Lily gripped the pistol again. The sound of the safety being released was deafening in the silence.
“There’s an exit through the drainage tunnel. It leads to the river. You have to go, Mom. I’ll keep them busy.”
“No way,” I said, and my voice sounded firmer than I felt. “I’m not going to leave you. If we go out, we go out together.”
—Mom, they’re trained killers. You don’t stand a chance.
I remembered the sensation of the stapler hitting the Observer’s temple. I remembered the fury I felt when I saw the photos on the wall.
“I may not have training, Lily,” I said, searching in the darkness until my hand closed around the iron bar they used to bar the door. “But I have something they don’t.”
-The fact that?
—I have my daughter. And nobody touches my daughter.
The wooden ceiling creaked violently, and with a crash, the entrance trapdoor was ripped off its hinges. A blinding beam of light flooded the basement, followed by a smoke grenade that rolled across the floor.
“Down!” Lily shouted.
We threw ourselves to the ground as the acrid gray smoke filled the space. I coughed, covering my mouth with my sleeve.
Two figures descended into the basement wearing gas masks and carrying assault rifles. They moved with machine-like precision.
—Subject 1. Surrender and the civilian’s death will be swift—said a voice distorted by the mask.
Lily shot.
The blast was brutal in the confined space. One of the men grunted and clutched his shoulder, taking a step back. The other opened fire, but Lily had already rolled behind the metal table, pulling me down with her. Bullets whizzed past the electronic equipment, sending sparks flying.
“Cover me!” Lily shouted at me.
“With what?” I squealed.
—With whatever!
The unharmed man was advancing toward us. I saw his black boots circle the table. He was going to execute us.
I didn’t think. Animal instinct took over. I grabbed one of the heavy computer CPUs lying on the floor and, taking advantage of the smoke obscuring my vision, I stood up and threw it with all my might across the table.
The computer hit the soldier in the chest, knocking him off balance for a second. It was enough.
Lily stood up and fired two more shots. The man fell to the ground, motionless.
But the first one, the one who had been wounded in the shoulder, had recovered. He raised his rifle, pointing it directly at Lily’s chest.
“No!” I shouted.
I lunged at him with the iron bar. The man turned the rifle barrel toward me, but I was faster, driven by a desperation no military training could replicate. I struck the rifle barrel, deflecting the shot that pierced the concrete wall, and then brought the bar down on his helmet. The man collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
Silence returned to the basement, broken only by our gasps and the ringing in my ears.
Lily was staring at me, mouth open, the gun hanging from her hand.
—Wow, Mom—he murmured.
“Wash your face,” I said, throwing the bar to the floor, my hands trembling uncontrollably. “We’re leaving.”
We left the mill and headed into the cold night. There were no more pursuers nearby; those two must have been the vanguard. But we knew more would come.
We ran toward the river, where Lily said Leo had hidden an old boat. As we paddled downstream, away from the suburban lights, my house, my mortgage, Mrs. Greene, and my old life, I watched Lily throw her phone into the dark water.
“And now what?” she asked, her voice small and fragile again. She snuggled up to me, seeking warmth.
I hugged her, feeling the weight of the gun in her pocket against my hip. I looked back at the life we were leaving behind. I knew they would come looking for us. I knew Project Chrysalis wouldn’t stop. But they had made a fatal miscalculation.
They had tried to eliminate my empathy, my maternal bond, believing that would make me weak. They didn’t understand that a mother’s love isn’t just gentleness and hugs. It’s also teeth, claws, and primal violence when her offspring are threatened.
“Now,” I said, gazing into the darkness of the river that carried us toward an uncertain future, “we’re going to find the other parents. We’re going to find Leo and Sarah. And then…”
Lily looked up, waiting for my decision.
“Then we’ll stop running,” I concluded, feeling a new, cold determination settle in my chest. “They wanted to create weapons, Lily. Well, they’ve succeeded. Only now, the weapon is pointed at them.”
Lily smiled. It was a sad, tired smile, but genuine. She rested her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes.
The water gently rocked us as the current carried us away, into darkness, into war, into our new life. We were no longer Olivia and Lily, the divorced mother and the model student. We were survivors. And we were together.
[END]
The sound of the wooden floorboards creaking on the stairs was the only thing that broke the silence after Lily’s whisper. One, two, three pairs of feet. Maybe four. The weight of each step echoed on the floorboards like a hammer blow straight to my nerves. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to merge with the floor, praying that the dust accumulated under the bed frame wouldn’t make me sneeze and give away my position.
“Are you sure he won’t come back?” a male voice asked. It sounded young, in the throes of puberty, with that fragile tone that oscillates between deep and high.
“I’ve already told you, Leo.” Lily’s voice was different from the one I knew. There was no sweetness, no hesitation typical of adolescence. It was cold, sharp, authoritarian. “Mom’s like clockwork. She starts work at eight, has her break at twelve, and doesn’t walk through that door until five-thirty. Stop whining.”
I felt a sudden wave of nausea. Was that my daughter? The little girl who had asked me to make her hot chocolate the night before because she was cold?
The footsteps reached the landing and, to my horror, turned directly toward her room. Toward where I was.
I saw the first shoes enter my field of vision, limited by the bed frame. Black sneakers, worn and caked with dried mud. Then, military-style boots, much too big for whoever was wearing them. And finally, Lily’s immaculate white sneakers. The ones I had bought her myself two weeks ago as a reward for her good grades.
“Close the door,” Lily ordered.
The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot. Now she was trapped. If they looked under the bed, there was no escape. No window was open, no possible excuse.
“Get him out. I want to see him,” Lily said. She sat on the edge of the bed, right above my head. The mattress dipped slightly, pressing against my shoulder. I could smell her perfume, a blend of vanilla and strawberry, the same innocent scent as always, but now mixed with the acrid stench of fear emanating from my own pores.
Leave a Comment