Chapter 52

A.N & T.W –

I don't want to give anything away, but this chapter will be particularly violent and upsetting, just a heads up : ( x

We're stood behind a tree, as we stare at the alleyway in front of us.

This is it.

A few streets, alleys, and corners stand between us and our helicopter out of here.

The chances of our survival are so slim, I wonder if there's even a chance at all.

Two casualties, two civilians, and a soldier who qualified last week.

Our slim chance of survival is Styles himself.

If he can pull this off, we live. If he can't, we die.

And although the odds are very much not in our favour, I'm optimistic. Because it's him.

My shoulder aches from the weight of the injured boy I've got slung against me. Styles carries Benson. Her face is pale and pinched, blood soaking through the makeshift bandage on her side. We don't speak. We don't have to. There's no room for anything except movement. Forward, always forward.

Styles signals a stop as we come to the edge of the first alley. The street ahead is wide open, the buildings on either side crumbling and full of dark windows. Perfect vantage points. Perfect traps.

He lowers Benson behind a broken wall, as I do the same with Jacob.

Styles faces me. His eyes meet mine, sharp and assessing.

"This is it," he murmurs. "Extraction point is just across that square. Clarke's waiting. Helicopter's coming in three minutes."

I nod. My throat's dry. My heart thunders. 

Styles looks out across the open space again. "I'm going to go first. I'll take Benson on my back, and Rose is going to stick to my side. You follow behind with Jacob."

I shake my head in disbelief. "This is madness," I say, reality sinking in.

He raises an eyebrow. "Not up for it, soldier?"

I scowl. "I didn't say that."

He gives me a smirk, just a flicker of the cockiness I've come to know too well.

"C'mon, last push," he murmurs. His voice is low, steady. But I can see it in his jaw, the way it locks tight. He knows how bad this could go.

"Stick close," he says. "If we get split, extraction point's on the ridge just east of the canal. You keep going, no matter what. Got it?"

"Styles-"

"Say you've got it."

I meet his gaze. "I've got it."

"Good."

"Thank you," I mutter, throat tight and eyes stinging.

"What for?" He asks bewildered.

"For everything. I'd have crashed out a long fucking time ago if I hadn't had you," I begin, tears threatening to spill.

"Are you giving me a fucking goodbye speech?" he asks, eyes wide.

"I don't know, it's just- well the chance of us all making out alive is so low and I don't want you to feel any guilt if I'm kille-"

"Do not fucking finish that sentence," he cuts me off. He looks furious.

But it's too late, because the panic has set in now. My pulse is racing, and sweat breaks out over my body. My entire body is tense and I already know, that in the first sign of danger, I'm going to hesitate.

And now the tears are flowing.

"Please just make sure you get out, and tell my mother that I loved her, so much. My father and Jonah too-"

"Holton, stop talking," he talks over me, voice stern but low.

"You can just bin all of my things, nothing is special or sentimental-"

I'm cut off by Styles' mouth on mine.

He's kissing me.

In front of everyone. In front of his colleague.

My anxiety tries to push through, thoughts of terror and death intrude, but they don't stay long. Because I can't think about anything other than his lips on mine. It's my favourite feeling in the world.

I can feel my pulse begin to settle.

Eventually, Styles pulls back, his forehead pressing briefly to mine.

"No one's dying today," he says quietly. "You hear me?"

I nod, breath shaky.

He turns to lift Benson again, settling her onto his back like a rucksack.

"Not a word of what you just saw, ever," he warns her. She winces but nods her head. Rose falls into step beside him.

Styles looks at me one last time.

"Let's go."

______________________________

Styles begins darting down the alley, flitting from cover to cover. I crouch low with Jacob, heart pounding against my ribs, and follow behind.

Then, two shots ring out.

We've been spotted.

"Go!" Styles' voice slices through the chaos, and I'm on my feet, hauling Jacob with me.

We sprint.

Gunfire cracks through the air, echoing off the broken buildings. My legs burn. Jacob begins to slide down my back, but I drag him up, forcing us both forward. We reach the wall of a collapsed building and dive behind it.

I look around the corner, and I see it.

