Alex hated being still. Despite the pain in his back, he hated not moving, not doing anything. This inaction, this silent stillness made him feel on edge, as if he was waiting something to happen. He tensed at every sudden noise, hands twitching and jittering randomly.
The child, Helen, merely cuddled up to his side and slept.
Alex slept little and ate little, choosing to give most of his stale bread and water to Helen, who eagerly eat what he gave. He waited, observed, planned, calculated, with those cold, sharp, emotionless eyes of his, and that discerning intelligent mind. He learnt when the guards changed, where the guards patrolled, which areas were less guarded, anything and everything he could gather.
The plan was finally ready. Everything was in place. All that remained was its execution.
In the dead of the night, (judging from the faltering moonlight that made its way into their cell, and the loud snores of the guard), Alex told Helen the plan, tersely, quietly. She straightened, eyes snapping into focus, immediately losing the sleepy and dazed look. She's doing well, despite what she has got through Alex mused, mouth curling into a mirthless smile.
The next time beef came, both Alex and Helen were ready.
Keys rattled, clicking into the lock, grinding as the rusty lock yielded, opening up. The steel door creaked, as it slowly opened, the stench of vomit and burnt flesh wafting its way up his nose, along with other noises: the scream of other prisoners, the snore of a guard, the billions of other noises one could here in the torture chambers.
The minute beef stepped in, Helen opened her mouth, took a deep breath and screamed. A long keening wail, on and on, so loud that even Alex's ear drums rattled. The sort of wail that made one think of cold, dark things, that sent shivers up one's spine, that reopened past memories and old wounds.
Alex spring into action, taking advantage of beef's pause. A swipe to the legs and a swift punch later, beef was on the floor out cold. Alex grabbed Helen's hand and swiped beef's ring of keys. Ignoring the way his wounds sent lashes of paralyzing pain down his back, and they set of at a run.
—
His arms ached and shook, practically collapsing under the weight of the child in his arms. Despite that, he ran, as fast as he could, swifter than the wind, noiseless and light, the steps of a predator in the dark, dark night. He easily slipped back into being an assassin, each step he took graceful and stealthy, every action swift and sure. His eyes were sharp, cautious, taking in everything, looking out for potential threats. A frantic yell from the distance prompted him to move quicker, for the guards now knew that the two of them had escaped. He raced past corridors, down stairs, past rooms and cells. He sprinted past them all, desperately, to find an exit, a door that led to freedom.
There! Hope bloomed in his chest, a delicate flower, beautiful, shining and bright. He spied a fire escape, rusty, locked, but there. He rushed to it, set Helen down, and started trying the lock with beef's ring of keys. It was going too slowly, too slowly, they were never going to make it. Alex's fingers trembled as he fitted each key into that huge, intimidating padlock, hoping to get lucky. Helen stood beside him, trembling and shivering with fear.
The guards soon found them. That spark of hope, that tiny ember in Alex's chest died out. "put down the keys, turn towards me and put your hands in the air." A guard ordered, the rest pointing their tranquillizer guns at them. No, no, NO! They were so close, freedom was just a hairs breadth away! He crouched slowly, calmly, but the words that came from his mouth were anything but calm. "I will buy you time, try the remaining keys, unlock the door and run. No matter what, don't look back. Use the fire escape to get to the streets, hide somewhere. "the whispered words were anguished and defeated, the words of one prepared to die.
Alex set the keys on the floor and turned. The tension in the air barely eased. The minute the keys touched the ground, Helen snatched them up. Alex gave a roar, the war cry of a desperate soldier's last charge, and fought. He charged the first guard, knocking him out with a swift jab to the neck before taking his handgun. The other guards, momentarily stunned, began to fire their darts. I'm lucky they were ordered not to kill me. Alex thought grimly. A faint cry of relief sounded, followed by the creak of the fire escape door opening. GO HELEN! Alex screamed, voice cracking GO, GO NOW! He redoubled his efforts. Bang bang bang bang! Four guards dropped dead. Once he was out of ammunition, Alex went hand to hand, beginning the deadly dance for his life.
He punched, ducked, kicked, chopped, using every move taught to him in Malagosto, in his karate lessons. Anything to help him win. He moved like a whirlwind, like a tempest. Unforgiving, deadly, harsh. No longer a boy, but an assassin trained by the best. No longer the victim, but a force of nature, completely unstoppable. He barely felt the blows the guards landed on him, fully focused on inflicting damage on the guards.
Soon, all the guards were on the ground, unconscious, dead or groaning. The tranquilizer guns were kicked neatly into a pile, far away from the guards. But not at a cost. Alex stumbled. He had broken an arm, a few ribs and definitely had a concussion. Slowly, he limped off towards the fire escape, adrenaline long gone. He hobbled down the stairs, each breath sending shards of glass into his lungs, shoving jolts of electricity down the broken arm cradled to his chest.
—-
He moved slowly, trying not to jar his broken arm and ribs. Breathing shallowly, feeling like he was going to pass out, he finally reached the streets...and found himself in an alley in a slum. He slumped against a wall. great. Just great. He sighed. Now, not only did he need to deal with his injuries, he also had to avoid the lowlifes: pickpockets, gangsters, the whole lot. Wearily, he staggered into a standing position and went off to search for Helen.
It had been an hour and Helen was still missing. The exhaustion weighed down heavily on him. It threatened to pull him under, to submerge him in the pool of tiredness, bad memories and hopelessness that resided in him. He willed his movements not to be sluggish, willed himself to keep fighting against the chains of weariness, to not give in, to keep fighting. But he didn't know how long he could last.