Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 by Gandy, A. (read book .txt) 📕

came back. Good gracious, why do people keep trying to kidnap us?” She lays her head on her knees, and I'm not sure whose hand is shaking harder, hers or mine.

A third boom sounds, even closer this time. The tub rattles underneath us, and in the cacophony I almost miss the sound of the front door bursting open.

“Was that the door?” Nell’s voice is a whisper now.

“I think so,” I answer in a barely audible voice.

Heavy footsteps thud down the hall, and I hear the bedroom door open. The footsteps fade as the person goes deeper into the room.

That’s not Atlas. There is a kidnapper in my house right now. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I can feel my breaths coming in shorter and shorter gasps. I try to stay silent, despite my imminent hyperventilation.

The footsteps return to the hall, and I hear the bathroom door knob turn once, twice. A muffled curse comes from the other side of the door, and I hear the crackle of the man’s communication wristband. “Possible target in cottage three.”

Nell’s grip on my hand turns vice-like, and we both sink as far down into the tub as we can. Silent prayers pound in my ears with my pulse.

“Affirmative, pickup on standby,” a different voice responds on the device.

Where the heck are Patrick and Atlas? Oh, God, I hope they haven’t been shot. Or captured.

“Making entry,” the muffled voice says, and then he backs up a few steps.

“Oh, Jesus,” Nell breathes, and we make desperate, terrified eye contact.

The next instant the bathroom door crashes inward, and splintered debris comes flying into the tub onto our backs. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut on instinct, and hear the ear-splitting crack of a gunshot, followed closely by a loud thud.

All is silent for a heartbeat, then another. I open my eyes and force myself to look over the lip of the bathtub, and see our would-be kidnapper lying in a black-clad heap outside the bathroom door. I squeeze Nell’s hand, and she takes in the scene with me.

The sound of running feet barely makes it to my still-ringing ears, and then Patrick appears in the doorway, as if by magic.

A grateful sob tears itself from my throat, and I take in his sweat-drenched running clothes, sharply contrasted against the sleek black rifle in his hand.

“Sadie! Thank God! Are you all right?” He steps over the prone form and reaches in to help Nell and me from the tub.

“I was so scared. I was so scared, Patrick!” I’m clutching his shirt, sweat forgotten, and see that Atlas has appeared and taken Nell into his arms as well.

“I know, sweetheart. I was scared too. But you’re okay now, I’ve got you.” His hand cradles the back of my head, and he sweeps his gaze along my form, as if checking for injuries.

“We have to move, it’s not safe here.” Atlas’s brusque tone brooks no argument, and he heads straight out of the bathroom.

“There’s no exterior door in there, Atlas,” I point out, as he strides into our bedroom. One by one, we step over the black-clad man in the doorway, and I try not to notice the pool of blood spreading across the gorgeous wood floors.

“Don’t need one.” He throws open the window, and in one fluid motion steps onto the sill and leaps out. Nell is right behind him and scrambles out a moment later.

Patrick and I reach the window and see two shiny black ATVs parked right under the window. Atlas has caught Nell, and scooted her to the one furthest from the window.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you,” Patrick says before crossing to his night stand, pulling something flat out of the drawer and slipping it into his pocket.

“Come on, I’ll catch you.” Atlas makes an impatient gesture, as I step up onto the sill. My foot slips, and I tumble out in a graceless heap. He catches me with a grunt, sits me on the second ATV, and then slides over in front of Nell and cranks their ATV. Patrick is beside me in an instant, silent as a cat. He slides in front of me, and with a kick, the ATV beneath us rumbles to life.

Atlas spins the tires as he steers the roaring ATV into the dunes behind our cottage.

Butterflies

I cling to Patrick’s waist, and bury my face into his back as the wind rushes by, whipping my hair wildly around my face and ears. The cold metal of the rifle slung across his lap bounces against my knuckles whenever we hit a bump. I clutch him tightly, and pray as hard as I can for the kidnapping attempt to be over. Where did he even get a rifle?

Soon, the landscape around us changes, and the ground smooths out. After about 15 minutes, Patrick slows the ATV, and I finally lift my head to look around. The familiar autumnal foliage of a hiking trail surrounds us. Atlas and Nell are rolling slowly right next to us.

“This is the best chance we’ll have to slip past the guard shack,” Atlas says, voice raised over the sounds of growling engines.

“I agree,” Patrick says with grim determination. “It’s going to be much harder to investigate once my guard detail arrives.”

Atlas gives a sharp nod, and then speeds off in front of us. Patrick follows hot on his heels, and I bury my face back into his shirt.

Time passes strangely as we ride down the cold trail. Every time my heart starts to slow to a normal pace, another loud explosion rocks the earth behind us, in the direction of the guest house. I watch the trees whip by in a blur, and my eyes water from the stinging wind. Eventually we slow again, and Patrick turns our ATV off the wide hiking trail and into the scrubby brush between the towering trees.

The ATV engines quiet to a purr as we slowly crawl through the underbrush. Thankfully most of the scrub bends beneath