Jack was right behind her. Before she could attempt to push herself up on to her hands and knees, he was once more lifting her, one hand under each of her arms.
“Let’s go, luv. Just a bit further.”
She went with him, limply, to the other side of what appeared to be a room filled with steam pipes and water conduits. Un-labeled metal containers sat against one wall, behind a chicken-wire fence sealed off with a chain and lock. Multi-colored wires ran from the containers and connected with pipes or other containers throughout the room. Steam made the room warmer than the tunnels below them had been, and moisture condensed on the exposed skin of Annabelle’s face.
There were three bodies on the floor here, all of them male, all of them young. Annabelle spared them only a cursory glance, already too numb to fully appreciate what it was that she was seeing.
Jack sat her against a far wall, behind an outcropping of metal and PVC pipes of different sizes. She sank down against the wall and sat, unmoving, as Jack ran back toward the trap door opening, yanking a second gun from one of his fallen victims as he did so.
Below them, the sound of boots running through mud grew louder. Jack waited.
Seconds ticked by, the men came nearer. And then they were there.
Jack shielded himself with part of the floor as he levered his arms over the edge and pulled the triggers on both guns.
One of the guns clicked empty after only a few final shots. The other, unfortunately, was not outfitted with a silencer, and the shots reverberated off of the walls around them, echoing like nothing short of several small explosions. Again, Annabelle could see Jack’s lips moving, and she knew he was cursing softly. The shots would gain unwanted attention.
They would make it hard for he and Annabelle to escape.
But that didn’t stop Jack from using the gun anyway. Some things were more imperative than others.
A chunk of the ground beside Jack’s head shot upward, splintering into dust and fragments of cement as he jerked back and rolled out of the way. With a deep breath and a set to his jaw, he stood and moved around the opening, attempting another angle.
In the brighter light of this room, Annabelle was able to get a clearer look at him as he moved. And though the black leather clothing did a good job of hiding most of it, when she looked closely, she was able to see that he was bleeding in several places.
He’d been shot.
More than once.
Annabelle’s eyes widened. Her heart stopped beating. Literally, for several seconds.
When it started up again, it was with a fair amount of pain. It hammered hard against her rib cage. A rock dropped into her stomach and she understood the true meaning of dread.
As if she’d spotted one single ant and was now able to adjust her vision to notice the mass of the colony moving about all around her, her eyes adjusted to the situation and she noticed the blood pooling beneath Jack’s feet. Little drops, gathering in small puddles, one deep red globule at a time.
The bile that had been threatening to come up for the last several minutes now finally made its way past the lump in her throat. She put her hand to her mouth and spun around just in time to retch out of the way of the rest of her body. She coughed and retched again and then forced herself to breathe.
She closed her eyes and spit several times. She was shaking badly.
As her eyes were closed, the shots of Jack’s gun started up again. Three more times. Then silence. And then two more times. More silence.
She opened her eyes to find Jack still standing.
He lowered his gun slowly and closed his own eyes. Then he opened them and looked over at her.
Then he swayed on his feet. Ever so slightly.
Annabelle had never stood so fast in her life. Despite everything, she had her feet underneath her and was moving across the room almost as fast as Jack had moved in the tunnel below them.
Getting to Jack and getting him to a doctor – a hospital – someplace safe where good, smart people in white and blue coats could make him stop bleeding, was all she could think about.
“Jack, let’s go,” she heard herself saying as she put her body beneath his arm as if she were going to carry him.
He shook his head and gently pushed her away, running a hand through his hair. The action smeared blood across part of his skull, painting his blonde hair pink. Somewhere under those thick curls, he had a head injury as well.
“It’s not so bad, luv,” he insisted, but his voice softened too much toward the end, and Annabelle could tell he was out of breath. Light-headed.
I’m in hell, she thought faintly. This is my worst nightmare…
“We have to find our way out of here and get you to the ER,” she told him, attempting to tug him toward the only other exit she saw, which was an orange metal door on one side of the room.
He didn’t argue, and he didn’t pull his hand away from hers when she led him to the door.
Which was locked.
“Fuck!” She yelled. And then she remembered her gun and the single bullet it still possessed. She pointed the weapon at the door jam and aimed carefully. She fired and the door frame, which was wood instead of metal, splintered.
Annabelle swallowed and pulled on the door. It opened on the second yank, the wooden fragments chipping away from the rest of the frame and collecting on the ground at their feet.
Annabelle led him down the tunnel beyond the door, following nothing but a nagging instinct that told her where to go.
A few more turns and she and Jack faced a door labeled “Exit.”
“Here we go.” Annabelle pushed through the door and they found themselves leaving a service entrance in an alley between two particularly tall buildings.
Behind her, Jack leaned up against the wall and ran his hand under his jacket to grip his side. He doubled over a little, his handsome face pale and pinched.
“Baby, we have to get you to the emergency room right now.” Annabelle urged him, fear driving every other coherent thought from her head.
“No, Bella,” Jack told her softly. “No hospitals. I’m not injured badly. It just hurts and…” He gritted his teeth and then swallowed. “I’m bleeding in too many bloody places. Get me back to Sam’s and he’ll patch me up.”
“Jesus Christ, Jack, please don’t fight with me on this. Hospital good. Waiting bad. You could fucking die, Jack.”
At this, Jack chuckled softly, but the sound was swallowed when another wave of pain obviously washed through him. He closed his eyes, fighting the sensation, and then opened them again, focusing them on Annabelle.
“You have to trust me, Bella. Please.” He implored her.
Though she knew her own expression was desperate, Jack’s expression was uncompromising. She had to believe him. Arguing with him would do no good. They would just waste precious time and he would lose precious blood.
Finally, she nodded and he straightened from the wall.
“Get me to the parking lot.”
She didn’t argue. She helped him toward the nearby cars and, without having to be instructed, she led him to the nearest vehicle, which turned out to be an older model Ford Mustang with rust around the tire rims.
Jack leaned against the car as Annabelle glanced around to make certain no one was paying them any attention. No one was.
Older model Ford Mustangs weren’t outfitted with alarms. Jack pulled the picks out of one of his many pockets and had the door open in a matter of short seconds. Then Annabelle slid into the driver’s seat and unlocked the passenger-side door.
“Get in,” she said, looking up at him from behind the steering wheel. He sighed and nodded. There was no way he was going to get her to let him drive. Not in his condition.