AN: Thanks again for reading! Many thanks to happymelt for beta-ing, faireyfan for prereading, and midsouthmama (prereader emeritus) for being awesome.

Chapter 15: Mutual Velocity

In the chaos of the evacuation, I'm invisible. As students pour out of the building in their formalwear, I hear some of them hooting seniors! and cheering what they think was a class prank. Others are on their mobiles giving assurances to parents, and then exchanging details with one another about after-parties. Firemen verify that the halls are clear. A line of emergency vehicles fills the street in front of the school, but there's nothing for them to do. I lurk out of reach of the automatic floodlights, keeping an eye out for thugs sent by Aro.

I send a text to Charlie reassuring him. I know he's working a northern route tonight, but he listens to the all-city scanner sometimes.

"What the fuck happened to your dress?"

I spin around and see Rose, Edward's keys in her fist. "It's a long story. All right if I fill you in later?" I reach for the keys, blinking away tears. I wasn't ready for this—saying goodbye without saying goodbye. I can see Edward's car standing near the school's loading dock, hazards flashing.

But she pulls her hand away. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, you know. Just tired. Too much excitement for one night," I say. "As soon as I meet Edward at the next clue drop, I'm ready for sleep."

"The clue drop, huh?" She hands over the keys. She gives me a look that says she's not convinced, but she's humoring me. "Call me tomorrow."

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I race toward Volunteer Park, where the plan calls for me to meet Edward in a certain grove of trees. Many of the city's underground tunnels converge there, including abandoned drainage tunnels that connect to the emergency escape routes from both of our homes.

I weave through residential streets and check my mirror frantically. No one is following me. I must have slipped out just a few minutes ahead of Aro's people.

Edward will be fine getting here on foot or, more likely, on a stolen dirt bike. After the city drained the reservoir at Volunteer Park last month, citing health concerns, it made even more shortcuts available to us. I imagine him under the earth, speeding past graffiti-covered walls, checking the gleaming watch on his wrist.

My tunnel to home tempts me, its entrance hidden in the bushes a few hundred yards from where I'm parked under a drooping tree branch. We have a pack stashed in the woods nearby, so I could theoretically skip the trip home, but what I really need to do is leave a note for Charlie, to try to lessen the chances he'd do something rash. I calculate the risk involved.

The house is being watched, though. I'm sure of it. I decide the odds are good that they're not inside the house, at least; I can just slip in and out through the sub-basement. I'll give myself one minute at the latched entrance. If I can't break in, I'll abort, but I at least need to try. I ditch my sparkly clutch bag under the driver's seat of the car. I'm about to lock the doors when I remember we'll never need this car again; in fact, if the car gets stolen it can only help us by diverting any trackers. I leave the keys on the seat and the doors unlocked. I make sure the OverRyde is secure in my boot and make a dash for it.

I skin my knee scrambling down the dark hatch into my tunnel. I grab the headlamp I stowed on a nail on the earth wall after our test run last week and start picking my way around muddy piles of debris. I have eight minutes to get there and back, then out of the city on whatever combination of motorcycles and jet skis Edward sees fit to "borrow."

More than once, I instinctively reach for my earlobe, wanting to report in with Edward, wanting to hear his voice. Without my phone, I can't even text him, normal person-style, to say I might be late. I won't be late, I tell myself.

In no time, I've made it through to the sub-basement room and up the rickety ladder and am looking at the hatch door in front of me. It budges when I rattle it, but only barely. The heavy bolt holds. I take my hairpin out and wiggle that through the sliver of space, nudging. This is taking too long. I move to wipe my brow; the elastic ribbon of my wrist corsage is not very absorbent.

Suddenly, I hear Miss Violet squeaking and sniffling up above. She hears me.

"Come on girl! Yeah, you found me!" She can definitely paw the area rugs aside. I wonder if she's strong enough to nose the deadbolt open. I begin to hear her whine excitedly. "You can do it!"

By some miracle, the combination of my hairpin and her snout gets the door unlatched, and I heave it open and climb out, scooping her up and shushing her as my eyes scan the basement. I snap my headlamp off.

