the last seventy-four days. And now it’s here. A part of me is ready for it. Bring it on. Yet another part is worried and scared and wants to run away. But that last part is just wanting it to be all over. Win or lose, let’s be done.
“Lawrence,” Radcliff says, startling me from my thoughts. “Get in position.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mom grabs my arm, pulling me in for a hug. “Please be careful.”
“I will.”
Then it’s Dad’s turn to embrace me. “Don’t give yourself up for us again.”
“Then don’t get captured and I won’t.” I get a set of parental scowls. “What? It seems pretty straightforward to me.”
“Go, before we ground you,” Dad says.
I laugh then run into the base. My thoughts turn to the mission. It would have been nice to have a few extra days for Niall, Rance, and Zaim to recover. Instead, we’ll have to rely on barely trained techs.
At least I have some time to swing by the empty cafeteria and grab a few snacks. It might be a while before my next real meal. Then I report to my “position.”
It’s one of the hidden areas in the base that aren’t on the map. What Officer Morgan called my hidey holes. In fact, it’s my favorite one that I used the most when I was a kid and hiding from my parents.
The hidden space is the size of a coffin and only accessible by an oversized duct that cuts across the chemistry lab. When I was younger, I’d access the duct from a storeroom next to the lab. But today, I use a conveniently placed table in the lab that is right underneath one of the grates into that duct. Getting in the duct is both harder and easier—harder because I’m bigger, easier because I’m stronger.
Once I reach the space, I wiggle into a comfortable position, lying on my left side. I fit better a few years ago. Shafts of artificial light cut through the grate which is about a meter away. It reflects off the shining metal walls, giving my hiding place a nice glow.
I know what you’re thinking. If I’m caught here, I’ve no place to run. Well, if I’m caught anywhere, I’m done, so this is better than being in my bedroom, which would be the first place Jarren will check.
Waiting for the action to begin is torture. After eating half my snacks, I try to empty my mind and calm my racing emotions. A few hours of sleep would help as well. But the reality is me swatting at my thoughts as they buzz and swarm around my head.
The roar of the shuttles’ engines over the base breaks the quiet. At least we don’t have to worry about a sneak attack. I steady my nerves and access the Q-net. Jarren worms into the controls for the base’s port. The retractable roof opens to allow a shuttle in. The port isn’t big enough for all four, so one lands, deposits looters, and takes off. It doesn’t take them long to unload about forty-eight people. The last shuttle remains in the port.
I pull up a map of the base and red dots fill the area representing the port. Each dot a looter. Worming into the camera feeds, I bring up the images from the port and scan the invaders. They’re wearing gray form-fitting jumpsuits. Probably stolen from DES security, which means they can’t be knocked out with a pulse gun unless the gun is aimed at their heads. They’re checking behind all the equipment, probably looking for an ambush. Each wears a belt with a weapon holstered on one side—they didn’t come to talk—and a flashlight on the other.
They’re wearing jumpsuits. They have energy wave guns and flashlights, I message my team, sending it to their portables. I’m the only one who is connected to the Q-net.
I keep searching. Come on. Come on. You have to be here. No way Jarren would remain behind when there’s an opportunity to gloat. There! I spot Jarren and one of the red dots turns to yellow. The perfect color for a yellow-bellied coward. I’m not sure where yellow-bellied comes from, but Beau said it’s appropriate.
Jarren looks the same. His long brown hair is tied back into a low ponytail. He trimmed his beard and his light brown eyes shine with anticipation. The murdering looter in all his glory. His belt has two weapons and a flashlight. My stomach clenches as I recognize the kill zapper. The weapon that spits