The Masked Truth Part 5

X-Files comes back in. "Miss Riley, you're up. Negotiator Will has Mr. Highgate on the line, and he's being remarkably compliant. Time to reward that by releasing the hero."

"She's not a d.a.m.ned hero," Gideon says. "She hid under the bed."

Aaron and Brienne both open their mouths to come to my rescue, but I shake my head and whisper, "Please."

"Riley's right," Max whispers. "Don't goad him or this only gets worse."

"Says the guy who specializes in making things worse," Brienne mutters.

Max only smiles. "Exactly. I don't like Gid stealing my thunder. You must admit, he's not nearly as entertaining as me."

Brienne rolls her eyes, then says, "Go on, Riley." When I hesitate, she reaches over to squeeze my hand. "Really. Go. Sure, we'd all like it to be us, but no one's going to begrudge you an early exit. We'll get ours soon enough. Aaron's dad is cooperating."

"He will," Aaron says. "He's a lousy father, but he's rich for a reason. He knows when to cut his losses and when he can turn a loss into a corporate advantage, and this is money well spent. It'll earn him good pressthe poor guy who almost lost his son."

"All right," I say. "Take care, then. I know you might not want to make contact when we get out, but I'd like to know you're all okay. Aimee has my phone number and e-mail."

"We'll call," Brienne says. "Get together and celebrate with ice cream."

"I hate ice cream," Max says.

"Good, then we won't have to invite you."

I get to my feet.

"Seriously," Gideon says. "You're going to let her go? That's s.e.xist."

Brienne sighs.

"No, really," Gideon says. "You set two girls free first. We're told we aren't supposed to do that anymorewomen and children firstso I object."

"This isn't a democracy, boy," X-Files says.

"I still object. It's racist too."

"Racist?" X-Files snorts. "Releasing the Latino girl instead of the white boy?"

"Exactly. You've freed two minorities in a row."

"Um, Sandy was Italian," Maria says.

"Is there a reason we're listening to this moron?" Aaron says. "Go, Riley."

I take another step, and Gideon lunges at me. I see him out of the corner of my eye, and I react. I spin and hit him. It's not a punch. Not even a boxing jab. The only martial art I know is fencing, so my response is to swing my arm and wallop him.

Gideon stumbles. Then, with a roar, he charges me. Aaron grabs him. He yanks Gideon away and throws him aside, and when the smaller boy recovers, he's face to face with Max. Gideon swings. Max staggers back fast, his hands up, saying, "No, no, no," this look on his face ... Max who had a gun on him earlier and never flinched, and now this boysix inches shorter than himis taking an awkward swing and Max reacts as if Gideon is throwing a hand grenade.

Gideon spins on Aaron, who mutters, "Thanks, buddy," to Max. Gideon charges, and I glance over at our captors, expecting them to do something, but they're standing there, watching, and I can't see their faces with the masks, but their eyes look amused. No, entertained. Just standing back, chilling and watching the rumble along with everyone else. Everyone except Maria, who's at the desk, going through the drawers. When she sees me watching, she motions she'll be careful.

Max has moved halfway across the room, as if to make d.a.m.ned sure he doesn't get pulled into the brawl. Aaron and Gideon are still going at it. It's obvious Aaron knows how to fight. Gideon does not. Aaron is only defending himself, but I can tell he's getting frustrated, and a few of his blows. .h.i.t hard. Gideon is hopped up on adrenaline and just keeps going back for more, until X-Files finally moves forward and says, "Okay, kid. Fun's over." He grabs the back of Gideon's s.h.i.+rt. Gideon swings, and for once, his fist actually connects.

X-Files falls back with an oomph, then "You little brat," and I'm on Gideon in a heartbeat. I don't think. I just grab him to pull him away, and then I see the knife. X-Files pulls out a blade and the light s.h.i.+nes off that razor-sharp edge and ... and I drop Gideon. I don't mean to, but someone grabs me, one arm around my waist, and yanks me away from the younger boy. Before I can twist to see who it is, the hand is gone and X-Files is snarling and Aaron is running toward Gideon. I shout, "No!" but Aaron tackles Gideon, knocking him face-first to the floor. And, thankfully, X-Files eases back.

"Let him go," I say, and Aaron gives me this look of Huh? I say, "I mean, let Gideon leave in my place. Just get him out of here. Please."

"Is that an order, Miss Riley?" X-Files raises the knife as he turns on me.

"No," I say quickly. "I-I'm just suggesting. Asking. Can he May he take my place?"