Upstairs, I toss a few things into a bag—more for the sake of appearances than anything. A favorite T-shirt, the framed picture of my mom.

I scribble a hasty note on a pad on Charlie's dresser. Dad, I'm sorry there wasn't time to explain. Edward needs to be moved and I'm going with him. It's complicated—because of his history. I love him, Dad. I love you, too. Please know that I'm safe where we're going, and happy. Carlisle and Esme will explain. Please take care of Miss V.

I pause for a split second to review variables. Carlisle and Esme's training will ensure they cover for us with him, even if they have to make something up on the spot. It's not in Sundial's interest to complicate matters further by contradicting that, as long as they believe Charlie can't help them find me. Which is true. He'll search, of course. I know he will. But he won't ever find us. Not until it's safe.

Never mind—I can't think about that. It's time to go.

One last thing sends me back into Charlie's room. Wherever we end up, we'll be totally cut off—no Volturi earnings, nothing. Just the clothes on our backs and the getaway bag we've got stashed in a tree in Volunteer Park. When we liquidate our gold bar, we'll be set. Even with a few shavings scraped off of it for our nanoparticle synthesis work, it'll be worth a lot on the black market. Until then, we have a few grand to work with, mostly in Euros and Canadian currency. I recall something Charlie said once about cash in his dresser drawer, and sure enough, there's a bunch of bills stuffed into an envelope marked BELLA JUST IN CASE. It's about three hundred dollars.

And I see something else: his service revolver. Well, hell. I'm already doing the worst possible thing by leaving him. It would take me twenty seconds to pick the trigger lock and load the weapon. But in the end, I decide it would only raise Charlie's alarm, or leave him defenseless if anyone came after him.

Again, more things I can't think about. I make myself deaf to Miss Violet's paws clicking happily on the hardwood floors. I loop her leash around the bannister so she can't give away my whereabouts so easily and make my way down, through, and out. The last thing I do is pack some earth against the paneling separating the bunker from my tunnel. When I detonate it later to block the path, debris won't breach the barrier.

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I'm so eager to see Edward. One thing fills my mind, and it's him. I wish I could say the cure mattered more—all those people. But I'm stressed out, and my mind wants to do a very simple calculus. No Charlie, no Alice and Rose, no thousands of faceless people can figure in. Just him.

When I scramble out of the cluster of bushes that disguise my exit route, I think of him and light the fuse that will gently implode the tunnel. One by one, I'm checking off the steps in our memorized plan. Next: I scan the trees for Edward and a couple of BMX bikes or a motorcycle.

I switch my headlamp off as I march through the sparse grove. The moon is big, and there's plenty of light tonight.

I don't even need it. I hear his soft laughter coming from a few yards away. "Over here, Swan."

I turn toward his voice and feel my pulse start to calm down. His white tuxedo shirt glows in the moonlight and brightens his face. His smile widens. He has our pack on his shoulders. I start moving toward him with long strides, but when I see his head jerk to the right I realize I've heard it, too—the sound of a twig snapping. Just one twig. A lot of twigs snapping could be an animal, but one twig means stealth, and stealth means danger.

"No! Get down, Edward! Snipers!"

I hear more shouting—his voice, other voices—and the crack of gunshots, then the sounds of grunts and a heavy thump. I discover I've closed the distance, and I have him in my arms, but he won't be still.

"Where are you hit?" We're wrestling in the dry leaves until I realize he's trying to cover me with his body. I will myself to go slack and look up to see him pressing his blowgun binoculars to his eyes.

"I'm not. Down, damn it. They aren't done yet."

"Night vision?"

"Yeah." I hear the whistle of a dart ejecting from his blowgun—once, twice—then a sigh of relief. "Got 'em. All clear." He continues peering through the lenses.

The woods are silent for a moment, then we both hear a whimpering noise that turns into a voice I recognize, shouting in agitation.

"Oh, I don't believe this," Edward says, turning his lenses toward the noise.

"That sounds like Rose. Did you shoot Rose?"

"No."

We scramble to our feet and race toward her.

