Chapter 34

THIRTY-FOUR

AMETHYST

Xero’s voice filters through a barrier of nothingness. He’s screaming at me to wake up, but that would mean plunging myself back into the nightmare. The nightmare where I’m hunted by predators with guns.

My body is encased in strong arms that carry me through the darkness. Each step aggravates the pain that pounds through my skull. The world returns to me in a slow, painful haze, punctuated by heavy, frantic breaths, and the whip of branches against my back.

I crack open an eye to find my face pressed into the white expanse of Grunt’s chest.

“Finally,” Xero mutters.

When I try to move my head, the hand cradling the back of my skull presses harder. What the hell is happening?

“All I can see is what you see, but it looks like Grunt killed that man so he can be the one to return you to Delta,” Xero says.

He’s right. I’m not na?ve enough to believe Grunt saved me for his own redemption. I need to break free. Every muscle in my body struggles against his hold, but he simply adjusts his grip, pressing me into a wall of muscle.

“Grunt,” I say out loud. “Let go of me.”

“Stay quiet,” he says. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

I stiffen. “Why?”

“It’s just like you said. They’re setting me up to take the fall for your death. I’ll be fucked if I let that happen.”

Some of the tightness around my chest loosens at the prospect of having an ally.

“Don’t trust him,” Xero snarls.

A temporary ally, whose motives are dubious. I relax in his hold, trying to focus on staying conscious. My eyes sting, my nose streams, my throat itches, and each inhale is labored and shallow.

Grunt continues through the foliage, his pace never wavering.

“Where are we going?” I wheeze.

“Remember that old school bus?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “That’s how we’re going to escape.”

“I thought this was an island,” I ask.

Male shouts pierce the air, cutting short our conversation. Footsteps echo through the undergrowth, seeming to grow near with each passing second. The anxiety in their voices is palpable. They know that at least one of their friends is dead.

“Three incapacitated or dead. One defected, leaving five men plus Dolly,” Xero says.

My brows pinch. I could have sworn she and Delta left for some kind of event, but it’s better to overestimate the threat than to be overconfident.

“Hang on and be quiet,” Grunt whispers into his mask, breaking my train of thought.

I give him a tense nod. He readjusts his grip around my body and creeps through the dense growth, still managing to crack twigs underfoot.

Sunlight shines through the canopy, warming my skin. I blink through streaming eyes, trying to see where we’re going, but everything is a blur of greens and grays.

When he stops abruptly, I startle.

“What’s happening?” I whisper.

“We’re at the edge of the courtyard,” he replies, his hot breath falling across my cheek. “We need to cross it to get to the bus.”

Xero strokes my hair. “Stay small. That courtyard is a sniper’s paradise. If Delta and the others plan on shooting, you’re going to be the smaller target.”

Shuddering at the prospect of being shot at, I dip my head and tuck my legs closer into Grunt’s body. I also grip the front of Grunt’s shirt. Xero might sound ruthless, but he’s right.

“Good girl,” Xero says.

Grunt’s heart thrashes against my side, reflecting my own rising anxiety. He shifts me in his hold once more before whispering, “Ready?”

I nod against his chest, not daring to speak, and suck in a noisy breath to ready myself for the impending run.

Grunt’s muscles tense, and his breathing quickens. With a low growl, he bursts from the undergrowth and sprints through the courtyard.

Sunlight drenches my vision. My hay fever is so bad that I couldn’t break free even if I wanted. Grunt’s heavy boots pound against the hard, uneven surface. My heart races in double-time to his footfalls. Xero runs at our side, his large hand on my shoulder.

Someone shouts, ordering him to stop, but he only quickens his pace. A gunshot rings out. Grunt flinches, his hold on me tightening as he stumbles.

My heart lurches. I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch his shirt tighter.

Grunt rounds a sharp corner, his footsteps skidding. Then, with a metallic screech, the bus door lurches open. He stumbles inside and drops me to the sun-warmed floor with a hard thud.

Before I can even get my bearings, the doors hiss closed, and he starts the engine.

Outside, the air fills with shouts and gunshots. Bullets hit the vehicle’s sides like hailstones. I lie on the aisle, not wanting to rise even an inch above seat level in case I get shot.

The diesel engine rumbles to life, and the bus lurches forward, making me skid across the floor and collide with a bolted seat.

“Hold tight,” Xero yells.

I reach out with trembling hands, wrapping my fingers around the seat’s steel posts.

The engine roars louder, and the bus picks up speed. My body thrums like a raw nerve, both from the bus’s vibrations and the adrenaline surging through my veins. I listen out for gunshots or the sound of chasing vehicles, but all I hear is the engine and the rush of wind.

