Chapter 37 Almost There

Chapter 37 Almost There
Nyla POV 

“She is not chasing us, she is pushing us somewhere,” I said from the back seat, my voice coming out steadier than I felt as the road curved again under us and Reyes took it too fast and the tyres screamed like they were about to give up, “she is not trying to catch us, she is trying to make us choose.”

Reyes did not answer at first and that silence told me more than anything she could have said, because she had been talking nonstop since the first shot, narrating turns and speeds and distances like words could keep control glued together, and now she stopped talking and looked in the mirror and then looked ahead again and I could feel the shift in her thinking through the way her hands tightened on the wheel.

“What do you see,” she asked finally, not defensive and not calm either, just sharp and open, which meant she was listening whether she liked it or not.

“I see them staying close but not too close and I see them letting you think you are losing them and I see them not panicking when you take turns that should shake them, and I see space being left where space should not exist unless it is being used,” I said, all of it spilling out because once it started there was no point stopping, “and I know what that looks like because Helix did that to us every day, you give the subject a corridor and you let them think it is freedom and then you close it.”

“Shit,” Reyes said under her breath, and then louder, “hold on.”

She turned the wheel hard and the car left the road entirely and my shoulder hit the door and Zane grunted beside me and my mother made a small sound that was more surprise than fear, and the ground under us changed from asphalt to dirt and rock and grass and the car fought it but Reyes did not, she leaned into it like this was something she had always planned for even if she had not wanted to.

“They are going to overshoot,” Zane said, his voice low and focused and threaded with something feral I could hear even without looking at him, “they did not expect that.”

“They will correct,” I said, “they always do.”

“They will,” Reyes agreed, “but not fast enough.”

The maintenance track was barely a track at all and every bump rattled through my spine and into my teeth, and I could hear something loose in the back shifting with every jolt, and then suddenly there was a gate in front of us and Reyes braked so hard my hands slapped against the seat in front of me.

“Out of the way,” she said, already opening her door.

“Do you know this place,” I asked, because that mattered more than anything else right now.

“Yes,” she said, not looking at me as she ran to the gate and hauled it open with a grunt that came from muscle memory, “and no.”

She closed it behind us after we drove through and then she killed the headlights and kept going and the dark swallowed everything except the faint outline of buildings ahead, and when she cut the engine completely the silence was so sudden it rang.

“Everyone stay still,” she said, her voice barely above breath, “and listen.”

“I hear them,” Zane said almost immediately, already at the wall, already pressing his face to a gap in the slats, “they stopped on the road, one person out, one still in the vehicle.”

“Do they see us,” I asked.

“No,” he said, “they are looking, not seeing.”

“Phone,” Dr. Voss murmured, her hands steady on my mother’s wrist, “he is on a phone.”

“Yes,” Zane said, “calling, waiting.”

“How long,” I asked Reyes, because the question needed a number even if the number was a lie.

She opened the boot quietly and pulled out a bag that made my stomach drop just by existing, because bags like that did not exist unless someone had planned for worse than this.

“Under eight minutes,” she said, handing me a tablet, “and less if they get impatient.”

“What is this,” I asked, the screen lighting my face as I turned it on.

“Our problem,” she said.

I saw the dots and I did not need her explanation but she gave it anyway because that was how she worked, she talked through fear, “that is us, that one is already moving, they had someone closer than I thought.”

“They always do,” I said, and my mother squeezed my arm like she was agreeing with me.

“There is a tunnel,” Reyes said, like she was apologizing before she finished the sentence, “it is not good and it is wet and it will not take the chair.”

“We are not leaving her,” I said immediately.

“I know,” Reyes said, meeting my eyes, “I am telling you so you can choose how bad it gets.”

“We do not choose,” I said, my voice shaking now because it was too close to something that felt like surrender, “we move.”

“We move,” my mother said softly, her voice clear and present and absolutely hers, and that broke something open inside me and sealed it at the same time.

“Okay,” Reyes said, accepting it without argument, “then we move.”

Zane was already pulling at the floor panel and the smell that came up made my eyes sting but I did not step back, I did not hesitate, because there was no room for that anymore.

“Knee deep,” Zane said after dropping down, looking up at me with water dripping from his sleeves, “cold but manageable.”

“Take her,” I said, already unbuckling my mother, already moving, “I am right behind you.”

“I have her,” he said, and his voice did something careful when he said it, like he was holding more than weight.

“Watch your footing,” Dr. Voss said, practical even now, “the edge drops faster than it looks.”

“I know,” Zane said, “I can feel it.”

“I am coming,” I said, and then louder because fear was trying to steal my air, “I am right here.”

“Do not stop talking,” my mother said, her hand in my sleeve as Zane lowered her, “even if it is nonsense, do not stop.”

“I will talk about anything,” I said, my feet finding water and my breath hitching, “I will talk about the worst meals you ever made and how you refused to admit they were bad.”

“I did not refuse,” she said, and I heard the smile in it even though I could not see her face, “I corrected your expectations.”

“See,” I said, laughing because it was either that or scream, “this is what I mean.”

“Less noise,” Reyes hissed from above, “they are closer.”

“How close,” I asked.

“Close enough that they think they have us,” she said, and then she dropped down after us and the panel slid back into place and the world became water and darkness and the sound of our breathing.

“Keep moving,” Zane said ahead of us, his voice anchoring everything, “do not think about where it ends.”

“Where does it end,” my mother asked calmly.

“At a stream,” Reyes said behind us, “and then further.”

“That is fine,” my mother said, “I remember streams.”

“I remember nothing,” I said, my teeth chattering now, “so you will have to describe it to me.”

“I will,” she said, “I promise.”

“Forward,” Zane said, firmer now, “they are above us.”

“They are closing a net,” Reyes said quietly, “and they do not know yet that it is empty.”

“Let them learn,” I said, pushing through the water, through the fear, through the hollow space opening behind us, “let them learn it the hard way.”

“Keep going,” Zane said, and his voice was steady and real and right in front of me, “we are almost through.”