Page 35 of Uprising

To run back to the tunnels and hide.

Only I won’t do that. I have to at least try and do something.

Besides I used to sneak into the Capulet mansion all the time. I used to creep right up their immaculately kept lawn and devour their sweet little princess while they all were complete oblivious. So how hard can this be? Walking the streets, stalking them, making sure to keep my head down when I pass every amber streetlight.

I came up not far from Liberty Square but it’s still a good ten minute walk to the Governor’s House.

When I get to it I know exactly where to go. The same weak-spot in their defences I found last time. The same corner where the cameras have a blind-spot and anyone can climb up and in without them realising, as long as they keep their movements contained, controlled, precise.

Only I don’t feel controlled.

I feel anything but.

My hands are shaking. My body already feels like I’ve run a marathon. Sweat is beading along my brow despite the cold air around me.

Christ I’m weak. Really weak.

I need to start working out. I need to start building my strength back but that’s going to take time.

Time I don’t have.

Time my Rose and my daughter do not have.

I take a deep breath, steel myself for this moment and hope the adrenaline alone will be enough. My hands press against the brickwork, finding those almost familiar indents where my fingers can get a holding.

Slowly, cautiously, I haul myself up. When my body raises high enough that I can pitch over the top I pause, holding my balance on my stomach, seeing how much this house has changed.

It’s crawling with men. All armed. All in body protection. As if Darius is expecting a full-scale assault at any moment. My body begins to shake, my weight threatens to pull me back down, back on the wrong side of the wall.

And then I see the movement. The glimpse of it. A flash of fabric too fine to be worn by a man.

She’s walking, gliding through the house. She looks more like an apparition than a real person.

“Rose.”

I whisper her name, wanting her to hear it. Desperately, deliriously needing her to turn her head, to look from the hallway through the overly stuffed room and see me.

Sense me.

Christ, just look at me.

My heart thumps in my chest so loudly it’s like I can’t hear anything else. The gun at my side is all but calling to me, begging me to unclip it and start shooting. To kill every one of these fuckers that’s stood between us.

She’s so close. She’s within actual touching distance and yet there’s an army of men blocking my path.

A shout goes up.

I know I haven’t made the noise. That it didn’t come from me.

A spotlight suddenly illuminates where I am and as if my body already knows what to do I fall back, from the wall, landing in a heap the other side.

My hands are grazed, my arms are scuffed. I feel like my ankle is twisted but I don’t have time to stop, I have to move, have to run.

I spring up and my bones groan in protest.

Shadows are moving towards me so fast. It’s like a stream of darkness pouring out and as I step back they start shooting, clearly not caring who the fuck the intruder is.

I grab my gun, shoot back, though it’s more as a response in this moment than anything else.