I raise my head and stare out to the front. Through my blurry vision, I can make out Grunt sitting in the driver’s seat with the sleeve of one arm soaked in blood. Up ahead are the asylum’s open metal gates.

As soon as we pass them, I collapse on the floor, overwhelmed with relief. The bus roars down a seemingly endless road. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry, so I settle for wheezing.

“Stay alert, little ghost,” Xero growls.

My attention snaps back to the present, and I hear the wailing of sirens growing louder and then fading into the distance. My heart sinks. Did we just drive past the police?

A fresh set of tears fills my eyes, washing away the pollen. I sniffle, forcing down a wave of despair. After all that shit I went through trying to escape, I’m still not safe.

Warm hands thread through my hair, making me crack open an eye. Xero lies beneath one of the seats, his outline a blur of platinum and white.

“A man like Delta would have bribed the police anyway. You might have a better chance of escaping Grunt.”

My gaze flicks to the large man driving the bus. I blink away the tears, my vision sharpening. Grunt is no Delta, but he also isn’t someone to take lightly. It’s hard to tell if he views me as a prisoner, a plaything, or a replacement for Dolly. None of these prospects sound appealing.

I sneeze once, twice, three times, clearing my sinuses, my determination hardening. Grunt is not a savior. Once the danger clears, he’ll realize I’m a witness to his involvement in snuff movies. He’ll make sure I never get a chance to report him to the police.

“Or use you as leverage against Dolly and Delta,” Xero adds.

Shuddering, I pull myself up onto my elbows.

“How’s the hay fever?” Xero asks.

“Still there, but at least I can breathe.” I release my grip on a metal post, resisting the urge to rub my eyes.

If I had the mental bandwidth right now, I would scream, but I need to keep it together. It’s only a matter of time before Delta assures the police he’s making an innocent documentary on abandoned asylums, and they drive back to their precinct, leaving us swarmed by attackers.

Grunt might not even have a plan for leaving the island. If I don’t want to end up the victim of another perilous situation, then I’d better work out a strategy to escape Grunt.

“What are you thinking?” Xero asks.

“At my second school, some girl escaped the bus on a trip.”

He gives me an approving nod. “A bus is a large target. It’s going to take the others much longer to spot a lone woman running through the wilderness.”

First, I need to get close enough to the emergency exit handle without Grunt noticing. Second, I need to wear something other than a white straitjacket. Releasing the metal post, I crawl on my belly toward the driver’s seat. On the floor beside it is a jacket, which might contain a gun, a phone, or both.

“Are you alright?” I ask Grunt.

He tilts his head in my direction before turning his attention back to the road. “Just a flesh wound.”

I rise to my knees to get a better look through the windshield. We’re on a long highway, surrounded by woodland. In between the trees on the left are snatches of the sea, shimmering in the sunlight. If I can exit somewhere here, I could hide in the woods until I hear the police returning from the asylum.

“What’s our next move?” I shuffle toward him, so I’m kneeling on his jacket.

“What do you mean?” Grunt snarls, that infernal mask still stuck to his face.

“Told you. Men like him are followers,” Xero says.

Ignoring him, I ask, “This is an island, right? How do we leave it?”

Grunt’s shoulders rise to his ears. “Don’t worry about that. I have a plan.”

“He doesn’t,” Xero says.

Then it’s a good thing I do. Moving forward, I tuck the jacket toward my feet, so it’s completely hidden from his view.

“Can I take a seat, please?” I ask.

“Sure,” Grunt mutters, not taking his eyes off the road.

I turn around and rise to my feet, clutching Grunt’s jacket to my chest. One glance over my shoulder tells me he’s already dismissed me as harmless. I turn back, my gaze fixed on the emergency handle in the middle of the bus and just a few seats within my grasp.

Outside, the scenery on the left changes from woodland to sparse trees surrounding a rugged coastline. The ocean stretches out as far as I can see, with a boat gliding on the water. It’s sleek, sporty, and slicing through the waves in our direction.

My heart thrashes. If I could stow away or even get close, this might be my ticket off the island.

Xero nudges my shoulder. “Go.”

I slip into the seat adjacent to the emergency exit, shrug on the jacket, and zip it up to my chin. Grunt is still driving, seeming oblivious of my plans.

With trembling fingers, I reach for the emergency handle and pull. The door releases with a pneumatic hiss, letting in a rush of sea air. Time slows as I hesitate to take a deep breath before taking my leap to freedom.

Just as I’m about to jump, Grunt swerves the bus, making me tumble backward. The doors snap shut with a metallic clang, the brakes screech, and the bus comes to a halt.

“Amethyst!” Xero yells.

My gaze snaps to the side. Grunt rises from the driver’s seat and charges toward me, his features twisting with fury behind his mask.