Unlocked (No Way Out Series Book 3) Read online

  It only takes me a few minutes to reach the bottom of the hill that overlooks this town; a town I didn't know existed. Each street surrounding me is quiet, without a person in sight, leading me to believe what I had hoped was an exaggerated story. Each shop on the side of the street is dark inside, which pisses me off because I would have done just about anything to grab some real food. Figures. I head down a couple more streets before an alarm sounds in the air, echoing between the buildings. What the hell is that? I head for a smaller street, an alley, finding a large trash bin to hide behind. I’m not sure what I’m hiding from or what good hiding will do for me, but I’m following my gut on this one.

  As I drop down against the wall of the building, the relief in my back and legs feels good after hiking up that hill for an hour. Though, relief only lasts for so long as the scent of rotting trash fills my nose. It’s not a normal trash smell. It’s more like what I’d imagine trash might smell like if it sat for years—which it may have. I do my best to inhale through my mouth and exhale out of my nose, but I stop breathing altogether when I hear marching steps coming toward the street. No one is talking, but it’s clear there are more than a few people. Looking through the crack in the wall and the trash bin, I see several men wearing the same suit I’m wearing, all wearing their gas masks. This prompts me to place mine over my face as well. They must be wearing it for a reason.

  After the last guy passes by the street, I get up and run toward them, keeping close to the wall. They have flashlights that they’re beaming down each street, definitely hunting down an intruder. What about Reese? Did they already get her? I jog silently up to the last person and drag him down the nearest street, shoving my fist into the side of his head. He falls over and I finish him off with a few kicks to the gut. Breathless, with my heart beating the crap out of my insides, I strip the man quickly of the weapons he has on him before hustling back to the other men, quiet enough that they don’t notice the changeover.

  “Are you letting her go?” the frontman asks.

  “We gave her the option,” the guy in front of me responds. “But she hasn’t made a decision. She has been pacing the room, back and forth, mumbling something to herself.” The man speaking lets out a sigh loud enough to hear through his mask. “Personally, I think she’s cracked. Bruce told me about her blood work. It ain’t good.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. Personally, I think she needs to go back to wherever the hell she’s claiming she came from. She could be working for the Juliets, ya know? We know better than to trust anyone, even someone as innocent looking as she is,” the frontman says.

  Listening to this conversation, I don’t even have to assume they’re talking about Reese, I know they’re talking about her—the laced blood work, the portrayed innocence. But to be sure, I speak up, “Did you happen to get her name or any other info from her?” I ask, masking my voice with a low growl.

  The guy in front of me turns around and looks into the darkness of my mask. “Reese Daniels, from Chipley.” The guy lets out a laugh that I can only see by the shake of his shoulders. “Chipley.” The place is most definitely a joke.

  I shake my head, not giving him another reason to hear a voice they shouldn’t recognize. Silence consumes the six of us until they all—we all—give up on hunting the person they thought was out here, bringing us to a tall, glass building—one that looks to be in immaculate shape from the outside, but the second we take one step inside, the appearance of everything surrounding us is shocking, even to me.

  I’m guessing this place must have been a hospital at one point, based on the receptionist desk and the wheelchairs lining the far wall. Hand sanitizing dispensers are every few feet. Although empty and falling over now, it appears they served a purpose at some point. The walls are the dead giveaway, though—the plaques with doctors’ pictures and names under awards. Life ended here, in this town at least. I’m coming to terms with it and I shouldn’t be surprised after everything Mom filled my head with.

  I wonder if this place is now the military headquarters. Do they just patrol all day? Where are these Juliets? Where are the thirty percent that survived? Where the hell am I? Reese thought she was the one never receiving the answers she wanted, but in truth, I’ve been living in a much darker shadow for longer than she has.

  The guys all branch off in front of me, each of them removing their gas masks from around their faces as they take off down various hallways. I leave my mask on, though, in fear of anyone recognizing I’m not one of them.

  I take a hall none of them took and wander down into the dimly lit corridor, removing my mask as I go. Definitely a hospital. I must be in the surgical hallway. Through the small windows on each door I pass, I can see that each room is white with steel furnishings—tables, desks, and counters—the bare essentials. This is creepy as all hell. Hospitals should be well lit. There should be doctors, nurses, and patients lining the halls. There shouldn’t be men dressed in green bio-hazard suits wearing gas masks to protects themselves against—I don’t even know what.

  As I continue exploring down the hall, I find one room toward the dead end that has an open door. The dim lights that have led me down here stop a few feet ahead, several feet before the open door. I’m going to go on the assumption that the room is exactly like the rest, except with an open door. I’m not going any further into this joint. There’s probably a reason none of the others came down this hallway.

  I turn back toward the main lobby, picking up my pace a bit, but I stop when I hear a sound from behind me. I turn around quickly, instinctively looking for the source of noise. I’m beneath a light, which makes it impossible to see further than a few feet away now, especially because the light that was on in the last room is now off.

