"Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another."
— Lemony Snicket

Twelve's hands shook as she unlocked the door. The door to… to what? It was all a question, starting now. No certainties. She was opening the iron bars, slowly, carefully, to avoid being heard, and that was an action that just might kill her.

But she was being dramatic.

It was just a door.

Emmerson was waiting next to it, just inside, one arm wrapped around Willow's shoulder. They were both so tiny. Just kids, Twelve thought, as she pushed the cart inside. And yet they were both five times as old as her, maybe more.

"Quick, quick," Willow muttered as they lifted her, her head lolling to one side and revealing an ugly burn across her neck, and lowered her into a large bucket that under normal circumstances would be used to hold soapy water. Twelve had been careful to punch air holes in inconspicuous places, but there was still a little worry as she fitted the lid on top. But no, no… it wouldn't be for very long.

Biting her lip, Emmerson crawled onto the bottom shelf, under the pile of rags. It took Twelve several minutes to arrange everything over her. Several long, agonizing minutes in which she imagined everything all falling apart, Lord Lars coming down to see what they were doing…

"I hate this." The whisper came from under the detergent.

Twelve just nodded, heart in her mouth. It had been three days of planning just to get this far, and they couldn't—her heartbeat would practically give them away—

First she had had to meet Fifteen, Ten and Six in the closet. And explained everything she'd been hiding. About her father, about the meeting in the garden, about Dr. Kunhyi—everything. Still, it had taken a lot to convince them to go.

Not least because the others might be tortured in their stead. Or because while they lived rather miserable existences here, it all seemed good in the light of the unknown. At least it was predictable. But they went, because they wanted to go as much as she did. Maybe more.

Because even she wasn't sure that this was the right decision because—

You're not afraid, Adrienne. Stuff it.

The cart was heavy, so heavy, slower than she was used to as she pushed it onto the small lift. Twelve had the random urge to pray, to make promises she wouldn't keep, like when she was younger— if you get us out of here I'll never be scared again… I'll go do whatever I need to do just please let us all live—there would be no one listening who was on her side.

The other three were scrubbing the kitchen table when she arrived.

"I have more water." Her voice made everyone jump. The tension was thick, so thick. They wouldn't be able to cut it with a knife. Maybe a chainsaw.

It had taken a lot of convincing to let them get Night Shift together, but if the others were suspicious they hadn't let on.

Breathe, Twelve. Breathe.

Six, Ten and Fifteen eyed the cart with a sort of reverence as they made their way through the rooms- the ornate boudoir, the entrance hall—that they had been cleaning for five years, that, if they were lucky, the would never see again. And then there was the front door. Beautifully decorated, firmly closed.

Fifteen began to polish the knob. Heart thudding faster—this is it, there's no turning back now, your dad is waiting, you're not scared—she leaned forward, towards the cart. A whisper. "Going down the stairs might hurt a little. It's going to bump."

A soft snort was just audible under the rags. "Have no fear. Me an' Pain are BFFLs."

The urge to laugh at the fact that Eden Emmerson had said BFFL—even sarcastically— was quickly lost once Fifteen took out the tool the Olympians had given them and. Pressed the thin metal rod up against the door. His knuckle turned white as he pressed the button.

Thunk.

The lock disappeared, blown outside somewhere, lying on the steps. But there wasn't time to wait to see if Lars had heard—Fifteen and Ten pushed the doors open as quietly as they could.

Twelve clenched her fingers around the cart.

Fifteen turned and smiled at her—that enthusiastic smile that he hadn't lost in five years as a slave— and ran down the steps into the night. Twelve followed, cart jolting and thumping and bouncing and not being quiet at all as the cleaning supplies rolled every which way.

And there was her father, beckoning them over a few feet away, a small battery powered tool in hand. They wouldn't' be able to go far without it.

Twelve pushed the cart over then offered her ankle, jumping as the vibration shocked her leg. The metal cuff broke off in miniscule fragments, shooting little bits off into the garden. The boy—Peter?—was doing the same for Fif, and Twelve could just barely see Dawn's shadow pulling Willow from the bucket. It was too dark to see her expression, too dark to see the extent of Willow's injuries.

We're here, we're here, we're getting away…

"Come on, come on…" Greg muttered. "Ha!" The cuff split, two half shells lying on the grass.

"The second it gets colder it's going to scre—"

There was another crash of falling cans as Eden rolled off the cart and onto the dirt.

