Andrew Klavan - The Final Hour

I got up as he hit the ground. I saw dust puff up all around him. I heard the breath come out of him with a loud grunt. I rushed to attack him before he could stand, but he was too quick. He rolled to the side and was on his feet before I could reach him.

The crowd moved with us, leaving us just enough space to fight as they pumped their fists at us and cheered.

Orton and I circled each other. He was good, tough, fast. And I could see by that angry gleam in his eye that he didn’t mean to lose to me ever again.

As for me, I was out of breath, dazed from the blow to my face; aching all over. I wasn’t sure I could handle another solid attack.

Fortunately, before Orton could make his next move, Waylon stepped in between us.

He was even more frightening by daylight. Big and ruthless with nothing but meanness in those baggy eyes.

“All right,” he said in his guttural accent. “That’s enough.”

I put my guard down. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was pretty sure I’d gotten out of a very bad situation there. If Orton had attacked again, he probably would’ve finished me off.

Waylon turned to Orton. “Good job,” he said.

Then he kicked me in the chest.

It was a back kick, perfectly planted. It hit me right above the heart. I went flying backward and then dropped down to the ground, coughing.

Waylon turned and stood over me. “You,” he said in his thick accent. “You need to fight like you mean it. You are not in the dojo at the mall now. If you lose here, you die. You need to fight to kill.”

I started to get off the ground, but then…

It was as if someone poured a giant glass of Liquid Night down over us. Darkness ran down on top of us and the training ground vanished…

I was suddenly in a silent hallway. It was dark, very dark. Even before I fully understood where I was, I knew I was in terrible danger. If anyone found me here, I’d be killed on the spot.

I pressed close to the wall. There was an opening up ahead. A doorway. I could make out the rectangle of moonlit night, lighter than the inner dark. I edged closer to the door. I peeked out.

From here, I could see the buildings of the training compound, hulking barracks and watchtowers surrounded by a high barbed-wire fence and the deep black expanse of the forest beyond. The structures of the compound were sunk in the night shadows-with one exception. One building, just across the way, over by the fence, had a yellow light burning in its window. A jeep was parked outside.

It all came back to me now. I’d been in bed in the barracks. The other trainees were in bunks all around me. I’d heard the jeep come into the compound. I’d heard voices calling to the guards to open the gates. Tires on dirt. The car engine coming to a stop. Then there had been low voices. Greetings and conversation.

I had looked around me to make sure the other trainees were asleep. Then I had gotten quietly out of bed to see what was happening.

That’s why I was out in the hall wearing only sweat-pants and a T-shirt. My feet were bare. I could feel the splintery wooden floorboards under them.

Prince.

That was the next thought that came back to me. It was Prince who had been in the jeep. I’d recognized his voice out in the night. That’s why I’d gotten up to take a look. That’s why I was risking this: getting caught, getting shot.

Getting shot, I knew, was a serious possibility. Shifting my attention, I could see now that there was a guard in the watchtower to my left and another in the tower to my right. Both were holding high-powered rifles. There were two other guards standing together by the lighted building just across from me. I could hear these two guards speaking to each other in low murmurs. I had no way of knowing if there were other guards moving around in the compound’s shadows, but I guessed there probably were.

Still, this was why I was here in the first place. This was what Waterman and his people had sent me to do. Get information. Find out what the Homelanders were up to. Get the word out. Stop them before the killing started.

The guards outside the building finished their conversation. They moved away from each other and walked off in opposite directions to begin their patrols of the area. Each guard carried an AK strapped over his shoulder.

The moment I saw them walk away from the building, I started moving.

Crouching low, I took the last steps down the barracks hall to the doorway. I slipped outside, feeling the cool of the night surround me. The moon was just a sliver, but it hung above the far trees and angled in across the open space of the compound, giving it some light. In that light, I could see the watchtower guards in silhouette, see they were turned to face out of the compound, watching for intruders from the surrounding woods. The two other guards, the ones on the ground, continued moving away, one off to my left, the other to my right.

I kept my head down and moved as quickly as I could across the open space. I took long, swift strides, careful my bare feet made no noise as they landed on the dirt. I headed for the lighted building.

That crossing-from my barracks to the building opposite-I guess it took maybe five seconds all told, five terrible seconds when I was completely exposed. If one of the patrolling guards had heard me-if one of the watchtower guards had looked down and seen me- they’d have opened fire and shot me where I stood.

Then-thankfully-I was there. Panting, I came up against the building. I pressed hard against the outer wall, trying to stay hidden in the shadows. The light within shone out through the window, falling on the dirt below, just inches from my feet. But the moon was still low enough to leave a line of darkness at the base of the building. I tried to stay inside that narrow line, out of sight.

From where I was, I could hear the burr of voices inside. It sounded as if there were two or three people in there. I strained my ears, listening. It was no good. I couldn’t make out their words. I had to get closer.

I took a breath. I took a glance over my shoulder. I could see one of the compound guards. He was still walking away, but he was getting close to the farthest buildings over by the barbed-wire fence, under the watchtower. I figured when he got there, he’d probably turn around and come back, heading straight toward me.

I turned to look for the other guard. He was gone. I scanned the night desperately. No sign of him. Where was he? Had he gone inside? Was he moving around to surprise me? I just didn’t know-and there was no time to find out.

Just then, I heard the murmur of voices inside the building rise in volume.

“We don’t have any choice,” someone said forcefully. I recognized the voice. It was Prince. “We have to strike when we can, as we can.”

I stopped searching for the second guard. Time was short and I had to find out what was going on inside that room. I sidled closer to the window, my bare feet edging into that yellow glow of lamplight that fell on the dirt from inside.

I pressed hard to the wall and listened.

A voice spoke. It was Waylon, but he was talking in a quick guttural language I couldn’t understand. Arabic, I guess. He spoke for several seconds.

Then a new voice interrupted: “Speak English, will you? I can’t understand.”

I almost gasped out loud. I recognized that voice too. It was Mr. Sherman, my history teacher. Even though I knew he was one of the Homelanders, I was shocked to find out he was here at the compound.

Waylon spoke again, in English this time. “I’m telling you, it’s too soon. He just isn’t ready.”

Prince responded. It was the same calm, intelligent voice I remembered from the weird mansion. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “The simple fact is: We won’t get another chance like this. Yarrow is the key to President Spender’s new policy on terrorism. He’s the one who’s convinced the president to stand up to Congress and declare a real Homeland Security war against us. Killing him will throw their entire new security plan into disarray. After that, we’ll be able to operate with a much freer hand.”