Page 8 of Remnants
“Can you teleport?” I add, prioritizing that need over anything else.
He curses and struggles to push himself upright. “Ah! What—” He reaches back and winces when he touches the open wound on his back. I may have blocked the worst of it, but that just kept him alive. I’m sure every movement, every drawn breath, is painful for him right now.
I step up in front of him, flipping his two-point dagger in the air and catching it by the blade, then offer the handle to him.
He looks at it. Looks at me. Then takes it. “Yeah. I can teleport.”
I nod, my respect for him increasing. It’s going to hurt like hell, but he’ll do it for the others because we need him.
“Good. We need to make a stop first with him”—Aiden gestures at Gordon— “so GE doesn’t get their hands on him. Then to the bunker. We’ll get Cassandra to heal you as soon as we can once we know what’s happening there.”
Reid doesn’t waste any time, even though his face is pinched with pain. “Someone grab him and hold on.”
Aiden swivels his head to where Thorne had been held captive by the cuffs and chains. “Wait.” He runs to grab the gift-blocking cuffs, using his gift to drop the metal chains from them, then returns to our sides. “Now.”
I grip Gordon since I’m closest, and then Reid with my other hand.
And then we’re gone.
Chapter four
Raegan
Thehallwayopenstoa massive room. It’s the main area that’s two stories tall and overlooks the hangout area, filled with tables surrounded by trees and vines.
Screaming from below sends my heart catapulting from my chest.
Children’s screams.
The kids we’d saved from GE. They wouldn’t...
Dane takes the stairs at the railing three at a time, jumping to the short landings when he’s near enough. I’m right behind him like a shadow, keeping pace and sticking close. We hit the bottom where the stairs end in the middle of the lower floor and race toward the two groups facing off.
Bright red curls stand out in front of the children, a knife in one hand and a gun in the other. Cassandra’s body shakes, but she doesn’t back down. One of the people standing opposite her slips a foot forward, and she immediately points the gun at him.
“Don’t move!” she shouts, her arm quivering with fear. “I’ll shoot.”
The children are huddled and clutching each other, crying or shaking with fear.
“Don’t let them take us!” a little girl wails.
“I want to go home!”
“Miss Claudia! Miss Claudia!”
“I’m scared!”
The woman who’d stepped forward hesitates, but I can see some of the others readying to test Cassandra as they creep forward. It’s one against four, and she looks like she may collapse after firing her first bullet.
“Cassandra!” I call out, letting that group know she’s got reinforcements before they get too confident. She spins, her arm with the gun swinging at me. I catch it and ease the gun from her grip. “It’s okay. We’ll take it from here,” I offer reassuringly.
That’s when I see the knife sticking out where her shoulder and collarbone meet.
She wasn’t shaking from fear.
It was pain. Maybe blood loss.
“Don’t remove it,” she mumbles, then pitches forward, taking us both to the ground.
