His handsome face is transformed by rage into that of an avenging god. “We would’ve made it!” he grits between his teeth to me. “You’ve just killed us.”
“You were stupid to come after me!” I retort as I wiggle from between the crate and the wall, holding up my bloody hands so no one shoots me.
“You just pulled off our mutually assured destruction!”
“Nothing about the future is assured!” I counter.
He gets to within a few feet of me when he’s hit with another surge of electricity. Bright yellow current infiltrates him, running over his flesh and dropping him to his knees once more.
When he raises his hands in the direction of the soldiers, I interject, “Don’t fight them, Giffen!” Rafe soldiers dot me with their blue laser scopes. I kneel, putting my hands to the back of my head.
“I should’ve killed you,” he pants as he struggles to put his hands behind his head.
“I know the feeling,” I murmur, as soldiers approach us.
CHAPTER 4
BLEEDING OUR COLORS
Our hands are shackled with cuffs and then sprayed with foam. When the foam hardens, a soldier approaches Giffen with a black pillowcase-like bag in his hand, preparing to toss it over Giffen’s head. They want him blind. Giffen’s intelligent eyes stare at the soldier for a long moment. The black bag is torn from the soldier’s grasp and thrown over the soldier’s face. A malicious smile touches Giffen’s lips. “Hit him again!” says one of the soldiers. Giffen is struck with another long jolt of electricity that makes him drop to the ground face-first in an unconscious heap.
“Hold still!” The order comes from behind me. I don’t move. My face is covered with the same type of blackout fabric, rendering me blind.
Pulled to my feet, I’m stuffed into a hover vehicle, pressed between the broad shoulders of the soldiers assigned to guard me. One of them thrusts something hard against my ribs, making my teeth clench in pain. He says near my ear, “Give me a reason to kill you.” I don’t make a sound, pretending not to have heard him.
I breathe in shallow breaths as we begin to move. The bag is soft on my face, pulling against my nose and mouth every time I breathe in too deeply. It’s hot too and it smells like the mouthwash I used this morning. As we move, I’m grateful for the smoothness of the air propelling this vehicle, because every little breath I take now is a stab of pain to my ribs. I have no sense of where we’re going, other than that it feels like we’re moving downward at several points in all the twists and turns that we make.
Finally, the transport comes to a stop. I’m ushered out of the vehicle; a large hand seizes my elbow, and I’m pulled almost off my feet. I try not to make a sound. I’m made to walk at a clipped pace until we reach some sort of checkpoint. A male voice says, “This is her, Rutledge?”
“It is,” replies the one holding me.
“She’s so little! How did she overpower an overup full of Brigadets?” he asks.
“She’s a priestess, Coda. She can probably melt you with her hideous face.”
“I’ve seen her face on the holovision. It’s not hideous.”
“She’s a murderess,” Rutledge accuses. His grip is painful on my already bruised upper arm.
“You believe the rumor that she killed Minister Vallen?”
“She tried to kill Minister Telek too,” Rutledge grits out in anger. “What cell is she in?”
“This way,” Coda says, all business now.
I’m yanked forward again, my feet making clicking noises against what sounds like a metal grate floor. We pause here and there for heavy security doors and the distinct sound of laser security walls being disabled.
The temperature in the place drops several degrees, so if they intend to put me on ice, they really mean it. The space begins to feel cavernous—infinite. The metal grate beneath my feet echoes our footsteps. When we pause once more, I’m pushed forward into a space where the sounds around me muffle. The hand on my arm releases me. I startle as a cold trickle of liquid runs over my imprisoned fingers, dissolving the foam shell on them. “Don’t move,” Rutledge orders. He removes the metal shackles, allowing my arms to go free. I lift one wrist with my hand, rubbing the circulation back into my fingers. When someone behind me pulls the blackout bag from my face, I squint against the glare of light coming from the walls, ceiling, and floor. With a cursory glance around, I note that I’m in a honeycomb-shaped cell—a hexagon. A metal cot platform juts out from the wall, a metal sink is near it, and a metal toilet is hidden in back behind a small partition. When I look over my shoulder, the soldiers who brought me here are retreating.