I stayed limp in the man's arms, pretending to be unconscious. He breathed heavily despite his painfully slow, lumbering pace. I hated feeling his sweaty hands press roughly into my back, but I endured, reminding myself of all the lives I was fighting for.

I held my eyes closed, concentrating all of my focus on my dangling right hand—or rather the syringe in its strained grip. My head still throbbed, pulsing with pain in time with the guard's bobbing footsteps.

At last, the jostling rhythm abruptly ceased. The man stood still for a moment, then shifted his weight as if in uncertainty. Suddenly, I was lowered to the ground and slid out of his arms without much care, my head bouncing on the tiled floor. Shocking chills ran down my back, wet with blood, as it hit the frigid ground, and I had to stifle a gasp. I clenched my jaw against the curses I wanted to utter.

I heard the shuffling of fabric, so I discreetly peeked through my lashes. The man was reaching into his pocket to withdraw a keycard. We were outside a metal door just like the one I'd been trapped behind for days.

My heart pounded with adrenaline and an overpowering need to escape. I was not about to be locked up again, no matter what it took. Failure was not an option. I clenched my fists until they hurt, feeling my strength surge as my blood turned hot with a determined rage.

I propped myself onto my elbows, testing if I was within the man's view. He didn't notice my movement, muttering under his breath as he scanned the card twice before the lock clicked open. I slinked behind the man just as his head snapped toward the floor where he'd laid me. Then I thrust against the ground until I was upright and leapt onto the man's back, constricting my arm around his neck.

Before he could react, I jabbed the syringe into his shoulder, just where Van had injected me, and jammed the plunger down. The man wailed and tried to throw me off, but he lost his balance and tumbled forward—right into the doorway. I fell and rolled beside him, quickly jumping back to my feet.

I needed to get away from the man while the drug spread through his bloodstream. He lay gasping on the floor, so I plucked the keycard from his fingers. His empty hand formed a tense fist, and he rolled into a sitting position, blocking my escape. As he moved, I darted into the corner of the room, as far away from him as I could get. I automatically bent into a crouch, ready to pounce—whether I'd have to fight or flee. When he finally collected himself up off the floor, he charged at me, exactly as I expected.

Waiting until he got close, I dodged him and leapt over the bed—but in midair, his hand clamped around my ankle, and I fell with my face smashed into the bedsheets, panting rapidly.

He began to drag me toward him, and a surge of panic coursed along my nerves. I thrashed and tried to roll over, kicking urgently with my free leg. He only tightened his grip.

"You cut your tracker out?" The guard grunted in surprise, probably noticing the bloodstain down the back of my hospital gown. He abruptly grabbed hold of my elbow and flipped me over onto my back, still clenching my ankle like a vice. With him in my sight, I was now able to kick more precisely, hitting the back of his elbow and eliciting a startling cry of pain.

"Listen!" he shouted. He grabbed my other ankle and pinned them both against the bed, trying to hold me still. My skin prickled with fear as I writhed uselessly against his iron grip. Eventually, I stopped and glared venomously at the man, taking the opportunity to catch my breath. My lungs heaved. He continued, "If you stop fighting now, I won't have to hurt you. I really don't want to. Just give it up. You won't win this—"

Taking him by surprise, I lurched forward and landed a punch square on his nose, which promptly started leaking blood. For a second, his hold loosened on my right ankle enough for it to slip free. With my freed leg, I kicked resolutely at his grip on my left ankle; at the same time, his hand shot up to his crooked nose—it looked like I'd broken it.

Suddenly, he let go of my ankle and instead gripped my wrist, yanking me toward him.

Before I could react, he landed a heavy blow to my face, bashing his fist against my brow and glancing off my eye. He released me, and I went limp, dropping to the bed like a stone.

I stared up at the brilliant lights above, stunned. For a moment, everything was peaceful.

Then the pain and panic flooded in.

I tried to slow my breaths, but they came in uncontrollable, uneven gasps. My hand instinctually drew to my head to assess the damage, then dropped to my side because the area was too painful to touch. The throbbing in my head was now amplified. It was inescapable—impossible to even think around.

Gradually, it subsided enough for me to recall where I was. I sat up slowly, my eyes searching. 

I was alone in the room.

My worst fears began to run through my mind.

I had failed.

Myself and half of my family would be doomed to live out the rest of our miserable days in this government facility.

I would never see Kyle again.

But at last, I looked down, and my heart swelled with relief.

The man was lying on the floor, his eyes open, though he was clearly not entirely present. He was staring vacantly at the ceiling just as I had been, and his breathing was slowing.

The drugs were taking effect. An ecstatic laugh burst from my lips. 

Then the guard's eyes flickered to me, almost stopping my heart. I lurched off the bed and darted out into the hallway, immediately locking the door behind me. 

I leaned my back against the door and slid to the ground, taking a minute to get my bearings and revel in this small victory.

One guard down, one to go.

__________

Special thanks to everyone reading from around the globe. Looking at the demographics map, I'm always amazed by how diverse it is. Wherever you are, you're appreciated. If you take the time to read my work, the least I can do is thank you. <3