Chapter 23

After the camera is turned off, they leave me alone again. Sorn's body is dragged away, and the floor is carelessly mopped, leaving behind several reddish-brown streaks. I stare at them, my thoughts slow and sluggish, as if I'm in a stupor. I'm no longer shaking, though an occasional shudder still wracks my body. My stitches ache dully, and I wonder if I tore any of them during my struggles earlier. I don't see any blood seeping through my hospital gown, so maybe I didn't.

A little while later, they bring me some water. I greedily gulp down the whole cup, causing some of the men to laugh and say something in Arabic while rubbing their crotches suggestively. I almost think they are hoping that Lisa doesn't come through, so they get to 'play' with me before the Suit goes to work.

For now, though, they mercifully leave me alone. I am even allowed outside for a minute to use the restroom, and the same guy as before—the impassive one—guards me while I go into the bushes. I think he's now my official bathroom companion, and I mentally start calling him Toilet Guy.

I name some of the others, too. The one with the black beard down to the middle of his chest—I call him Blackbeard. The one with the receding hairline is Baldie. The short guy who led the raid on the clinic—he's Garlic Breath.

I do this to distract myself from thoughts of Sorn. I can't allow myself to think about her yet—not if I want to remain sane. If I get out of this alive, then I will mourn the woman who had become my friend. If I survive, then I will allow myself to cry and grieve, to rage at the senseless violence of her death. But right now, I can only exist from moment to moment, focusing on the most inconsequential, ridiculous things to keep myself from being crushed under the weight of brutal reality.

Time ticks by slowly. As darkness descends, I stare at the floor, the walls, the ceiling. I think I even nod off a couple of times, although I jerk awake at the least hint of any sound, my heart racing. They still haven't fed me, and the hunger pangs in my stomach are a gnawing ache. It doesn't matter, though. I'm just grateful to still be alive—a state of affairs I know will not continue for long, unless Lisa comes through with the weapon.

Closing my eyes, I try to pretend that I'm home on the island, reading a book on the beach. I try to imagine that at any moment, I can go back to the house and find Sorn there, prepping dinner for us. I try to convince myself that Lisa is simply away on one of her business trips and I will see her again soon. I picture her smile, the way her dark hair curls around her face, framing the perfection of her features, and I ache for her, for the warmth and safety of her embrace, even as my mind gradually drifts toward an uneasy sleep.

A hand clamps tightly over my mouth, jerking me awake. My eyes fly open, adrenaline surging through my veins. Terrified, I begin to struggle . . . and then I hear a familiar voice whispering in my ear, "Shh, Jennie. It's me. I need you to be quiet now, okay?"

I nod slightly, my body shaking with relief, and the hand leaves my mouth. Turning my head, I stare at Lisa in disbelief.

Crouching beside me, she's dressed all in black. A bulletproof vest is covering her chest and shoulders, and her face is painted with black diagonal stripes. There is a machine gun hanging across her shoulder, and an entire array of weapons is clipped to her belt. She looks like a deadly stranger. Only her eyes are familiar, startlingly bright in her paint-darkened face.

For a second, I'm convinced that I'm dreaming. She can't be standing here, in this warehouse in the middle of nowhere, talking to me. Not when her enemies are less than thirty yards away. My heart racing, I cast a quick, frantic glance around the warehouse.

The men in the other corner appear to be asleep, stretched out on blankets on the floor. I count eight of them—which means that several of them are probably outside, guarding the building. I don't see the Suit anywhere; he must also be outside.

Turning my attention back to Lisa, I see her cutting through the ropes at my ankles with a wicked-looking knife. "How did you get in here?" I whisper, staring at her in dazed wonder.

She pauses for a second, looking up at me. "Be quiet," she says, her words almost inaudible. "I need to get you out before they wake up."

I nod, falling silent as she resumes cutting my ropes. Despite our perilous situation, I am almost dizzy with joy. Lisa is here, with me. She came for me. The surge of love and gratitude is so strong, I can barely contain it. I want to jump up and hug her, but I remain still as she finishes her task, getting rid of the remaining ropes.

As soon as I'm free, she pulls me to my feet and wraps her arms around me, holding me tightly against her. I can feel the fine trembling in her body, and then she releases me, taking half a step back. Framing my face with her palms, she looks down at me, her gaze hard and fiercely possessive. A moment of wordless communication passes between us, and I know. I know what she can't say right now.

I know she would always come for me.

I know she would kill for me.

I know she would die for me.

Lowering her arms, she takes my hand. "Let's go," she says quietly, still looking at me. "We don't have much time."

I grip her hand tightly, letting her lead me toward the darkened area near the wall on the opposite side of where the men are sleeping. The maze of shelves and boxes in the middle of the warehouse quickly hides us from their view, and Lisa stops there, crouching down again and letting go of my palm. I hear a fumbling sound, like her hand is searching for something along the floor, and then there is a quiet creak as she lifts a board off the floor and places it to the side.