"Dawn—"

"Can you walk?" Dawn, already supporting Willow with one arm, knelt next to her. "Eden?' desperation was clear in her voice.

Twelve checked the windows. They'd made more than enough noise to wake Lord Lars and Dr. Kunhyi up by now. Well, maybe not the Doctor because he was a heavy sleeper—

Ohmygodohmygod. Fifteen grabbed Twelve's hand as Greg started cutting his anklet, as though to make sure she wasn't going to go off without him. As though she could.

!

What was left of Twelve's cuff began screaming, a high pitched shrieking sound that would also have set off a flashing light in Lars's room.

"Run!" Peter slammed down on the saw, scraping Ten's ankle as he forced the metal off of it. A second longer and Fif too was free, and they were running—

Was Twelve dragging Fif or was it the other way around? Did it matter? No more thoughts of tunnels in the hedge, no thoughts of the original plan. It was just running, and terror, pure terror…

They both fell behind a bush, landing with their arms and legs tangled, on top of—

"Ow!" How had Peter gotten there ahead of them? (Obvious, Twelve. He's a far more fit hero who has been training for his whole ruddy life.)

"Sorry."

It took a second to realize that Eden was crouching behind him. A little demoralizing to be slower than a Hunter with a dislocated knee. And Twelve looked for the others, but they weren't there—weren't standing in the garden, either.

"Where are—"

"Down!"

Feet pounding through the house had come out on the stairs. Lars in his night clothes, sword in hand. Staring out at his screaming garden. His eyes fell to the cuffs, the half-cuffs, and the snarl made Twelve's bones go cold. "Property can't run away," he said, walking forward slowly. "You're not getting far."

"I'm going to kill you," Eden breathed, good hand clenching a stick as though it were a sword. "Gods, I wish I could shoot—'

"Well," Peter whispered back, though his voice was hardly audible over the screaming siren, "you could always get a bow, loop it around his head, and yank at such an angle that it cuts his throat."

Eden didn't smile, and he sighed.

"Can't you just—"

"No."

"But you did it at—"

"I can't anymore."

Lars studied the abandoned cuffs, but if he could tell anything in the dark, she didn't know. She had the feeling that being awoken at two in the morning was slowing down his reflexes.

How long would they be stuck here, waiting? This wasn't part of the plan. The plan had just been to run, to run once the cuffs were off, so why had instinct driven them all into hiding?

Because it had taken longer than they thought it would? Because they were all running on some sort of high, knowing they were this close to achieving their goal?

"I know you're out there," Lars yelled a little louder. "You're scared of me, aren't ya. I know…"

There was a promise of blood in his voice.

"Whadya mean gone?' Peter whispered. Twelve wanted to ask him to be quiet, but she didn't they'd appreciate a slave telling them what to do.

"I mean gone. If it was there I would have been able to stop him from—" Eden froze as Lars charged a bush. "No."

Dawn dove out from behind it as his sword cut through nothing. Willow crawled after her.

Lars stared at the smaller Hunter for a moment, and his shout of range could probably be heard in Yakima and Pierce County as he put two and two together. Realized that his slaves weren't just running away—they'd turned on him.

":Peter," Eden hissed. "Give me your sword."

"You can't even stand! If anyone behind this bush is doing the fighting it's me."

No. Where was her father, where were Six and Ten? If they died—this was the worst idea she'd ever had even though she hadn't been the one that had actually had it. She should have stayed in her nice safe bed, should have just let herself be ruled by the crazy person. Should have let Eden Emmerson die, and maybe she would have from an inside point of view been able to collect valuable information for the Olympians. Instead she was here, she was here, and—

And her father rose behind Lars like a shadow, throwing him back—Lord Lars flailed—

And more figures shot from behind the bush. Running, running to where the others were. Dawn and Willow and Six flung themselves down next to them, shaking. There were tears in Six's eyes? It was hard to tell. Fifteen's breathing was ragged in Twelve's ear, as Lars pressed a button on his wrist. Within seconds, the chopping of a helicopter could he heard overhead.

Dad, kill him!

(Had she just wished Lord Lars dead?)

(Did that make her a bad person?)

(What was she—)

The helicopter droned, and Greg bolted, leaving Lord Lars lying on the ground. Running towards them, and Peter resumed hacking a hole in the hedge.

But—"Where's Ten?" Twelve whispered, voice hardly working. Heart beating faster than she could think.