A few yards beyond where two goons are slumped in a heap, Rose is trying to lift Emmett in her arms. His EMT uniform pants are soaked with blood. "Rose! What on Earth?" I follow her glance to the street that borders Volunteer Park, where an ambulance is parked beside Edward's car, the back doors wide open.

"Help me get him in there. He's, um . . . shot. He, like, jumped in front of this crazy guy with a gun."

"I'm okay," Emmett says. He blinks rapidly. "I'll be okay."

"Ah, Christ." Edward stoops next to Emmett and lifts his torso. "Can you each get a leg? Quickly."

He scans our surroundings with his eagle eyes. "Emmett's partner?"

Rose shakes her head. "Went home after the alarm cleared. Shift's over."

The goons are out for the count, but who knows if there are more still to come? We shuffle the few yards and heave Emmett into the ambulance. I slam the doors shut behind all of us. I'm almost blind with rage, knowing my friends have been touched by this senselessness. But I can't even pause to process it. We're too close.

"This needs a tourniquet." Edward reaches a hand under his suit coat, and his face falls when he remembers he's wearing his tux. No belt.

"Hey." I wave my hand in front of his eyes. "Focus. This is an ambulance. They have something better for that."

"Right. Habit."

I follow Emmett's glance to locate the bin that holds elastic hose, which I tie around his thigh.

Rose has her knuckles pressed to her lips. "This is my fault," she says, "because I can't mind my own business. I got him to follow you. I hid my iPhone in Edward's glove box so we could . . . and . . . your keys were just lying there, and you were nowhere . . ."

I know Rose, and she needs a task. "Rose. We have to get him to some help. I can't explain now, but calling it in is not an option. Do you know how to drive this thing?"

"What? I guess so. Maybe. It's, like, a van, right?"

"Exactly. Nothing to it."

Emmett lifts his hip up, his face shining with sweat, so she can fish his keys out of his pocket. He manages a weak smile for her. "You got this. Easy."

She scrambles up to the front, gets behind the wheel, and puts the ambulance in gear. Before she pulls away, she steals a glance out the window. "Are those guys dead? We can't just leave them there."

Edward looks at me, his brow heavy. "Um, no. They're just knocked out." He turns his attention back to Emmett, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm and then uncapping a syringe with his teeth. His voice is calm and cool when he asks Emmett if he has any allergies to morphine. This is more serious than they're letting on, then.

I take a deep breath. "Rose, trust me. We need to move. Now."

She pulls out of the lot, and her face is stony, the way she only looks when she's putting her whole focus into a task. "Who are they, drug dealers? Are you really a narc? What's happening back there, is he okay?"

"Just stopping the bleeding, monitoring vitals. Look, his color is coming back. He's gonna be fine. And no, I'm not a narc."

Emmett winks at Rose, who keeps peering back at him. He whispers in a weak voice, "He knows what he's talking about. Eyes on the road, babe."

I've been gesturing to Rose to show her where to drive. I have a destination in mind, but I'm afraid to say it out loud.

I look at Edward, and he nods. He's thinking what I'm thinking. He looks back and forth between Emmett and me. "The less you know about those men, the better. Listen, we can get you help. But we have to keep it under the radar, understand? Does this bus have GPS? What did you use to follow Rose's phone?"

"The console computer." Emmett gasps.

Edward scrambles up to the passenger seat and wastes no time tearing the computer from its bracket. He tosses it out the window. Emmett doesn't have the strength to do much more than frown.

"Walkie-talkies? How do you get dispatch to hear you?"

"This." Emmett tilts his head to indicate the radio clipped to his shoulder. It's the kind that only transmits when you press the orange button.

"What about this EKG? Does it do wireless data transmits?"

"Only if I ask it to."

"Okay. Rose, can I see that phone of yours?"

Rose hands it over, her face ashen. Edward takes it from her and snaps on the sirens and lights, gesturing silently for her to speed toward the gaps that open up in the road ahead.

Edward will chuck this out the window, too, along with Emmett's phone. But first, he taps in a number, and we all wait while it connects. "Carlisle. I need your help."

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