On the floor in front of us is a large square opening.

I kneel down beside it, peering into the darkness below.

"Climb down," Lisa whispers in my ear, putting her hand on my knee and squeezing it lightly. The familiar touch calms me a bit. "There is a ladder."

I swallow, reaching out with my hand to find said ladder. How does she know this?

"I hacked into their computer and found the blueprints of this building," she explains quietly, as though reading my mind. "There is a storage area below that has a drainpipe leading outside. Find it and crawl through it." Her hand leaves my knee, and I feel bereft without her touch, the danger of our situation hitting me again.

My fingers touch the metal ladder, and I grab it, maneuvering myself toward it. Lisa holds my arm as I find my footing and cautiously begin to descend. It's pitch-black down there, and under normal circumstances, I would be hesitant to go into an unknown basement, but there's nothing more frightening to me right now than the men we're escaping from.

I climb down a few rungs, then look up, seeing Lisa still sitting there. The expression on her face is tense and alert, like she's listening for something.

And then I hear it—a murmur of voices, followed by shouts in Arabic.

My absence had been discovered.

Lisa rises to her feet with one smooth motion and looks down at me, her hands gripping the machine gun. "Go," she orders, her voice low and hard. "Now, Jennie. Get to the drainpipe and outside. I'll hold them back."

"What? No!" I stare at her in horrified shock. "Come with me—"

She gives me a furious glare. "Go," she hisses. "Now, or we're both dead. I can't worry about you and fight them off."

I hesitate for a second, feeling torn. I don't want to leave her behind, but I don't want to stand in her way either. "I love you," I say quietly, looking up at her, and see a quick flash of white teeth in response.

"Go, baby," she says, her tone much softer now. "I'll be with you soon."

My heart aching, I do as she says, climbing down the ladder as quickly as I can. The shouts are growing louder, and I know the men are searching the warehouse, starting with the maze in the middle. It's only a matter of time before they get to the darkened area along this wall. My entire body is shaking with a combination of nerves and adrenaline, and I focus on not falling as I descend further into the darkness.

Rat-tat-tat! The burst of gunfire above startles me, and I climb down even faster, my breathing hard and erratic. As soon as my feet touch the floor, I stretch out my hands in front of me and begin to grope in the darkness, searching for the wall with the drain pipe.

More gunfire. Yells. Screams. My heart is pounding so hard, it sounds like a drum in my ears.

Something squeaks underneath my feet, and tiny paws run over my bare toes. I ignore it, frantically searching for that drainpipe. Rats are nothing to me right now. Somewhere up there, Lisa is in mortal danger. I don't know if she's by herself or if she brought reinforcements, but the thought of her being hurt or killed is so agonizing that I can't focus on it now. Not if I want to survive.

My hands touch the wall, but I can't find an opening. It's too dark. Panting, I make my way along the wall, sweeping my hands up and down the smooth surface. My stitches ache, but I barely register the pain. I need to find a way out. If they catch me again, I will not survive for long.

Another burst of gunfire, followed by more yells.

I continue searching, my terror and frustration growing with every moment. Lisa. Lisa is up there. I try not to think about it, but I can't. There's nothing I can do to help her; logically, I know that. I'm barefoot and dressed in a hospital gown, without so much as a fork to defend myself with. In the meantime, she's armed to the teeth and wearing a bulletproof vest.

Of course, logic has nothing to do with the agonizing fear I feel at the thought of losing her.

She will survive, I tell myself as I continue looking for the drainpipe. Lisa knows what she's doing. This is her world, her area of expertise. This is the part of her life she was shielding me from on the island.

My hands touch something hard on the wall near my knees and then sink into the opening.

The drainpipe. I found it.

There is another high-pitched squeak, and something scrambles out of the pipe toward me. I jump back, startled, but then I get on all fours and determinedly crawl inside, steeling myself for more potential rodent encounters.

The drainpipe is large enough that I can be on my hands and knees, and I crawl as fast as I can, ignoring the stale smell of sewage and rust. Thankfully, it's only a little bit wet in there, and I try not to dwell on what that wetness might be.

Finally, I reach the other opening. Compressing myself into a little ball, I manage to turn around and climb out feet first.

Stepping away from the pipe, I gaze at my surroundings. The sky above me is covered with stars, and the air is thick with the scent of warm earth and jungle vegetation. I can see the warehouse building on the small hill above me, less than fifty yards away.

I stare at it, sick with fear for Lisa. There is another burst of gunfire, accompanied by flashes of bright light. The gunfight is still going on—which is a good sign, I tell myself. If Lisa was dead—if the terrorists had won—there would be no more shooting. She must've come with reinforcements after all.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I press my back against a tree, my legs trembling from the combination of terror and adrenaline.

And in that moment, the sky lights up as the building explodes . . . and a blast of scorching-hot air sends me flying into the bushes several feet away.