The Treatment (The Program #2)(75)

I slap him hard across the face. Tears spill onto my cheeks and my palm stings. Realm keeps his face turned for a long second, and then he slowly straightens, his eyes watering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, knowing. I lean closer.

“I don’t forgive you,” I growl. There’s a touch on my arm, startling me, and I turn to see James.

“We have to go,” he says gently, glancing at Realm sympa-thetically. Does James know Realm is a handler? Would he have let him come here if he did?

James’s fingers slide down to take my hand again, and he nods like he’s asking me to trust him. I do. He tugs me forward, past Realm, although I’m not done with him. Not yet.

We trample down the stairs, Realm lagging behind. Just as we get to the exit door, we hear the stairwell door shake, clanging against the tire iron. They’re coming. James squeezes my hand just before we explode out of the door, and blazing sunlight temporarily blinds me. Pebbles on the pavement are cutting into the slipper socks, but I keep going, even though I have no idea where James is leading me. An alarm sounds from the building and my fear spikes. We’ll never get away. They’ll never let us.

“Over there,” Realm calls from directly behind me, pointing past my shoulder to the left. He could pass me—he’s faster—

but he’s trying to protect me. On the side of the building is a small alleyway where the front of a white van is sticking out.

I hear the slam of bodies against the metal door; the handlers are nearly outside. My lungs burn as I run, knowing that I’m running for my life.

There’s a parking lot half-filled with cars, but we’re heading for the alley. Just then I see the flash of a white coat next to the van and my entire body tenses up, making me a stumble a step before James rights me. The handler is pushing a wheelchair, stopping to slide open the back door of the van. A cry bursts from my lips because I’d recognize that blond hair anywhere.

I watch as Asa loads Dallas into the back of the van, her body limp and uncooperative as if she’s heavily drugged. In the distance I hear the start of sirens, and I know I don’t want to stick around for the police to arrive.

Even though The Program is wrong, I’m not taking the chance the authorities won’t believe me. In the chaos, I could end up back inside the facility while they sort things out. I’m not so naive to think The Program wouldn’t do everything possible to keep me quiet.

“You have to run faster, Sloane,” James says, gasping, looking once behind us and then renewing his speed, practically ripping me off my feet. The handlers must be closing in, and it’s as if I can feel them breathing down my neck. Dallas once said it was impossible to break someone out of The Program—

they’ve tried. James told her she must be doing it wrong. I sure as hell hope he’s figured out the right way.

We round the corner and Asa is already in the front seat, the engine running. He tears off his white jacket, pulling on his seat belt and revving the engine. The back is still open, and we’re so close to being free I’m sure we’ll make it. We have to make it.

I hear the gear shift and for a wild second I think the van is going to leave us behind, but I feel someone take ahold of the back of my shirt and launch me forward. I’m completely off-balance as I stumble, slamming gut-first into the running board of the van. There’s a commotion all around me, a flurry of grabbing hands making it impossible to tell what’s happening. And then I’m moving. Gravity rolls me inside the van and the door slams shut, locking me inside.

Realm collapses next to me, and we’re shoulder to shoulder.

The van tires squeal, spinning out as we fishtail and shoot forward. My lungs burn and my side aches. I may be injured inter-nally, but my adrenaline is rushing too hard for me to properly analyze my condition.

“Thanks, man,” James says, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted down with sweat. I turn and see he’s looking at Realm.

Realm gasps for breath next to me but lifts his hand in a half-hearted salute. Realm is the one who pushed me into the van.

I turn away from him, unable to look at his face—even though he just saved my life.

“Sloane?”

I smile, recognizing the voice, and I force myself up, groan-ing at the severe pain in my side. I push Realm’s hand away when he tries to help me. Dallas is in the back, a seat belt across the chest of her gray scrubs. She’s not wearing a patch, and I can’t contain my relieved laughter. She hasn’t been lobotomized.

I want to get to my feet and hug her, but the van is racing forward at a breakneck speed and I can’t get my bearings. James has moved to the passenger seat, talking with Asa and giving him directions. The handler, my friend, is now a fugitive, and I can tell by the lack of color in his cheeks that he knows that.

There’s another sharp pain in my side, and I lift the corner of my gray scrubs to check for an injury. There’s a dark purple fist-size bruise with dark magenta in the middle. I swallow hard and quickly cover it, trying to remember which vital organs are on my right side.

“Realm, help her onto the seat,” James calls from the front, drawing my gaze. When he sees my expression, he furrows his brow. “You okay?” He checks with Asa before coming to gather me from the floor, using the seat to hold him up. I don’t answer and let James move me, biting down hard on my lip to keep from screaming at the pain of being jostled. Realm skirts around us, taking James’s spot in the front.