New World Inferno: Book Three in a Young Adult Dystopian Series Page 8

  “Adroits.” He yelled over the ringing in my ears. One thing was sure, at least we knew they were already long gone. That Tribe never stuck around to watch their handiwork.

  A mist of dirt rained down, smattering us with softer, squishier bits I tried to ignore. As the onslaught slowed, I pushed myself to my feet. A heavily pierced ear glinted near the toe of my boot. I edged away from it, refusing to look down again.

  “We have maybe fifteen minutes before the others return with reinforcements.” Something crashed inside the warehouse. “Maybe less time before the building caves in. We need to move now.”

  A giant shadow blocked my path. Grenald. “You can’t be serious? You want us to go into that burning building?”

  “We need food. Do you have a better idea?” When he didn’t respond, I pushed past him. “You’re wasting precious time. Move.”

  The others trailed me to the access roof, fear rolling off them. The smoke was denser here, choking the air and stinging my throat.

  “Get the ladder from under the vent and make a bridge.” I coughed the order to no one in particular, but of course Triven was the first to respond. Grenald and two others moved to help him.

  “Water!” I barked at Archer. She dug in her small pack, tossing me a half-empty bottle. Stripping off my over-shirt I began hastily ripping it into strips and dousing them with the little water we had left. Baxter quickly caught on and did the same with his own shirt, throwing me the scraps as he cut them. I paused once to whisper in his ear, pleased when he nodded in understanding. After making sure everyone had a piece of cloth, I tied mine over my mouth and nose, then watched as they did the same. “Two of you need to stay here. Shoot any Tribe member that shows up.” Archer and Baxter stepped forward, our best snipers at the ready. “Good. The rest of you will follow me. Grab anything you can get your hands on, but remember the preserved goods will last longer. You have ten minutes and then we’re getting out.”

  I stepped up on the ledge, my toes on the first rung when another fiery crash boomed from inside the warehouse.

  “Make that five.” I amended and was moving towards the blaze.

  Though emitting heat, the warehouse roof was solid beneath my feet. I pressed the back of my hand to it. Warm but not hot. The ladder creaked as others crossed, but I didn’t spare them a glance.

  The glass pane moved with ease, and I took no time being cautious with it. Every second was precious and evidence of our intrusion was moot at this point. After all, the fire would cover our tracks. Sliding though the open window, a blast of heat scorched my eyes as I jumped onto the exposed beams. The metal was beginning to sweat from the growing temperature of the blooming fire, but at least it wasn’t wood. The Ravagers were brutal and not known for their intelligence, but at least they didn’t choose tinderboxes for their storage.

  The front half of the warehouse was ablaze. Racks were being swallowed in leaping flames, the contents of their shelves shriveling to ash. The layout rushed through my mind. The front housed most of their dried meat and perishable foods, worthless, but the water was near there too.

  Hands thrust a rope into my face, breaking my focus. It was quickly followed by Triven’s half-masked face. His eyes were bright with intensity, a reflection of the flickering flames danced on their surface.

  “I’m right behind you.” His hand brushed mine as I took the rope.

  My feet slid as I crossed the beams at a run. Careful to drop it at the farthest point from the flames, I flung the rope over a thigh-thick pipe and tied it off to the beam. Trusting my work, I leapt onto the cord and plummeted toward the warehouse floor. My palms burned despite being carefully wrapped in my sleeves. The rope jerked as someone else climbed on and I cinched my boots, slowing the fall just enough to cushion the landing.

  I took off, shouting instructions and gesturing wildly at the far back corner of the warehouse. Praying someone heard and understood. Hundreds of MRE bags littered the shelves there. Those were our focus, but I was headed to what we needed the most. To the water and consequently, to the growing fire.

  Heavy boots followed mine and I didn’t have to look back to know who it was. The warehouse blurred as tears filled my eyes, fighting the stinging smoke. Even beneath the saturated mask, my nostrils blazed with every breath. Desperate for relief, I gasped through my mouth, choking on the heat.

  Still, I ran.

