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“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You’re in charge, aren’t you?” The sass in his tone makes me really want to shove him down the stairs, but instead grit my teeth.
“Get me that bodysuit that we brought along for emergencies.” I snap at him, and he nods his head vigorously. My heart is pounding as I run into the bathroom and splash some water on my face before pulling my hair into a low bun. Just as I turn to head back to my room, Barrett comes back into the bathroom with my suit.
“I’m genuinely sorry.” He’s grimacing regretfully as I change in front of him. He knows I could report him for consorting to end the mission early, and he would be “retired” immediately. He knows I have the power to destroy him, so it must really have been an accident. It doesn’t matter now, though. We have to hurry, or everything we’ve planned, the most important mission of our entire careers, will be down the drain quicker than Barrett’s temper.
“Turn around,” I order, not waiting for him to turn before I pull off my shirt and slip into the top portion of the suit.
“Top.” I reach my hand out, and he throws me the mask portion of the suit. I run out of the bathroom with it in hand, and he follows me. Downstairs is too quiet for an emergency like this, and I wonder if I’m the only one he’s woken.
“Vest,” he calls as he runs down the hall to his room, and I wait by the door, nearly ready to leave without it if he doesn’t get back in the next two seconds.
“I can drop you off as close to the field as possible, but you have to book it,” he calls as he runs back to me, helping me put on the vest and zip it up as I pull my mask on.
“Come on.” I begin to shake with adrenaline as I open the door, and we run to the car. Barrett rarely drives, so I’m slightly concerned that he is not at all experienced enough to drive well in a crisis. But I guess we don’t really have another option. We zoom down through the neighborhood as he checks his watch that’s attached to the countdown on the bombs.
“Five minutes.” He nods, and the car’s engine rumbles under the weight of his foot, forcing it to speed up. We round a few more corners, tires screeching a little as we near the neighborhood exit, directly adjacent to the field.
“Get out,” he calls as he comes to a complete stop. I nod, irritated beyond belief because it’s his fault that we’re in this situation. I leap out of the car, sprinting for my life and possibly Romeo’s without hesitation. The cold air is nothing compared to the heat of this suit and the warm blood pumping through my veins at the speed of light.
I sprint past the entrance to the neighborhood and spot the field. Tall wheat-like grass dances in the wind like waves, and I can’t see anything at first. Then, like fate, I catch a glimpse of him crouching by the trees a few feet in from the street on the left of the field.
I almost call his name, but I stop myself. Good that I found him, terrible that we are moments away from his demise if I can’t stop him.Shit. I should have brought a weapon or something. My heart is pounding, and everything is now completely instinctual. I zip through the grass, heading straight for him, and I hear someone warning him, but I’m too quick for him to respond. I tackle him, and we fall to the ground with a thud, slightly taking the wind out of me. It’s a struggle to force his body to be still. He’s fighting me, asking me questions that don’t matter when he is moments away from dying— I, along with him.
I feel him reaching for his gun, but I can’t let go of him to grab it away, or he could easily pin me down. When he’s about an inch from my body, I kick it from his hand, and it topples to the ground. Quickly, I grab it and bring it to his forehead because I don’t think he will listen to me unless his life’s threatened. Of course, I won’t shoot him, but he doesn’t know that.
“Get out of here.” I give him my best Batman voice, and honestly, I’d believe I was a dude. He definitely won’t be thinking that I’m his sweet model date, Lydia Royce.
“What?” He asks like he doesn’t understand. Is he for real, challenging me with a gun pointed to his head?
“Leave, or I’ll shoot.” His face splinters with confusion and I can tell he still isn’t getting it because he begins to ask a question, and I cut him off.
“Leave. All of you.” I grunt, pressing the tip further into his skin.
“Who—” he persists, but I know we are running out of time. Probably a minute away from blowing up. I click the barrel of the gun into place to show him the direness of the situation, and it seems to shut him up. In the next breath, he slowly relaxes his body before whispering. “Okay.”
I can tell he will listen now, trust him for whatever reason, and hope that it’s not misplaced. I slowly rise and follow him with the gun as he backs away, hands raised. He makes the call for everyone to head back to their vehicles, and I tip the firearm in the direction I hear footsteps. Apparently, this is a mistake because now he’s lingering, looking at me like he’s wondering why I’m helping him. He can’t put this together, can’t know who I really am, so I give him a warning shot, close enough to him that seems alarming. Turns out it is because the second I do, he hops into a sprint, disappearing into the tall grass.
I don’t know how much time I have left, but I can’t stand here a minute longer and find out. So, I run to the road, sprint quickly back into the neighborhood and right for the car waiting for me. As soon as I’m inside, we peel off, speeding out of the way of the cars barreling towards us. I hide between the seats as we drive, just in case anyone spots me.
“They’ve passed, Kira,” Barrett calls from the front, but I don’t move until we’re stopped in front of the house.
“I’m sorry,” Barrett says just above a whisper, and I can tell he’s getting emotional.
“Never do that again.”
“I doubt I’ll set a bomb up—”
“No. Never make another move without my permission. I’m in charge of this mission for a reason. Understand?”
“Yes.” He slides out of the car and comes around to open my door.
“Thanks.” I nod and jump down to the sidewalk. We head inside quietly, and I’m sure he’s reflecting on why is such an insufferable asshole. Perhaps this will change him, get rid of that attitude he wears like an essential accessory all the time.
We enter the house, no one the wiser of our little brush with death, and part ways when we reach the bottom of the stairs.
“Goodnight, boss.” Barrett says to me un-ironically, and I feel my mouth twitch into a slight grin.