I expect him to give me the same line he did earlier with Max, about not wanting to reward bad behavior, but he grunts, "Fine. Get out of here, boy. He'll take"

He turns to Predator, and as he does, there's a blur behind the guy in the Cantina alien mask. It's Maria. She has something in her hand, something long and metal, and she's been slipping up behind Cantina. Now she runs toward him, weapon raised ... and Cantina shoots her. He shoots her point-blank, and she flies back, and there's blood, just the smallest spray, and that's what I think about in that moment. There should be more blood.

Then I hear whimpering, and I realize it's me, and I clap both hands over my mouth to stop and someone grabs me from behind, pulling me back, the same arms as before, holding me tight as I shake so hard I can hear my teeth chatter, a voice whispering, "It's all right," but it's not all right, Maria is lying on the floor, the white lettering on her T-s.h.i.+rt spattered red, and she's not moving. G.o.d help me, she isn't moving.

I push off the arms and run to Maria. I hear a shout of No! It's Aaron and I think he's telling me not to go to her. Then I see Gideon jumping Cantina. He grabs for the gun, and everyone's shouting, Lorenzo and Aaron telling Gideon to stop, just stop, X-Files yelling that Gideon d.a.m.ned well better stop or he's going to get a bullet through The gun fires. It's a suppressed shot, like the first, but still far from silent. Cantina jerks back, his eyes wide. I see the gun, both of their hands on it, blood spreading across Cantina's stomach. Gideon is turning, and everything comes in incredible slow motion, sound off, their mouths opening, nothing coming out, nothing that penetrates my terror. Gideon turns, and Lorenzo runs between him and X-Files, and Gideon fires. Lorenzo goes down. Then X-Files aims and Arms grab me again. The same ones as before. I struggle madly. My brain fires in every direction, thoughts going everywhere, paralyzing me. Get to Maria. No, stop X-Files. Do something. Just do something.

The arms drag me backward, and I realize we're heading for the door, and I dig in my heels, but a voice says in my ear, "We need to get out of here," and I turn to see Max, and the shock of that, of realizing who has me, shuts off my brain, and I let him drag me out the door.

CHAPTER 7.

We reach the hall, and the second we do, that bubble around me bursts. I hear everythingthe shouts, the cries, the scuffling, the cursing, a sob of pain. It hits me so hard I double over, hands to my ears, Max's fingers still wrapped around my wrist.

"Come on," he whispers urgently, and I know if I don't, he'll leave me here. He's grabbed me on a whim, and if I don't follow him, he'll say to h.e.l.l with me and keep going.

Waves of chaos from the room pummel me, and I swear I feel the terror and the pain and the panic from every person there. I think of Maria, lying on the floor, and then I see her smiling at me in line, trying to calm me down, joking about her T-s.h.i.+rt.

I see that T-s.h.i.+rt splattered in blood.

Maria shot by Cantina. Lorenzo shot by Gideon. Two of us lie on the floor back there, and I heard more shots as we were running. Who else is on that floor? Gideon? Brienne? Aaron? Aimee?

My knees buckle. Max's fingers dig in, dragging me, and I want to say No, just leave me here, but there's still enough of my brain working that rises above the fear and shouts, Are you an idiot? and I stumble after him.

Then my gut seizes, and I stop so suddenly he's jerked back with me.

"I'm running away," I whisper.

"Yes," he says. "As fast as you can."

"I-I can't." I wheel toward the room. "I won't run again. I won't hide"

"Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. This is not the time, Riley. Really, not the time."

"But I need to"

"No, actually, you don't. You want to stand your ground? Next life-threatening situation, all right? For this one, you're getting out."

"I need to help"

"Help me. I'll be your designated rescue victim for today. You can't go back, because if you do, I won't make it."

"Of course you"

"No, I won't. Now get me out of here."

He shoves me, and I stagger a few steps and then start to run. It isn't easy. I feel the pull of those fading voices and the pull of the panic too, twin forces, one dragging me back, the other dragging me down. But I keep going. I have to. For Max. Which is madness, of course. He doesn't need me.

So why did he bring me along? He's never struck me as the sort to slow down and help someone elseespecially if it might lower his own escape chances.

Yet Max hadn't just grabbed me at the last second. I'd recognized that grip and the arm around my waist as the one that pulled me back when Gideon came after me. The one that grabbed me when Maria went down too, the voice that whispered it was all right. Max's voice.

We're pa.s.sing a hall juncture. I can see an exit sign ahead, pointing right. The front door is there, around the next corner, and Max slams his open hand into my shoulder, knocking me sideways. I start to turn, but he's pus.h.i.+ng me toward the adjoining hall, and I realize the noise from behind us has changednot cries and scuffling now but one of our captors shouting, "Where the h.e.l.l is the girl?"

I look down the main hall, toward the exit.

"No," Max whispers. "Not unless you can outrun bullets."

