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My heart pounds in my chest as more light shines on my arms and face. They’re moments away from finding us. I think about slipping into a bag, but besides it feeling unbelievably wrong on every level, they’re burning these people or throwing them into the ocean. It’s a death sentence.
Shaking my head no, I adjust myself, ready to follow his lead.
“If they react,” he whispers. “I’ll make a distraction. Get to the elevator, kick out the ceiling. Or get to the doors and get above ground.”
“That will never work,” I hiss. “I can’t make it past them all, and…”
“I’ll blend in, then. Don’t worry,” he says, backing away.
His head peaks around the opening, and he rises, slowly lifting to his feet, but his head is not above the tower of bodies yet. I watch him push the stack with both hands, his back pressing against the wall and giving him leverage, and then the tumble and thud as a few black bags hit the floor.
“Whoa, whoa,” someone calls out, rushing toward the noise, and Sam steps out into the hall, on the other side from where the people scatter.
It’s silence for countless seconds except for the sound of grunting and rustling plastic. I wait, removing the fabric from my face and slowing my breath so I don’t appear frazzled.
“Good idea,” someone says overhead.
“Yeah,” I hear Sam say. “Can’t handle the smell, so I had to do something.”
He made it.
I crawl over and see them, both standing over where I just hid, lifting a body bag and hoisting it onto a gurney with others. The man talking to Sam rips his own sleeve off and ties it around his face.
“You don’t think the Eminent will have a problem with you ruining his property?” someone says, pointing at them both. I stand while they’re all still distracted in conversation and lifting the last body from the fall. I take a few hesitant steps toward Sam, waiting for someone to notice, but no one makes a sound. There are dozens of red jumpsuits further down the hall, all of them busying themselves with their duties.
“My wife can sew,” one worker explains. “I can’t take this smell.”
I leave the fabric around my face, thankful it disguises me, and place a gentle hand on Sam’s back.
“We got this one,” Sam says to the two men arguing over the destruction of property, and he moves to one side of the gurney, offering me the other to push.
A line of men flows to the stairwell, slowly creeping toward the exit. When we get closer, I realize there are men waiting by the stairs to lift the front and carry the gurneys above ground.
“Stay calm,” Sam whispers, and I nod, but there are no women. Despite the wrap around my face, I stand out, so I keep my head down and do my best to go unnoticed.
We reach the open doors, and a few men move around to our front and lift the handles. Sam does his best to carry the majority of the weight on the back because I’m struggling with the first step, my arms burning from the strain.
He grunts, letting out puffs of air when we reach the halfway point. “Come on,” the two men up front say to us, looking back. I muster all the strength I have left and rest the handle on my shoulder, letting it dig into the skin and force my legs to continue moving up each arduous step.
One of them turns around again, his eyebrow raising at me. I don’t meet his gaze or acknowledge he sees me. Light from above shines on the top steps. Sunshine that I haven’t seen in a month and the sight gives me an extra surge of energy to move quickly up the last few steps, stepping out of the underground.
The wheels hit the grass, and I heave in much-needed air, black spots appearing in my vision. We push through the dirt, following the line of people that lead away from the exit.
A hand touches my shoulder, and then another wraps around my bicep.
“Hey,” a voice says from behind. I stop, but don’t turn around.
“What’s the problem?” Sam asks, pushing the hand from my shoulder. The fabric around my mouth gets yanked away, and more men surround us.
“A woman?” one of them says.
“How the fuck did you get up here?” another asks.
I’m yanked up, my feet lifting from the ground before I answer. Sam’s fists fly as men surround him and bind his hands behind his back before he has a chance. Everyone stops to stare, the line of bodies halting their forward motion.
“I recognize her,” someone says. “The Eminent’s rat.”
Their grip is too tight no matter how much I struggle, and I’m brought to the ground, the men holding me calling for an adherent. When the cloth goes over my mouth, I try not to breathe it in, but my lungs burn with the need for air.