  My heart is pounding; reminding me I’m still fucking alive in this never-ending hell I somehow keep surviving through. Sweat is forming on my cold skin and it’s the first time I’ve realized how cold it is in here versus outside of this building. My breaths increase and I take steps backward. I need to move away from the light so I can see why there is a growing sound of footsteps coming toward me from the dark end of the hall that I seriously can’t see a goddamn thing through. I want to run. I should run. I should definitely not be standing here waiting for some shit to jump out at me.

  The part of me that was filled with curiosity is officially gone at the sight of a shadowy figure. I turn around, planning to make a run for it, but something attacks me. It’s on my back, arms are around my neck and legs are kicking me—or trying to kick me. I reach up to grab the arms, in hopes of swinging whoever it is off of me, but a fist pounds against my back and hair sweeps the side of my face. I know the sensation of that hair, the thinness of her wrist, and weightlessness of her body. I stop, quickly praying to whoever is now above or below in the heavens or hells to let this be Reese. Turning around, I face the top of her head, confirming the exact height difference I have now memorized, not that it was hard, considering she’s exactly one foot shorter than me, or close to it at least. She can’t be more than five-feet tall. “Reese,” I mutter.

  Instead of a hello hug or kiss, or a jump into my arms, she swings and throws her fist right into my gut. “You piece of shit liar!” she yells way too loudly.

  I cup my hand around her mouth, dragging her down the hall into the darkness. She fights against my strength, which at any other point in time I would thoroughly enjoy, but we’re both going to get our asses beaten here if they find out I attacked one of their guys, and she’s not as innocent as she led them to believe.

  Once inside of a dark room, I close the door and flip on the lights, the dull brightness matching the half-lit appearance in the hallway. I take a look around this room, noting the slight differences. What the hell? This isn’t just some exam room or operating room. This looks like a modern day torture chamber. “Why were you in here?” I ask, releasing my hand from her mouth, backing away so she won’t try and kick me in the nuts again.

  “You’re on
e of them,” is all she says, her voice full of trepidation. “You’ve lied to me this whole time.” Now she’s the one backing away. “What do you want with me, Sin? What? Just take whatever it is you want and leave me alone.” What is it I want? Beyond the thought of the million reasons she could have for saying that, I want to tell her how wrong she is. I want to tell her what I know and that I know as little as she does, and that the last thing I want is to leave her alone, but the look in her eyes tells me I don’t stand a chance of getting out more than a word before she either screams or decks me again.

  “I’m sorry,” are the two words I choose to test the waters with.

  Those were the wrong words.

  She grabs for something behind her and after taking in the decor of this lovely room, my mind comes up with way too many horrific options of what she could be holding. “I’m not one of them. I don’t know much. I was never against you. I do love you. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Neither of us knows why we’re here, but we’re part of a small percentage of people who survived a worldwide epidemic. That’s what I know, Reese.” I’ve used all of the free space behind me to back away and get every one of those words out without her slicing my throat with the likely scalpel she’s holding behind her back.

  “Why should I believe you?” she mutters, still walking toward me with her hands behind her. “Why have I been questioning my gut since the second I laid eyes on you?”

  “Because when someone is in confinement for as long as you were, there is no reason to trust anyone ever again. Your gut was right to protect you, but I’m not the one it should be protecting you from.”

  “Then who should my gut be protecting me from, Sin? Who? Can you tell me that? Because I’m guessing you can’t. Just like before, you know nothing, yet you know how to keep yourself alive and safe. It makes no sense. None of this makes any sense. Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”

  Her words hurt more than that scalpel probably would, and I don’t know what else I can say to make her believe me because there isn’t anything left to say. I’m left with no other choice but to leave my fears behind and rush toward her, doing my best to forget about whatever is behind her back. Wrapping my arms around her stiff body, tight enough that she can’t escape or stab me, I crash my lips into hers, showing her with every ounce of emotion I have stored inside of my frigid body that I do in fact love her, that I do not want to hurt her, and that God, I would do anything to keep her safe, even if that meant…

  I pull away, breathing heavily from the missing breaths that got lost within hers. “If you didn’t think that was real, go ahead and use that scalpel on me now.” I felt the cold metal clenched between her fist. I know she’s not capable of hurting me, let alone killing me, but I need to give her that option as a truce. Her eyes are wide, glossy and staring into mine. The powder-blue hue her eyes take on in the sunlight looks more like the color of murky ocean water in this hazy lit room, but she still has that shimmer when she looks at me. It’s a look that tells me how thankful she is that I at least tried to save her. “Go head. Do it if you don’t believe every word I have said to you in the past few minutes.”

  Her arms drop to her side and the scalpel falls to the ground, the ping of metal bouncing against the empty walls of the room. “What are we going to do?”

  The fast beat of my heart eases at her words and at the understanding of being one team against the unknown. “Find a way out,” I tell her.

  “The only place you two are going is back to wherever the hell you came from,” a man says from the doorway. Shit. It’s not just a random patrol, of course. It’s the guy I beat the shit out of in the alley. I almost forgot about him. I’m smarter than this. I don’t get caught. Shit.

