Kristen Simmons - Breaking Point

“Get down!” I shouted, remembering what Houston and Lincoln had said about the civilians being forced to lay on the bricks. If they rioted now, the MM would kill them.

Two men near me ducked, only to be trampled by the crowd. A crack of bone, a blunted cry. Horror turned my stomach. The Sisters bolted, scurrying away like mice. I kept low, scanning furiously for Chase, searching for his hard features, his copper skin, his serious eyes, but every face was a blur.

Another shot, this time followed by a chorus of shrieks. Ahead, near what had been the front of the lines, came a loud clang, and through a sudden window between bodies I saw that the giant black cauldron of oatmeal had been knocked to the ground. Half a dozen men and women fell to their knees, scooping the dirty mush into their mouths and their cupped shirts.

Someone called for a Sister—for me—but I was already taken by the stampede, and had to hold onto the back of a woman’s jacket just to stay upright. We were going backward, toward the entrance to the Square. The bricks had become slick with the light rain, and I slipped. A hand gripped my forearm, wrenching me sideways, where I banged into someone and nearly fell again.

The navy jacket nearly burst the panic swelling inside of me, but when Chase turned around, I almost sobbed with relief. He blocked the others with his body, holding me tight against his chest as he carved a path toward the alley where we were supposed to meet the others. I could feel each time someone rammed into him, see the flash of his teeth as he grunted against the pain.

Minutes passed before the way cleared. I looked up to see more soldiers racing past us toward the Square. Chase pushed me back like he meant to go after them, but at the last minute dragged me behind the Dumpster. Another clatter of footsteps had us flattening against the rusted metal.

“What part of stay together didn’t you understand?” His tone may have been sharp enough to wound, but it was fear that came off of him in waves, not anger, and that was worse. It made everything seem even more dangerous. Less than thirty minutes had passed since the Sister had caught us here, but it felt like a lot longer now. “Never mind,” he muttered. “You all right?”

I nodded. His lip was bleeding, and I removed the handkerchief from around my neck and dabbed it with a trembling hand. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Another sniper hit,” he said. “I think. I saw a soldier go down.”

The sniper was still here. Never before had he stayed in the same place after an attack. I couldn’t contemplate what this meant, all I knew was that Chase was in a uniform—a target for this attack—but just as much in danger from the real soldiers without it.

We needed to get out of here fast.

I cringed when more shots came from the Square. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. All in quick succession. More screaming followed, sharp and bright with terror. Chase grabbed my hand, still holding the handkerchief, and pulled me down to a crouch.

We waited, listening to the tapping of the rain against the Dumpster, and the shouts from the Square. After a little while the chaos stopped, and a man’s voice crackled over a bullhorn.

“Face down on the bricks,” he ordered. “Move and you’ll be shot.”

I shuddered to think how many had already been shot. Had any of our people been among them? Had Sean?

An eerie silence came over us, punctuated by the sound of a baby’s fearful cries. At the sound of footsteps Chase stood, and motioned for me to be silent. He leaned out from behind our shelter, then gave a short whistle. A moment later Sean appeared. His chestnut hair was disheveled, and his uniform jacket had been ripped at the shoulder. The top two buttons were missing.

I jumped up and wrapped him in a hard hug, then pushed him back into the wall.

“What took you so long?” I said.

He choked out something indecipherable and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the Square, as if this were the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

He turned to Chase. “Is your radio working?”

Chase had left it turned off in his belt for fear anyone might hear it and find us, but now he flipped it on and lifted it to his ear, keeping the volume low. Nothing but static—on every channel. The MM wasn’t broadcasting what had happened in the Square, which meant we couldn’t connect to one another, or to Wallace back at the Wayland Inn, either. There went our chance for backup.

The patter of footsteps outside had him quickly switching it back off. We froze, waiting for whoever it was to pass, but the footsteps came closer. Chase reached slowly for his gun and nodded to Sean.

“There room for one more at this party?”

Cara appeared between the Dumpster and the wall, her once long locks cut to chin-length and redyed black, like mine. Exactly like mine, I realized. Another layer of protection so that people might even mistake us for each other. Her Sister ensemble fit more snugly across the hips and the chest to accommodate for her curves, but apart from that we were practically twins.

My blood was still thrumming as Chase’s hand dropped from his holster.

“You could have just said no,” she said, feigning annoyance.

“Get down here!” Sean motioned for her to come closer, which she did with a smile that made me wary.

“Oh,” she whispered. “It’s a secret party. You should have said so.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “What happened to Houston and Lincoln?”

“We got separated,” she said, the seriousness finally catching up to her. “What happened to you two? I saw you get ambushed by the Sisters.”

So she had been watching us. I glanced at Chase. “We got separated.”

“Radios are out,” Chase interrupted.

“It’s the storm,” said Cara. “There were severe weather reports on the back channels earlier.”

“We’ll hold until this clears up,” said Chase, nodding toward the Square. “Then move out at nightfall.”

The disappointment weighed down on me; I did want to go back, but we hadn’t accomplished anything yet. No one had recognized us. We hadn’t even picked up the package.

Cara shook her head. “My guess is we’ve got fifteen, twenty minutes before those soldiers back there start combing every block in a ten-mile radius looking for the shooter. We need to move.”

“She’s right,” said Sean. He didn’t look happy about it. “With the radios out they can’t call for backup. This is the best chance we have to get out.”

I took a deep breath. Chase’s expression turned hard and unreadable. He finally nodded.

“We’ll go through Tent City,” said Cara. “Might as well pick up our package since we’re here.”

“Forget the package,” said Chase.

“No,” I said, ignoring his scowl. “We’re here. We came here for a reason. Like Cara said, soldiers are going to be coming this way soon.” This person, whoever it was, needed our help now.

I stood.

“Well, boys,” Cara said. “Safeties off. And remember, we’re all wearing blue today, so watch where you’re shooting.”

ASsoon as we left the shelter of our enclosure, the evidence of just how severe the weather would be became apparent. The air smelled electric, and the wind and rain were gusting. They drowned out the sounds from behind us, in the Square, where the civilians were still being searched for weapons.

Just past the donation bus, the alleyway revealed a bottleneck of makeshift shelters, corked at the closest end by a table where, Sean informed us, two armed soldiers usually sat. For now, the way was clear, and we moved fast, heads down, looking back as often as we could spare a glance.