Infection Runs Deep

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: MISSION CONTROL

Warner and I crept through the darkness, completely silent and bodied primed for action. He held up his splayed hand, signaling for me to stop. With two fingers, he pointed to the guards at the bottom of the control towers, just visible by the glow of the torches along the rim of the top.

He pulled me close to him, dropping his voice low as he whispered in my ear. "On the right, the two guards are on our side. Mark gave me his reassurances, s name drop if they give you trouble. Mine aren't, so be prepared to be quick if mine goes sideways. You know the drill. In and out." He exhaled more rapidly than normal, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. "Cut the wires and get the hell out. You'll know the equipment when you see it."

"I know, Warner," I breathed back. "We've gone over it."

He let out a near silent laugh. "Just checking." Taking my hand, Warner pressed something cold and sharp into my palm. A knife, jagged serrations on one side and a wickedly sharp straight edge on the other. "You know how to use it."

My fingers curled reflexively along the handle, clutching it tightly to my body. "We can do this."

"We have to," Warner amended. "Go." I took a few steps before Warner whispered, "Good luck, El."

I raced towards the tower, staying close to the shadows. Warner mirrored my trajectory, swearing to the other control tower. He darted out into the light, addressing the soldiers by name and saluting.

I took my chance, knowing that the other side was distracted. With my steps as quiet as I could make them with my dragging boot, I approached the two guards at the doors.

"Special delivery," I said calmly. "Orders of Operation Zulu." Our little code name. Since Ian's was trashed, Luke and Warner created a new name. Our last chance. The last letter in the phonetic alphabet. Covert, but effective.

The guards stepped aside, one chivalrously opening the door for me. "Make it count," he said. I nodded my thanks, trying not let his ominous tone get to me.

I hurried up the stairs, holding my breath as the tension built around me. This whole plan counted on the word of someone else, the word that they were willing to turn their back on everything that they knew to commit treason in hope of saving the base. If I didn't know the whole truth, if I hadn't seen what I had, I didn't know if I'd be able to make the same decision. That was what scared me.

I reached a hatched trapdoor at the end of the stairs. I braced my hand on the metal, taking a few steeling breathes to regain my composure. With all my strength, I heaved open the top. It landed with a clatter, someone rushing over to prevent its secondary ricochet.

We made eye contact, my chest tight as we stared in a silent contest. He stepped back, allowing me to haul myself up onto the landing.

He glanced back at the other two green-clad soldiers who watched me with intrigue before refocusing on me, a woman with dark hair and dark skin and a man with hair redder than a santa hat. "Who are you? How did you get up here?"

The two soldiers behind this man exchanged a look. They knew, but this man was loyal to the Colonel.

"I was paged here," I said, pretending that my heart wasn't racing a million miles an hour. "Someone required medical attention. They sent me right up."

The man's brows furrowed, but he didn't look alarmed, didn't think it was anything more than a miscommunication. "You must be mistaken. No one called for a nurse."

"I'm a doctor," I snapped before realizing that probably wasn't the best move. But I had to make the most of it. "I wouldn't be paged if it weren't important. My time is valuable and this is wasting it."