  I lean down slowly, grabbing the scalpel Reese dropped. I’m not sure if the guy noticed it or not, but I’m in his face in a matter of milliseconds, slicing the knife through his throat. “You should have learned the first time, man.” Sorry.

  As I could have assumed, the sound of heavy steps comes barreling down the hall within seconds. I’m searching the room for a way out, but there probably isn’t one—because isn’t that the way this story always goes? I grab Reese by the wrist and drag her over to the corner of the room so I can attempt to pry open the window. It’s the only hope we have, even if I know it will only buy a few extra seconds of time.

  It buys us no extra time at all, though. The window is sealed. There is no way out. And the room is immediately swarmed with men in plastic suits.

  6

  Chapter Six

  REESE

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “Reese, you have to stop,” Sin tells me.

  “No. One of these is the way out.” Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Sin grabs my arm, pulling me in against his body.

  “I’m always the first to tell you not to give up, right?” Sin asks.

  “Yes,” I mutter.

  “We’ve come a long way,” he says, releasing a lungful of air. His arm tightens around me and his lips press against my forehead.

  “What are you saying?” I ask through a soft cry. “I can’t stay in here. I can’t. You know I don’t like the dark, Sin. It reminds me of the nightmares I had in the shed. I had them every day. Every night. The darkness of the shed would swallow me whole and take me as its prisoner and while I may not be captive in that particular shed anymore, it has yet to release me—it will always own part of me, whether we survive or die here.”

  “Nightmares, huh? I guess it was the same for me in Chipley’s prison. I get it. Trust me.” Then why is he telling me to give up right now when all we have been doing is fighting for survival?

  A scream echoes through the surrounding area—a woman’s scream, or more like a shriek. I’ve heard it four times since we arrived down here in this hole—or whatever it is. I’ve also heard a man crying, screaming the words, “No, don’t hurt me,” at least a dozen times. There are children whimpering and there are several elderly individuals begging for mercy—for what, I don’t know. These are the other people held captive as prisoners down here in the dark. But amongst all of the cries for help, there is one sound I can’t understand. A man with dress shoes, walking back and forth, laughing through haunting, melodic tones, as I assume any laughter without cause would sound like. Who could laugh at cries and pleading, from people begging for help and forgiveness? On the other hand, what could we all want forgiveness for?

  Sin’s arms squeeze around my waist. His cold lips are now pressed against my neck, but the shiver spiking down my spine is from my epiphany. “We’re surrounded by the sick, aren’t we?” I whisper. He doesn’t answer—his arms just tighten more. “We’re not protected.” My words are softer than a breath of a whisper, but they sound like sirens in my head. “How do you think the toxin is passed from person to person?” An epidemic means it’s widely spread, which also means it’s easily transferred.

  “I don’t know,” he utters against my ear. “But they were all wearing protective masks, which tells me—“ The words sound lodged in his throat, or maybe he can’t get himself to say it out loud, but he doesn’t need to finish his statement because it has already crossed my mind way too many times in that past hour we have been down here.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask him.

  “Wait,” he says. “What else can we do?”

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Here,” I tell him, pulling him over and resting his hand over the bar. “It’s hollow.”

  “So?” he says. I reach down into my shirt and retrieve a key. As I place it into his hand, his fingers close over mine, and the key. “How did you get this? I never gave the key back to you once we got down into the bunker.”


  “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “I don’t know if it works, but we can try it.” One of the patrols dropped it as they walked out of the room, leaving me alone to make a decision on where I wanted to go. It wasn’t accidental, though. The one who dropped it looked back at me and then down at the key. Maybe it was a trap, or maybe it was to help an innocent-looking girl who he knew would end up in this situation. But like all of my other questions, I know this one will go unanswered as well.

  The sound of clicking heels from the laughing man grows louder; I’ve come to learn the pattern over the short period of time we’ve been in here. There are two-minute intervals after he passes in each direction, which hints at us being in an incredibly long hallway filled with other dark holes—cells. At least I think this is a cell. All I do know is the ground is wet, water is dripping somewhere nearby and it smells like mold and mildew. The ground is not smooth cement; it’s uneven, cracked and rough like a textured plaster. The bars keeping us contained feel like they’re covered in rust, thick enough to slice my hand if I were to grip it too tightly. This isn’t a prison or part of the hospital; we’re underground. Far underground. Considering we were street level when the patrols found us, we were then dragged down what seemed like a dozen flights. Those assholes didn’t even give us a moment to explain our situation. They only put us together because they said they were running out of space.

  “After he passes the next time, we’ll wait thirty seconds and try the key out, okay?” Sin says.

  “Okay.” Even my whisper echoes in this small area.

  I lean my back up against one of the grated walls, taking a breather from the relentless stress, feeling my muscles relax, but only slightly. The ache from the tension release is almost worse than the stiff cramping I’ve become accustomed to; although, the ease is only temporary as a hand claws around my mouth from behind me.