Page 122 of Immune

Vector.

Dakota sees it at the same time I do. Her whole body changes, but not with panic. With precision. The same eerie calm that settled over her when the Rot dropped from the market tarp. It’s not the absence of fear, but fear disciplined into a weapon. Into a blade sharp enough to slice through anything in its way.

The men speak softly to one another, one saying, “Station’s clear enough.”

“Boss said to check upper routes. Pilot won’t get very far injured,” the other replies.

“They had help.”

“Then we’ll find help, too.”

Dakota’s fingers tighten around her knife while Fletcher’s rifle is already raised. Kaito is pale but steady, and Ewan’s expression has gone completely blank in the way I’m starting to recognize means he’s heard too much and he’s making a plan with it.

I look at Dakota. She’s closest to the left wall. If the men advance another fifteen feet, they’ll see the alcove.

I catch her eye, and her brows pinch tightly.

I lift two fingers.

Wait.

She doesn’t like that, but she waits anyway.

The first Vector man steps under a broken ceiling panel, and water drips onto his shoulder. He looks up and Fletcher fires his rifle once. The shot hits the wall next to the man’s head, close enough to shower him with plaster but not close enough to kill him. It’s a warning that simply sounds like an execution.

Both men dive for cover, right as one shouts, “Compound!”

Dakota moves under the sound. She’s fast despite her limp, and too fast for someone injured. She slips along the wall while their attention goes to Fletcher, reaches the emergency panel next to the hallway door, and slams the heel of her knife into the old alarm switch.

Nothing happens.

For one terrifying breath, nothing happens.

Then the station screams.

A rusted, slightly crackled emergency alarm shrieks through the hallway, loud enough to split the world into pieces. Below us, the Rots answer as if the blaring sound is meant for them, a chorus of groans and screams rising from the platform and tunnels.

Ewan winces, muttering, “Well, that’s just horrible. Effective, don’t get me wrong. But still very horrible.”

Dakota rips open the hallway door and points down the stairwell beyond it. “Noise will draw them up from the lower platforms. We leave now.”

Fletcher fires again, forcing the Vector men to keep cover. Kaito reaches for the pilot and then stops, his face tightening. Fletch sees it and says, “Don’t.”

“I can help,” Kaito tries, but it’s no use.

“You can continue to bleed quietly and leave the usefulness to someone else,” Fletch commands.

Dakota’s eyes flash to Kaito’s side, witnessing the blood that has spread again under the torn edge of his shirt, dark against wet fabric.

“Kaito,” she snaps.

He instantly freezes, and so does everyone else, because his name from her mouth just landed differently. It’s not soft or gentle, and it’s still very much edged, but it’s real.

She digs into her pocket, yanks out the cloth he gave her earlier, and throws it at his chest. “Press that on it before you leak all over the floor like a dramatic idiot.”

For half a second, Kaito only looks at her. Then he blinks, catching the cloth, and presses it to his side. “Sure.”

Not okay, which I’m thankful for. Although, she glares at him anyway.