Free Kismet by Beth D. Carter Page A

remember those places. I stomp away from him, back down the murky tunnel that leads back to the underground city. Kris, who must have dressed while I lay on the broken concrete slab screaming like an idiot, falls into step beside me. And this time I’m the one who feels a flash of annoyance because he let me lie on that cold ground. How long was I on it? If I get sick, I’m going to be so pissed!
    There isn’t a clue to what time it is, though by how everything is quiet, I’m guessing either really late or really early. We take the tunnel that will lead us back to the door, and I’m not surprised to see four men guarding it. They each have guns, and when Kris and I appear, two of them turn those weapons on us. I throw up my hands.
    “We’re leaving to find our comrade,” I tell them. Kris nudges me like this is a huge governmental secret, but who the fuck cares? I’ve learned that the way to get people to trust you is to be honest, because people like this, people who survive, they can tell when you’re lying. “We’ll be back.”
    The guards look at each other in confusion. I don’t want to give them time to call Shalana, because I don’t think she’ll allow us to leave, so I take matters into my own hand by marching up to the vault door. It’s bolted big-time from this side, with massive sliding steel rods. Now, as I get a good look at it, I can see that the door is actually made out of steel as well, and I briefly wonder if it once belonged on a bank vault. The two guards look at their partners, and I wave to hurry them up. It works, and the door opens silently. But as soon as we exit through it, it bangs shut with an ominous echo.
    On the surface it is quiet, eerily so. It is early, very early, morning, right when night caves to day. I walk to the street and then spin slowly, waiting for my spidey sense to kick in. Kris is behind me, watching and waiting. But I keep turning, and he keeps waiting, because I got nothing.
    “Evie?” he asks, and I can hear the impatience in his voice.
    I stop to face him. “I don’t know. Kris, I can’t feel him.”
    We stare at each other, and I almost feel the tears start to well up in my eyes when we hear the distinct noises of a fight. Kris’s head spins in the direction, and then he’s off, running, and I’m right behind him. He’s better at jumping over stuff, but I’m faster, so I’m able to keep up. The sounds grow louder, and we round a building just in time to see Hyde go down, the man who stands over him brandishing a long, two-prong stick of sorts. Kris gives a battle cry and charges the man, plowing into him like a tractor-trailer knocking over a bicycle. The man lands on his back with Kris on top punching the hell out of his face.
    “Stop!” I yell, running up to grab the forward momentum of Kris’s fist. “Kris! We have to help Hyde!”
    The name must have gotten through, because Kris blinks and shrugs me off to roll to his feet. In seconds we kneel by Hyde, looking him over.
    “He’s got a bruised jaw, but I don’t see any other wounds,” I remark.
    Kris grabs the odd-looking stick. “It’s some type of cattle prod,” he mutters, “or a homemade Taser of sorts.”
    I take a glance. The stick is long, cylindrical, with a rubber end for gripping and two metal spikes sticking out the other end. I put my ear to Hyde’s chest and hear a strong beat. “His heart is steady.”
    At that moment, his body jumps, and all his muscles contract. It lasts for only a second, but by the time he relaxes, Kris is standing and pulling him into a fireman’s carry stance. He thrusts the stick at me to hold.
    “Come on,” he says harshly and starts very slowly back the way we came from, the added weight of Hyde’s massive form making it difficult for Kris to walk quickly. But I see the determination in his face, the fierce resolution to get Hyde to safety, so I help him by navigating through the wreckage of the area.
    The sun is fully out by the time we