He's right. The door seems so close, so d.a.m.ned close, but it's at least another twenty running steps away, and I can already hear footsteps thumping behind us.

I take the side corridor. I see doors. That's all I see: endless rows of closed doors in a dim hall, like something out of a nightmare.

I glance at the first door. Which is also the first place they'll look. At the second, I try the handle. Locked. Max is already racing past, and I think that's it, he's getting the h.e.l.l away while the little mouse looks for a hole to hide in. But he only tries the next door and then waves to me when it opens. He holds it while I dart through. Then he closes the door behind us, as carefully as he can, while footfalls thunder down the other hall.

When that door shuts, the room goes completely dark and I stop short. Then there's a faint bluish light, and I turn to see Max holding down the glow b.u.t.ton on his watch. He s.h.i.+nes it around.

We're in a cleaning closet. It's big enough for me to get away from the door, picking past mops and buckets with extreme care, until I'm tucked down behind them. Max joins me.

Outside we hear footsteps. They've slowed now. A second pair joins them.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" It's X-Files. "Stay in the room."

"I can see the door from here," the second manPredatorsays.

"Yeah, which means we'll have to chase them if they run."

"I just thought"

"Don't. That's my job. Now get back in there ands.h.i.+t!"

A distant shoe squeak. Then the pfft of a suppressed shot, and X-Files snarls, "You left them with Mark's gun?" Running footfalls. Several pairs, the remaining hostages fleeing the room. X-Files and Predator take off after them.

Max slips to the door, lighting his way. He holds up his finger and I see his lips move, counting to five, then he cracks it open and waves at me, still crouched behind the mops. I steady myself and follow.

We make our way to the front door. Footwear offthat was my idea, after hearing X-Files's and Predator's shoes squeaking and thumping. We move in stockinged feet to the main hall and then down it, Max walking backward behind me, both of us listening as X-Files and Predator pursue the remaining captives.

Remaining captives.

Maria is dead. Maybe Lorenzo too. That's not what I meant by "remaining," but as soon as I think the word I see Maria, lying on the floor, not moving, and that smell ... Maybe there was no smell, maybe it's my memory of the Porters, but I still remember it with Maria, the stink of blood and urine and more, the smell of violent death. I can tell myself she's alive, but I know she isn't.

I stop running. Max b.u.mps into me and turns with a whispered "What do you hear?" as he leans around and then sees my expression.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," he mutters as he takes my shoulders and propels me forward. "Keep those legs moving, Riley. You can do this."

I want to throw him off. To shout at him. Why does he care, anyway? I'm suddenly furious at that care, at the burden of it. You don't know me. You shouldn't give a d.a.m.n. Get yourself out. h.e.l.l, throw me at them for a diversion. I don't care.

Except I do care. I haven't reached rock bottom yet. Haven't even glimpsed it. As dark as the world gets some days, I still see solid ground under my feet, and I don't wish for anything else. Even if I did, I couldn't risk Max's life with mine. He's decided to rescue me, and maybe that's what keeps him moving. Something to focus on, to forget what we left behind in that room.

I pay little attention to my surroundings as we run. There's emergency lighting in the halls, which are builder-beige with equally nondescript flooring. What matters is the path I need to take. Down this hall and then turn left to the end, turn right and the door will be there. Freedom will be there.

We get around the corner. The exit door is just ahead. I'm reaching out, as if I can grab the k.n.o.b from ten feet away. Then I see the keyhole.

The door is locked. It must be. A locked solid steel door. I slow, and Max pa.s.ses me, and I think maybe he didn't notice the lock. But when he yanks on the door and it doesn't open, his expression isn't shockit's disappointment. He saw the keyholehe just hoped maybe Predator forgot to relock it after releasing Sandy. Did he really think the SWAT team wouldn't have checked?

He bends to examine the lock.

"Unless you smuggled picks past the metal detector ..." I say.

He runs his fingers over the hinges.

"Or a screwdriver," I say.

He gives me a look to say I'm not helping. It isn't an angry look. Not even an annoyed one. Just a quick glance and a shake of his head before he goes back to examining the door.

"You're wasting time," I say. "We need to search for another exit."

"One they forgot to lock?"

"I'm not the one who checked this one."

"I'd be daft if I didn't."

"Then we'd be daft if we didn't search for another way out."

"That's plan B," he says.

"And plan A? Blow up the door?"

"You brought dynamite? Brilliant." He smiles, and somehow I hate that smile more than if he'd scowled. The smile says he's got this under control. No, not he. We. It says we can handle this, together. There's no arrogance in that smile, and I wish there was, because it's a smile of something worse: faith.

He puts his ear to the door.