Trapped (The Condemned Series #1) - Alison Aimes Page 0,69

deadly look of rabid animals crazed by blood lust.

Nausea spread through her. Please, please, she prayed, please let Caine be safe and beyond their reach.

“Holy shit,” whispered Winthrop. “They’re going to tear us apart.”

There was no more time to look for Caine. No time even to hide in the caves.

“Run,” shouted one of the rescue team. “Get to the shuttle.”

But before anyone could move, a stream of red light cut through the air, followed by a scream, the stench of burned flesh. The officer to her left fell to the ground. Mitchell crumpled next.

“They have guns,” shouted another rescue team soldier, firing back. “Protect the survivors. Defensive positions.” Unlike Pogue and his team, this team of soldiers was well-trained and courageous. They instantly circled around her and the rest of her colleagues.

225’s pack had guns. Where had they gotten guns?

Winthrop must have been wondering the same thing because he whirled to face Pogue. “You said the lost soldiers’ guns were destroyed.”

Pogue’s silence spoke for itself.

Another beam of light flashed. Another rescue soldier went down.

Chaos ensued. Another team member fell. One of Pogue’s men dropped, too. She tripped over his leg, but managed to right herself.

“We’ll never make it,” shouted one of the remaining rescuers, his expression resigned. She knew that look. She’d seen the same one on Caine.

“Shoot,” the man ordered into his wrist transmission, communicating with the crew still on board the shuttle. “It’s the only chance we’ve got. They’ll overrun us and the shuttle otherwise.”

In the next instance, flashes of light streamed from the shuttle, trapping her and her colleagues between two dangers. Most of the shuttle beams went over their head and into the crazed crowd beyond, felling many of the frontline, but one shot went astray, slamming into the very rescue soldier who’d just given the order. He went down hard, victim to friendly fire.

There was no time to even mourn.

“Stay low,” she shouted to Winthrop. “If we can make it a few more paces, we’ll be below the arc line.” She cast a quick glance in his direction. As expected, his face was drenched in sweat, his face twisted in pain. That he’d been able to make it this far was a miracle given his injuries.

She risked another quick glance over her shoulder. She shouldn’t have looked.

The shuttle lasers had taken out a huge chunk of the frontline, but too many prisoners had managed to avoid being hit. They surged forward as the lasers recharged. Another rescue soldier went down, not by lasers this time, but by hands.

Her mind could barely process the terrified scream of the soldier as the pack closed in, ripping at his skin, his limbs, his eyes.

Bile rose in her throat. She could only pray the poor man was already dead.

“Keep running!” Her command snapped Winthrop back into action.

“Help,” Ransom screamed as he was dragged down by two prisoners. Pogue didn’t even look back.

She was turning to help when a vicious force slammed into her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Bella hit the ground hard, her chin slamming into the dirt. She blinked back the fog as hands clawed at her, flipping her over. A dark-haired man with one grey eye and a puckered scar loomed overhead.

“Gotcha,” he leered.

She swung, but he was faster. Her head twisted sideways as his brutal punch rocked her cheek. His hands tore at her thighs. She raised her fists to fight back when her attacker toppled. Winthrop stood above.

He stuck out his hand. “Come on.”

Dizzy, grateful, she reached for his hand. Only to have it wrenched away as another prisoner plowed into Winthrop, slamming him to the ground. Another hard weight crashed into her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Rough hands raked at her flesh, pinching, slashing. Too many for her to fight at once. She tried to curl up in a ball, but they were pulling at her limbs, grasping at her skin. Her ankle snapped. She screamed in agony. Tried to picture Caine’s face. Tried to remember better times. Joy. Pleasure. All that she’d had.

Her legs were wrenched apart. Fabric ripped.

Then a roar sounded, louder even than the prisoners’ shrieks.

The press of bodies disappeared.

She blinked. Certain she was dreaming.

Caine, blood running down his face, his chest lashed with cuts, loomed above. A pile of bodies surrounded him.

He’d come for her.

He drove his spear into the nearest body. Then another. Until no one around her or Winthrop moved.

“Hold on.” Caine reached down and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as he ran. Winthrop limped right behind.

She didn’t