The helicopter.

The end of this.

Clarke is standing in the door way, armed and shouting on us.

I peek over the rubble. Styles is halfway across with Benson and Rose.

"Ready?" I whisper to Jacob. He nods weakly.

We push forward again, ducking low as bullets rip through the air. I don't look at where they're coming from. I can't. I just move.

We're nearly there. I can see the extraction ridge, the rotor blades of the helicopter just visible above the trees, kicking up dust and debris. I hear Clarke shouting, Styles yelling. It's chaos, a storm of sound and fear.

But something halts me in my tracks.

Through the smoke, the gunfire, the blur of shadows and shouting.

He's standing at the far end of the street.

My father.

Except he's not a government soldier, not a civilian, not a hostage.

He's dressed head to toe in Southside kit.

My legs falter.

It can't be. My heart lurches violently in my chest.

"Dad?" I gasp.

His eyes meet mine.

And for a moment, the world just... stops.

I take a step forward. "Dad!"

A hand clamps over my mouth, dragging me back.

It's Styles.

His arms wrap tight around me, forcing me behind cover.

He's alone, Benson and Rose already in the helicopter.

He came back for me?

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hisses.

"It's him, it's my dad, he's right there!" I try to scream, muffled by his palm.

"Keep your fucking voice down," he growls.

I begin to cry.

"No, no please you don't understand. It's my dad-"

"I know," he says, voice softer but shaking with urgency. "But he's one of them, Holton. Look at the uniform. He's Southside."

"No-no, there's no way- he's just- he might be undercover, or forced- he wouldn't-"

A bullet whizzes past our heads.

Styles pulls me close, his body shielding mine. He wordlessly takes Jacob from me, choosing to carry his weight instead.

"You can't tell anybody about this, do you understand?" Styles grips on my arms is tense. But I can't tear my eyes away from my father.

"Holton you need to listen to me, nobody can know," he pleads with me. "They'll kill you without a second thought if they realise. You can't be related to a Southside soldier; they'll think you're one of them."

I can't bring myself to respond.

Another bullet shrills past, marking the wall next to our heads.

"You need to run. Now!" He instructs.

I shake my head violently, fighting his grip. "I can't-"

"You will," he growls. "Or I will fucking drag you."

The next moment explodes in sound.

Gunfire. Screams. The whir of the helicopter growing louder.

Styles grabs my hand and hauls me, practically carrying Jacob and I both. I'm sobbing, shaking, stumbling through smoke and noise.

We reach the final stretch, the open path to the helicopter. Clarke and Ryder are already firing, covering us. Styles shoves Jacob into Clarke's arms.

Then pain slices through my leg.

I cry out, collapsing. Blood rushes from a hole just above my knee.

I look down.

I've been shot.

"Sniper!" Clarke shouts.

Styles grabs me before I hit the ground fully, hauling me up and into the helicopter with both arms. "I've got her! Go!"

Through blurred vision, I see my father again, standing in the chaos.

Then a flash.

A shot.

His body jerks backward, a red bloom spreading across his chest.

He collapses.

And just like that, he's gone.

A scream erupts from within me, and I thrash against Styles' grip.

"Holton-" he snaps, trying to hold me steady.

"Let me go! That was him- that was-"

Styles hand covers my mouth again as he turns me round, pushing my head into his chest, muffling the sounds leaving my body.

He throws us both behind the armoured edge of the chopper, Clarke grabbing me and pulling me the rest of the way in. The medics are already shouting, already reaching for my leg.

I can't hear them.

I can't feel the pain.

I can't see anything except that crumpled figure in the dirt.

My father.

Dead.

"Holton!" someone yells. "Stay with us!"

Everything tilts. My vision tunnels. All I hear is screaming, shouting orders, something about getting us out.

The helicopter lifts off.

Styles drags me back to lean against his chest as the medics work on my leg.

"I've got you, you're going to be okay," I can hear him mumbling above me. It sounds like he's talking to himself more than me.

My eyes begin to close.

The last thing I hear before I pass out is the sound of Styles' voice in my ear.

"I'm so sorry Mollie."