  The flames were licking the racking two down from the water, but for now the bottles remained untouched. As my arms rose to clear the shelves, Triven’s bag appeared below, held open to catch the precious cargo. I began sweeping the shelves, filling his pack with as much weight as I thought he could carry. I could barely see him through the tears streaming down my face and our voices were crippled by coughing fits, but we moved on. When bottles began to hit our feet, we switched. Our hands clashed as we fumbled to get his pack over his shoulders and replace it with mine. My numb fingers nearly lost their grip on the bag as the first armful of bottles hit, the weight taking me by surprise.

  Shouts were coming from the back of the warehouse and the flames were creeping closer. It felt as if the skin on my back was blistering with the heat. I longed for the heat suits we had left in our packs. Even covered in the ashes of the dead, I wanted them now. Suddenly the stench of singed hair enveloped me and I was being thrown to the ground. Hands pounded down my back and up the base of my neck, before rolling me over.

  I heard Triven retch, before choking out the words, “Enough! Go!”

  We struggled to our feet, clinging both to our bags and to each other as we blundered toward the shouts. Blinking back tears, I could see the behemoth Grenald shouting to us, waving us to the rope. The ground abruptly shook, knocking Triven and me to our knees and the giant man rushed at us. A large piece of the roof had crashed onto the racking we had just left. Abandoned bottles of water smashed beneath its mass, the racking now mere scrap metal. The flames leapt toward the exposed slice of sky above, relishing in the oxygen, feeding on it.

  “Move!” I coughed out, pulling Triven’s arms up with mine. The weight of the water was slowing us down, the lack of oxygen starving our lungs. My eyes burned, though I couldn’t tell if was from the smoke or sweat pouring down my forehead.

  “Idiots!” Grenald thundered as he met us. The weight of my bag was suddenly gone. Then Triven too was moving with easier. He retched again, but kept moving forward.

  Grenald’s hands worked quickly, knotting the end of the rope around our bags, then signaling for them to be pulled up. I looked up, following the rising sacks. Two men were perched on the beam, hauling the bags as a woman handed others out the open pane.

  “Is everyone out?” I gagged, glancing around the warehouse. Triven buried a coughing fit in his elbow, eyes scanning the half-destroyed room.

  “We’re missing one,” Grenald barked, hacking against his own mask.

  “Who?” Triven squinted through the thickening smoke.

  “Cortez.”

  “There!” Triven fingered a shadow emerging from the smoke. Like us, the woman was floundering under the weight of her bag. The two men ran toward her, one reaching for the bag, the other for the girl. But my feet didn’t move. I had seen something. Another shadow. No… another man.

  Three aisles to their left, a man was clutching a cloth over his nose with one hand while the other shoved handfuls of red bags into his pockets. I had seen him in the school, he had been with Grenald’s pack. Oblivious, an ember hit his shoulder. My eyes rose to the ceiling above him.

  I hurtled across the space, arms waving, trying to shout a warning but nothing came out. The man looked up at me, startled as I plowed toward him. But it was only when his eyes followed mine that he realized his mistake.

  I watched the horror dawn on his face. Then my hands were colliding with his chest, shoving him away. But I was not fast enough, and despite my speed, despite the intensity of our collision, the slab of falling ceiling crashed down over us and my world went black.

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nbsp; 11. TRAPPED

  T HE LITTLE AIR left in my lungs was crushed from my body. Terror pulsed in my veins. Something in my chest had cracked under the fall, but the impact of the debris had not killed me instantly. It was, however, asphyxiating me. If I didn’t wriggle loose soon, if my lungs couldn’t get the room to expand, I was going to suffocate.

  No, I was suffocating.

  Only my fingers moved, straining on the concrete. I couldn’t feel the man I shoved.

  Was he under here with me?

  Had I pushed him free?

  Flexing every muscle, I shoved against the weight bearing down on me.

  Nothing moved. Not even an inch.

  Firelight crept in through a crack in the wreckage, but I couldn’t turn my head to seek its source. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything. Only my fingers obeyed. The nails scraped feebly at the ground.

