late, and grabbed my ankle with my free hand. I moaned and rocked in an attempt to add some degree of realism to the fall.

  “My ankle,” I stated, craning up to him. The edge of the rat’s nest was a few feet away. That would have to do.

  The Eagle approached.

  “Get up,” he commanded.

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Get – up,” he repeated,
sterner.

  “Okay. Hang on.”

  This was it. I pressed my left hand deep into the mud, scooping it together. I prepared myself, swung around and threw it straight at the Eagle’s ugly, three-holed head.

  While I was a poor soccer player, I’d always been good at throwing things, sport or otherwise, so the mud met its mark accurately accounting for the slop that had run out between my fingers.

  It hit the Eagle square in his eyes. He grunted, but did not drop his gun as I’d hoped. I brought my leg around in a low roundhouse to his knee, but he didn’t falter.

  I sprung up, charging his torso with my shoulder and all the effort I could muster to force him off balance and into the rat’s nest.

  We collided. It felt like I’d run into a marble column. His footing remained firm. I tried again, harder, ramming into his side. Twisting his head, he struck out with the body of the gun. I tried to dodge it, but miscalculated. It hammered into my side, the full measure of the Eagle’s anger behind it, and I was thrown onto my back, sliding down the slope.

  Defeated, I watched the Eagle’s one free hand reach to his face to pull away the mud that had stuck fast to his balaclava. A sheet of lightning threaded through the clouds above. An aching sensation radiated from my ribs.

  I took the remaining steps to the Eagle full-speed, crazed. He raised his gun above his shoulder, butt out, bracing to drive it into my head, and I pulled up, panting.

  “Stupid bitch!” he cried, pulling off the balaclava and peeling away at the mud around his eyes as his head twisted back and forth. He couldn’t find focus.

  The revelation of his face made me cower. A deep scar ran from his forehead to his chin, a giant chasm of crimson red. I’d seen it before.

  You’ve got be kidding me, I thought. He’s the God-damn janitor.

  He was here the whole time, watching, waiting. No wonder his room was spotless. He knew what was going to happen all along. He’d planned it. The schematics, the maps. It all made sense.

  The Eagle adjusted his gun. There was a distinct ‘click’ as something flipped into action. The barrel wavered in the air, struggling to find its mark, to find me.

  A gunshot rang out from the direction of the school.

  Logan.

  The Eagle turned.