The Complication (The Program #6)(108)

“Michael,” she calls under her breath.

It’s a horrific sight, and just as I look at Wes to see his reaction, I hear the squeal of tires outside the duplex, cutting through the night air. Shouts, voices.

“No,” Marie says, typing faster on the computer. “I need more time. We need more time!”

They’re here. They’re going to take us. The Program is coming.

I don’t wait for direction. I run out into the kitchen and through the apartment. I take a quick glance out the living room window and see two black cars, a white van, and a beat-up Bronco at the curb. There’s a rush of movement toward the door, and before I can see who it is, I go back into the kitchen and grab a chair.

Sloane appears, and we meet each other’s eyes for just a moment—true fear pulsing between us. She motions to the table, and together we drag it toward the door. We can’t let them in. We can’t let The Program take us, not when we’re so close.

We slam the wood against the door just as we hear the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs.

“Fuck!” Sloane growls out, and takes a step back from the door, her hand on her throat. She turns to me, and with a moan she murmurs, “It can’t end like this.”

“It won’t,” Wes says coming into the room. His right arm is in a sling, his shoulder grotesquely swollen, but my boyfriend walks over to the butcher block on the counter and draws out a knife.

Sloane watches him and then nods. I don’t know what to do, but Sloane’s right—it can’t end like this. Not after everything.

A sharp banging on the door startles us, and the door rattles on its hinges. The knob begins to twist back and forth, the loud thud of a shoulder against the wood. I jump forward and put my weight against the table.

“I won’t let them take him,” Sloane says, mostly to herself. “They can’t have us.”

“Open the door,” a deep male voice says from the other side. “Marie Devoroux, open the damn door.”

I don’t recognize the voice, and Wes comes to stand next to me, knife in hand. There’s no other way out, no back door.

We’re all that’s left of the rebellion. Without us, The Program rules the world.

There are more voices in the hallway now, and Sloane sneaks over to the window and looks out. She’s shaking.

And then, from the back room, there is a groan. We all turn toward it, silent, as we tilt our heads listening. A cough, followed by a soft laugh.

“Well, that fucking hurt,” Realm says.

I gasp and run in that direction, leaving the violence at the door behind. Running for Realm. When I get to the bedroom door, I find him sitting up in bed, blood everywhere, awake. Marie is sobbing next to him, murmuring that she did it. That it works.

James has a soft smile on his lips, his eyes blinking heavily. Realm notices me in the doorway.

“Well, damn,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You always beat me at cards.”

I choke out a laugh, about to say that I’m glad he didn’t die, when there is a loud bang, making us all jump. Sloane comes running into the room, Wes behind her, holding out the knife defensively. I don’t think he’d use it, and beyond that, I’m not sure how well he’d use it with his left hand anyway.

Marie stands, defiant, ready to face whatever comes.

“Where is he?” a female voice yells from the kitchen. Behind us, Realm laughs loudly.

“You have got to be shitting me,” he says.

Sloane turns to him, stunned, and steps out into the kitchen tentatively. Wes tells her to wait, but it’s like she’s entranced by the voice.

“Sloane?” the voice says. Wes and I look at each other, and then we start in that direction, unsure of what’s happening.

There are six people in the kitchen, most of them in suits. An authoritative-looking man with dark skin and a well-manicured beard stands in the doorway, surveying the scene. But it’s a girl with blond hair and dark red lipstick who takes up all of the room with her presence. When she smiles at Sloane, there is a large gap between her two front teeth.

“Oh my God, Dallas?” Sloane says, and walks right into her for a fierce hug. “I thought you were The Program.”

Dallas gives her a quick squeeze. “Yeah, no. Just me, the FDA, and the CDC,” she says like she knows it sounds ridiculous. “Also, awesome I had to hear all this from them. Now, where the hell is Michael?”

“In the back.”

Dallas rushes past Sloane, only glancing at me, before stopping at the doorway. She sweeps her gaze over the room and then puts her hand on her hip. She doesn’t smile, but Realm beams at her.

“Hi, honey,” he says in an amused voice. “You’re late.”

“Huh,” she says, crossing her arms over her worn T-shirt. “You’re not dead.”

“Nope. Not anymore.”

Dallas’s lips flinch with a smile. “Good news, I guess.”

“Yep.”

They stare at each other, and from next to Realm, James holds up his hand.

“Hi, Dallas,” he says.

“Hi, gorgeous,” she replies. “You’d better not die. The world couldn’t handle that kind of loss.”

He laughs softly, and Marie says hello to Dallas and leaves the room. I follow behind her, not sure who any of the people standing around the kitchen are. They don’t seem to be with The Program.