Lars was stumbling towards them as well, and Peter began sawing faster, Dawn unable to shoot as she tried to keep Willow from falling—

They had seconds-

And Ten's eyes reflected the light as she crouched behind the bush, the one that Lars was standing next to, looking around…

"We have to help her," Twelve said desperately. Everyone's eyes went to Eden, as though by habit, something so ingrained in their psyche that they'd never do differently like she had been the mastermind behind the rescue and not the one that needed the help.

"We have to go," the lieutenant said. "if we're going to make it back."

The hole was just small enough that someone would be able to climb through…

He's going to catch Ten. He's going to torture her for information like he did the Olympians and when he realizes she doesn't have any he'll use her as an example—

Like Seven—

"We can take him," Fifteen said. "There's more of us and he's hurt."

"Not the copters. We can't take the damn copters. We need to go."

"But—"

"Run," Eden was saying as Greg reached them. "Ready? On three—"

Ten. Ten who she'd known for years. Ten who had put up with everything. And Twelve was scared, so scared, and her heart was telling her one thing and her feet another as she turned to run…

"If it was Willow you'd go back." The words slipped out of her before she could stop them. Eden's leg gave way under her as she sat back down.

"Yes." It was a fact. No emotion in her voice. "but she's not, she's just a—"

And Ten screamed. Lars, dragging her out of the bush, and Ten was kicking and clawing at him but she was just a slave and he was a warrior and she had no chance.

"Ten!" And it was Six, Six who turned back. Six who ran towards her. Twelve looked at Eden, who was opening her mouth to protest, and she didn't know what made her do it but she was running after Six, and Fif was next to her as she half dragged him, half running, she didn't even know if she was still armed, where was her knife—

But it didn't matter because he came, of course he came, (later she could maybe tell herself that she had planned it to be that way, made Emmerson help them,) because he wasn't going to leave her, not now. And then the order came from behind: "Peter, cover him!" And everyone was charging, three unarmed slaves and two very deadly rebels. An arrow flew over Twelve's shoulder, missing her—and Lars, a few seconds later—by inches.

And Ten was pulling against Lord Lars, kicking him again, and Lars let go of her, raising his sword—

And it was Six who was running at him, and Twelve could hardly think through the terror as Ten scampered off—

Six's kitchen knife snapped at one blow from the sword, and she stumbled. Twelve didn't have time to realize what they had gotten into before Peter was there, another sword, and then her father—

And she had never seen him in battle before, and it was as though he were a stranger—

And Fifteen tugged at her, and she realized that her hands were locked around his fingers like iron, and it took a few tries before she let go. And then he was running to Six, and Twelve was following, and Six was rocking back and forth on the ground holding her shoulder and even in the dark they could see the blood dripping through her fingers—

"Adrienne! Guys! Move!"

Twelve pulled Six to her feet and then they were stumbling back as the first arrows fell, sticking almost comically out of the dirt. The chopper getting lower, and there were figures in it—

And Lars somehow, without armor, was pushing Peter back—

And Eden and Dawn were trying to get Willow through the hole when they returned, and Eden was turning around, yelling something, but Twelve couldn't' hear over the screaming in her head, the arrows—

Arrows, missing them sometimes by feet and sometimes by inches as Dawn sent a few back in desperation, but it just bounced off the side—

"Go through!" Eden snapped. And Twelve was not going to argue, not this time, as she followed Ten and Willow and she could only hope Fifteen was behind her and then they were on the other side of the hedge—

For the second time in a month for such a rare occurrence—

And then Fifteen's head appeared, and she found herself grabbing his shoulder, pulling him out and then Six and—

"Where's Greg and Pete—" Eden began, and there was a yell from behind and Twelve could just see another arrow disappear behind the hedge—

Don't let it have hit them, don't—

But Eden was kneeling by the hole again, and Dawn was grabbing her arm—"You can't even walk—" (and it was obvious that Dawn wasn't letting her sisters leave again—)

(And Twelve wished Eden would just do the zappy-thing and didn't know why she wasn't-)

But there was Peter's head, and then her father, and Dawn whistled, and the choppers shot towards them—

It took Twelve a moment to identify the shapes galloping down them. Horses,three of them, on what had been nicknamed Millionaire Drive, what with the Gates mansion a mile or so away, the place where you were more likely to see porches—

And Dawn was dragging Willow and Eden onto a horse, the later of whom was putting up a little more of a fight as she tried to turn—

Now she's willing to stop—

And Fifteen latched onto Twelve again as Peter passed them, as he swung up onto a white horse, and Greg on the last one.

