Chapter 149: Chapter 149 - Got Yah
They didn’t slow until the apartment door shut behind them.
Iyisha’s breathing was uneven now, the control she had forced at the gate finally slipping as the red lights continued to pulse outside the windows. A second later the first gunshots cracked through the night.
It was not close.
But it wasn’t distant either.
Sharp bursts.
Return fire.
Then shouting.
Marybeth flinched hard at the sound.
Reya was still unconscious over Malcolm’s shoulder as he moved quickly through the apartment, not wasting a second. He set her down carefully against the far wall, then crossed to the windows and killed the lights.
Darkness swallowed the room except for the red flashes bleeding through the curtains.
Another round of shots echoed, closer this time.
Iyisha’s heart slammed against her ribs.
"They started," she whispered.
Malcolm was already moving.
He pulled the heavy table toward the center of the room and angled it away from the windows, creating a crude barrier. He dragged the mattress off the frame and propped it low along the inner wall, stacking dense objects between them and the exterior line of fire.
"Stay low," he said evenly.
He moved to the kitchen corner and grabbed the metal storage cabinet, shifting it into a partial shield near the hallway entrance. Anything that could slow a round.
More gunfire erupted outside, louder now.
Automatic bursts.
Then the deep boom of something heavier.
Marybeth covered her ears, crouching near Reya.
"What’s happening?" she breathed.
Iyisha moved to the inner wall, sliding down beside the mattress Malcolm had positioned. Her lungs still hadn’t fully steadied from the run back.
"Maybe those crazy people knew what was happening," she said quietly. "Or Whitewater started as soon as they stepped out the apartment." She doubted that.
Another volley cracked across the compound yard.
Glass shattered somewhere down the corridor outside their unit.
Malcolm returned to them, crouching low.
"We stay here until we understand the direction of fire," he said. "If they breach buildings, we move through the window in the back."
Iyisha could hear boots running outside in coordinated rhythm.
Orders being shouted.
They did not lower their guard even when the gunfire began to thin.
At first it came in scattered bursts. Then single shots. Then distant echoes. Each time a sound cracked through the compound, all four of them tensed again, waiting to see if it would grow closer.
It didn’t.
Hours passed like that.
Listening.
Waiting.
Counting the silence between noises.
Iyisha sat against the inner wall with her knees drawn slightly up, Malcolm positioned close enough that she could feel the steady warmth of his back where she had rested her fingers earlier just to let him know she was still there. At some point after the fifth or sixth hour without fresh gunfire, exhaustion dragged at her harder than fear.
She did not realize when her eyes closed.
She woke to Marybeth’s hand on her shoulder.
"Iyisha."
Her head snapped up instantly, heart leaping into alert mode before her mind caught up.
The room was dim but no longer flashing red.
Reya was sitting upright now, wrists free, shoulders slumped forward slightly as if she had come back to consciousness sometime in the night and simply stayed there. Her expression was distant, eyes unfocused, hands resting loosely on her thighs.
Iyisha reached out automatically and touched Malcolm’s back lightly.
He reacted immediately, shifting just enough to acknowledge that he knew she was awake.
"It’s been quiet," he said under his breath. "Five hours."
Five hours without a shot.
That was either very good.
Or very bad.
Iyisha pushed herself up carefully and edged toward the window, lifting the curtain just a fraction.
Sunlight hit her eyes.
Morning.
The yard looked different. Smoke still hung faintly in the air. One vehicle near the far barrier looked damaged. She could not see bodies from this angle, but she saw men moving in controlled patrol lines.
Organized.
Not chaotic.
She let the curtain fall back into place.
"Are we safe?" she asked quietly.
Malcolm did not answer immediately.
He watched the door instead.
"I don’t know," he said finally.
He stood and moved toward the entrance slowly, checking the peephole without exposing himself fully.
"How is she?" Iyisha asked Marybeth, nodding toward Reya.
Marybeth glanced at her.
"She’s fine," she said, but there was doubt under it. "She hasn’t tried to scream again. If that’s what you’re asking."
Reya did not react to the conversation. She simply stared at the wall as if replaying something only she could see.
A sudden pounding hit the door.
All four of them froze.
"Whitewater!" a male voice shouted from outside. "Come out with your hands up!"
Iyisha’s stomach dropped.
She looked at Malcolm.
His jaw tightened slightly.
He did not speak.
Instead, he moved toward them in two silent steps and gestured sharply toward the kitchen.
Now.
Marybeth grabbed Reya’s hand, pulling her to her feet. Reya moved sluggishly, dazed but compliant.
The pounding on the door grew louder.
"Open up!"
Malcolm reached the kitchen window, unlatched it quietly, and pushed it open just wide enough.
"Out," he murmured.
Iyisha climbed first, dropping carefully onto the narrow space below. Marybeth followed, half-dragging Reya with her. Malcolm came last.
As soon as his boots hit the ground, the apartment door splintered behind them.
Wood cracked.
Men’s voices flooded inside.
They ran toward the side alley between buildings.
Their breathing came hard and sharp as they reached the street beyond the rear block.
Iyisha turned her head to check on the others.
Marybeth was pulling Reya along, Reya’s steps uneven but moving.
Malcolm paused briefly at the edge of the building, glancing back toward their unit.
He stepped back down to the street.
"Move," he ordered.
Iyisha felt the absence of a weapon more than the cold morning air. Her hands felt empty. Useless.
Malcolm took one slow breath beside her, eyes moving across rooftops, windows, the corners of the street.
Then a voice erupted from somewhere ahead, loud enough to scrape across the buildings.
"Come out!"
Iyisha stiffened. The tone didn’t match Whitewater guards. It carried too much heat, too much personal rage.
She turned—
And something hit her from behind.
An arm locked across her chest and dragged her backward. Her heel slipped against gravel. Before she could fight it, something thin and sharp touched the side of her neck.
A sting.
Then warmth.
Malcolm stopped instantly.
Marybeth gasped.
Reya stood behind Iyisha, her body tight against her back, forearm braced across Iyisha’s collarbone. In her hand was a narrow shard of glass, angled just enough to press into skin without slicing deeper.
A thin line of blood slid down toward Iyisha’s collar.
Reya’s breathing was steady. Controlled.
There was no confusion in her face. No haze.
She had been awake.
Watching.
Waiting.
"William!" she called, voice lifting down the street. "We’re here!"
Malcolm shifted his weight forward without realizing it.
The glass pressed harder.
Iyisha felt the edge dig closer to her pulse.
"Don’t," Reya said quietly.
Marybeth stared at her as if she didn’t recognize the person holding the weapon.
"Reya... what are you doing?"
Reya didn’t answer her.
Her eyes stayed fixed ahead.
Footsteps approached, unhurried, confident.
Iyisha understood then that the dazed silence all night had been a performance. The slack posture. The unfocused stare. Even letting herself be carried.
She had waited for the change.
Malcolm went still again, completely still now, calculating the space between them and the shard, knowing that if he moved too fast the glass would cut before he reached her.
Iyisha felt another drop of warmth slide down her skin.
And at the end of the street, a figure stepped forward into full view.