  Then fingertips found mine, winding over my hands pulling at my wrists. My shoulders screamed under the strain, but I didn’t move. Pull harder! I wanted to yell, but no air came out. Then the hands were gone. NO! NO!! Come back!

  I clawed at the ground again, the pain in my chest was excruciating. My lungs were going to burst. I had read about people drowning. Was this what it was like? Was this what it felt like to slowly have your life drain away? This was worse than the fire, worse than the torture Fandrin put me through. This was worse than being crushed to death.

  Suddenly, the slab groaned around me. The pressure shifted, first pressing harder against my left shoulder, then it was gone. White spots popped in my vision and hands were pulling me, dragging me away. There was a crash of something being dropped and then Triven’s voice was in my ears.

  “Is anything broken?”

  I gasped, unable to respond.

  “We don’t have time, move her!” Another voice shouted over his.

  More hands were pulling me to my feet. The black in my vision began to recede, pulsing at the edges of my sight. Grenald and the woman they had called Cortez were shouldering the man I had shoved.

  Running ahead, the woman ducked out from under the man and began to tie her bag to the rope. She motioned for retrieval, but there was no one above to pull it up this time. The others had already scrambled to escape, the roof’s structure no longer trustworthy.

  “How the hell are we supposed to get up that with all this?” Cortez glared at the rope, then at me. The woven cord had begun to smoke, but it was the dark plume of black smoke filling the ceiling that worried me more.

  “The door!” Grenald shouted, pointing to the side door we had seen the Ravagers exit earlier.

  I was already shaking my head no.

  “It—locks. Needs—key.” The words struggled to form, each breath was excruciating.

  “Screw keys.” Cortez yelled. Yanking her bag from the floor, she charged to the door, but three steps later flattened herself to the ground. We all did.

  The door pinged, sparking as bullets riddled the handle and the hinges. My hands searched for my knives, for my gun, for any weapon.

  The Ravagers were back.

  Three heavy kicks assaulted the thick metal. The final blow sent the perforated barrier crashing to the ground with an ear-splitting clang. Smoke sucked through the opening and a familiar voice emerged from the darkness followed by Baxter’s soot-covered face.

  “Well don’t just lay there!” He turned, training his gun back on the alley.

  Triven’s arms pulled on my waist and I stifled a scream of pain. We blundered to the door as more ceiling crashed around us and then we were out. Coughing, covered in grime and shaking, but we were out. We were alive.

  Cortez staggered against the opposite alley wall and Baxter was there, taking the sack from her hands.

  “And they say chivalry is dead,” he smirked at her, then let out a sharp whistle. Three ropes dropped down, nearly hitting us as the smacked against the wall. Loops were knotted at the bottoms. Grenald was quick to shove the foot of the man he was carrying into a loop. Forcing the man’s fingers to grab hold of the rope, Grenald then gave the cord a tug and the man was suddenly lifted upwards. Soaring over our heads and disappearing over the side of the building.

  Doubling over, Cortez let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t recall you holding any doors.”

  “Please,” Baxter scoffed, helping Cortez to the second rope. “I don’t just hold doors for the ladies, I blow them off their hinges.”

  Her laughter dissolved into a coughing fit and then with a tug, she was being pulled away too.

  Triven shoved me toward the last line, helping my feet find the sling. The first rope fell back down next to us, and then ground was gone and I was being pulled toward the skyline.

  Hands found me at the roof’s edge, tugging me over. I rolled, splaying on the cool surface. Yanking the fabric away, I pressed my face to the tar, letting it soothe my hot skin. Coughs spasmed my body and I clutched my ribs trying desperately to minimize the movements.

  A body hit the ground next to me.

  Triven’s face was black except for two trails of pink flesh where tears had washed his cheeks clean. He crawled toward me, stopping to gag twice. I pushed up, closing the last foot between us, one arm still cradling my torso.

  When his breath returned, Triven’s hand pressed over mine. “Broken?”

  I nodded, still looking for my voice.

  Archer’s face was suddenly there scrutinizing us.