Twelve shrieked as a rock caught her foot, and she went sprawling, scraping her knees on the pavement—she could just barely see Ten and Twelve climb up behind Peter—

And Fifteen's feet stayed put as he reached out to help her, but she was already getting to her feet, the terror in her mind too thick to dwell on the pain—

And two of the horses took off—

Took off?

But there they were, supported by massive wings, twisting to dodge the arrows, and a few more were coming—

Twelve sped up, though she had no idea where the energy was coming from—

And the horse was cantering towards them, her father reaching out to help them up, hand on his sword and another mass came and Greg grabbed her hand and her feet were off the ground—

And Fifteen screamed, falling, face first into the side of the horse, and Twelve reached out but two larger, more wrinkled hands were there first and he was screaming, screaming, and there were arrows, real live arrows sticking out of his leg, and her father was saying "Porkpie, go!"

Porkpie?

And they were flying.

There wasn't time, when they were running for their lives, when more and more helicopters were amassing above them, when a few bullets, (bullets, weren't those outlawed?) poking holes in the cement, to realize how strange the feeling was.

An arrow flew from the black horse, and Twelve could hear the breaking glass as it went through a window. Porkpie rocked back and forth as he flapped his massive wings, and they were going faster, but there was no way they were going to make it—

Because the whole military had been activated—

And Fifteen was holding his leg and screaming—

And arrows, so many arrows, were going towards them—

This was the worst idea I ever had was Twelve's only thought as she braced for the impact of—

Nerf darts?

A massive hawk, with a wingspan equal to the horse's, dove low overhead, massive talons extending. And as it reached the first copter, it crumbled into dust, the mortals falling, screaming as they hit the ground.

"Knew she'd show up sooner or later, with her Hunters in danger," Greg muttered. "I'd rather it had been sooner."

Twelve barely heard him as with someone else managing the danger she turned to Fifteen—

Fif—

"It' hurts," he groaned, sliding backwards a little. She had to hold onto both his arms to keep him from falling off as she turned to his leg, and her stomach clenched. Blood. Blood, blood and torn flesh—

"You'll be okay." It was the only thing she could manage. "You'll be okay, it'll be okay. Oh my god oh my god you'll be fine you'll—" (This was the moment where she was supposed to say something meaningful, something inspiring and dramatic but she couldn't manage anything besides it's ok.)

The city lights winked behind them, and the hawk again flew overhead, and more of the helicopters fell, and maybe Twelve was only imagining the cackles of delight—

"Where's Lord—" they probably wouldn't' appreciate the term— "Where's Kunhyi?" His last name tasted strange on her tongue.

"Not dead," Greg said bitterly.

The horse rocked again, and she held onto Fif tighter, as much to keep herself on as him. She'd never ridden a horse, especially not backwards, not with two other people, especiallynot a flying one. It was so weird, to be far above the ground without an airplane window.

Then again, her dad was sitting next to her. And they weren't dead.

If that could happen, she thought vaguely, why couldn't horses fly as well?

O-o

Oh look! Blog post! The word was snow: . com. –shameless plug-

Also, I got my nano account back, thanks to the super helpful tech people. I love them.

Nien—I hate you. See a PM for further details.

Rider of the Winds—it's not a story if everyone is dead.

Emily—is that good or bad?

Hayley—yeah… well, Lars hasn't figured it out yet, so luckily…

HP- Greg's super careful like that. I meant to add a reference earlier but I forgot. And yeah… ever had that feeling where your mind freezes up and all you can think of is a person and a face and that's when they were alive and so you can't understand how it's not like that now? And the "male genitalia" (you're allowed to say penis, you know) idea is a good one. Damn. I so should have thought of that first.

Biblio—well it sounds realistic-ish… and no, not more torture, at least for now. And there wasn't as much blood as I'd planned on mostly because I chickened out of doing something I was planning on. (See "why I hate Shrrgnien" for more details) .

You Know Who—soda water maker? :D and yeah, I got them back tho. I love the nano people. Yeah that was funny. "Morning." And that quote reminds me of Oedipus for some reason but tha's probably just 'cause I'm a nerd.

Tony—true, but she can make my life hell :D

Ana—actually, you will. : )