Chapter 78: The Arrest

The pickaxe swung through the air with a rusty whistle. I ducked just in time, the metal head smashing into the support beam beside me with a sickening crack. Splinters rained down, dusting my hair like gray snow.

"Back!" Ben shouted, swinging his flashlight like a club. He caught the first attacker in the temple. The man staggered but didn't fall. He just snarled, blood trickling down his face, and swung his own weapon—a heavy wrench.

Subject 12 stood back, watching us like a scientist observing rats in a maze. The little girl, the one with my eyes, clapped her hands.

"Feed them," she whispered.

I fired.

The gun kicked in my hand, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. The first attacker dropped, clutching his leg.

"Don't kill them!" Lucia screamed. "They're us!"

"They're trying to eat us," I yelled back, firing again.

The second shot went wide, sparking off the rock wall. But it was enough to make the second attacker flinch. Ben tackled him, driving his shoulder into the man's gut. They went down in a tangle of limbs and rage.

I turned the gun on Subject 12.

"Stop them," I said, my hands shaking. "Call them off."

Subject 12 laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound.

"They don't listen to me," he said. "They listen to the hunger."

He took a step forward.

"And I'm hungry too, Sarah."

He lunged.

I pulled the trigger.

*Click.*

Empty.

I stared at the gun. Four rounds. I had counted four rounds.

"Edith always kept the last one for herself," Subject 12 said, closing the distance.

He grabbed my wrist, twisting it until the gun fell. His other hand went to my throat. His grip was impossibly strong, fueled by years of desperation and engineered muscle.

"You smell like her," he whispered, leaning close. "Like milk and lies."

I gasped for air, clawing at his face. My nails raked his cheek, drawing blood.

"Get off her!" Lucia yelled.

She swung the empty oxygen tank—the one she had used on the mechanic. It connected with the back of Subject 12's head with a dull thud.

He grunted and released me, stumbling forward. I fell to my knees, coughing.

"Run!" Ben shouted. He had knocked his attacker unconscious and was pulling me up.

We ran down the main tunnel, away from the blocked exit, away from the tanks. The little girl watched us go, her expression blank.

"They're going to the water," she said to no one.

We ran until our lungs burned and our legs felt like lead. The tunnel sloped downward, the air growing colder and damper. The sound of pursuit faded, replaced by the dripping of water.

"Where does this go?" Lucia asked, shining her light ahead.

The tunnel ended at a metal grate. Beyond it, I could hear the rush of water.

"The drainage pipe," I said. "It leads to the river."

Ben grabbed the grate and pulled. It was rusted solid.

"Help me," he grunted.

We all grabbed the bars. We pulled until our muscles screamed.

*Creak.*

It gave an inch. Then another.

"Enough," I said. "We can squeeze through."

I pushed Lucia through first. Then Ben.

I looked back up the tunnel.

Subject 12 was there. Standing at the edge of the light. He wasn't running. He wasn't shouting.

He was just watching.

"Goodbye, sister," he whispered.

I squeezed through the grate and dropped into the water. It was freezing, a shock that stole my breath. The current was strong, pulling us downstream.

We floated for what felt like hours, battered by rocks and debris. Finally, the tunnel opened up, spilling us onto the muddy bank of the river, miles downstream from the cabin.

We crawled onto the shore, shivering, exhausted.

"We made it," Lucia said, rolling onto her back.

"For now," I said.

I looked at the sky. The sun was rising, painting the clouds in shades of pink and gold. It was a beautiful morning.

But as I lay there, catching my breath, I heard something.

Sirens.

Lots of them.

Not fire trucks. Police sirens.

And they were getting closer.

"We need to move," Ben said, trying to stand.

But before we could, a voice boomed from the tree line.

"Freeze! Hands in the air!"

A dozen tactical lights blinded us. Figures in black gear emerged from the woods, rifles raised.

"We're the victims!" I shouted, raising my hands. "We escaped!"

A man stepped forward. He wasn't wearing tactical gear. He was wearing a suit.

"Sarah Sterling?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You're under arrest," he said.

"For what?" I demanded. "Self-defense?"

The man smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile.

"For the murder of Mark Sterling," he said. "And the kidnapping of Leo Sterling."

I stared at him.

"Mark is alive," I said. "He's at the hospital."

"Mark Sterling was pronounced dead at 4:00 AM," the man said. "And we have video footage of you leaving the hospital with an infant."

He gestured to the officers.

"Cuff her."

They swarmed us. I felt the cold steel of the handcuffs bite into my wrists.

"This is a mistake," Ben yelled as they dragged him away. "Edith set us up!"

"Edith Sterling is dead," the man said. "We found her body in the cabin. Burned beyond recognition."

I froze.

Burned beyond recognition.

Convenient.

They shoved me into the back of a squad car. The door slammed shut, sealing me in.

I looked out the window.

Standing at the edge of the woods, watching the arrest, was a woman.

She was wearing a thick coat and a wide-brimmed hat. Her face was shadowed.

But I saw her hand.

She was holding a phone.

And on the screen, a message flashed.

*Checkmate.*

She lowered the phone.

And then she walked away.

Into the trees.

Toward the mine entrance.