  “That better have been worth it.” She muttered. “Can you move?”

  I dipped my chin in confirmation.

  “Good, the Ravagers are coming and we need to go.” She pulled me to my feet, whispering in my ear. “You do make a crap leader.”

  I started to laugh, but then flinched. “Told you.”

  Someone handed me a bag and I was being pushed forward, but I shoved back against the guiding arms.

  “Baxter?” I searched for the sniper.

  The entire warehouse was now engulfed in flames, silhouetting our rag-tag band. Still, it wasn’t enough.

  “Baxter?” I called again and his face swam out of the crowd. I lowered my voice. “Is it done?”

  Instead of answering, he checked his wristwatch and grabbed my shoulder. On cue, the building shook around us and while everyone else started, we turned calmly to the fireball emanating on the other side of the Ravager warehouse.

  Triven was at my shoulder in a heartbeat, his eyes wide. “The passage?”

  It was the only remaining way into the Sanctuary. The Ravager’s private supply tunnel. I smiled as the flames climbed higher. “The rest of this city has starved long enough while these monsters flourished. It’s their turn to go hungry. Nobody in, nobody out. It’s time we leveled the playing field.”

  The bag on my back felt lighter as I patted the canvas fabric stretched tight with food.

  Clutching my ribs, I turned away from the blaze.

  “Let’s go get Mouse.”

  DESPITE BEING COVERED in soot, faces smeared with dirt and ash, all the grime couldn’t smother the smiles blooming on the Subversive members’ faces. We had escaped with not only our lives, but enough supplies to feed their people for a few months—not well, but no one was going to starve. As our group began inventorying the haul, I couldn’t find the heart to tell them the night was not over yet, nor that the food supplies would be irrelevant if we’re all dead in fifteen days.

  Our group had split shortly after vacating the warehouse sector. Three people were left behind to guard our spoils under Baxter’s watchful eye, while the rest would head back to the school to gather those still taking refuge there. I wanted to go inside to gather Mouse in my arms and personally escort her back to the rooftops, but Triven had insisted we stayed roof-bound as sentries. I knew it was because he wanted to tend my wounds before phase two of our plan, but that knowledge didn’t keep the scowl from my face.

  “Archer will get them out safely.” Triven focused on his work while I watched the street below.
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  We hung back from the group, letting them celebrate our victory for a little longer while Triven played doctor. I held the singed edge of my shirt up to my chest with one hand as Triven’s fingers probed my rib cage. In my other hand, Archer’s rifle kept a steady aim on the streets below.

  Despite his tender touch I winced, causing the barrel of the gun to twitch. Every breath I had taken since nearly being smashed to death was accompanied by tiny knife stabs.

  He frowned. “You broke at least two of them, probably four, and bruised the others.”

  The skin under his hand had already turned a deep bluish-purple, the edges rimming with yellow. The grotesque color was striking against my pale skin. Everything hurt like hell, but it appeared I had at least not punctured a lung. I tried to focus on the diminishing flames burning in the distance, but the distraction did little. My focus swiveled back to the streets.

  There was no movement from the vent. Archer and two others had disappeared through the opening nearly ten minutes ago and every ticking second since had been torture.

  “I’ve seen worse.” Grenald’s deep voice grumbled as he appeared behind Triven. I yanked my shirt down, but he scoffed. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. Let’s have a look then.”

  I curled my grip tighter around the hem, but Triven’s fingers grazed mine, encouraging me to lift it again. “Grenald worked with Doc a lot. He might be able to help.”

  Slowly, I lifted the fabric, glaring the entire time. Leaning down, he let out a low whistle. “That’s a beauty for sure. We don’t have any serum on hand, so this is going to have to do.”

  He tossed a red pouch at us that Triven caught with expert hands. He turned the bag over, inspecting it. “What is this?”

  “That’s what I was taking when you saved me.” The man I had pushed out of the way tentatively walked over to Grenald’s side. He flinched, looking at my exposed skin. “Medical kits. They’re not as good as Doc’s, but they can still save some lives. I thought you of all people deserved one after what you did.”