Chapter 110 - The Escape

Victor came with a hovering dolly and he helped place Demos over it. Grant pushed our wounded out of the corridor with Victor walking by his side. Dr. Churchhill kept giving me side-glance. He nervously played with his hand before shoving it in his pockets.

"I'm still against it," he mumbled under his breath. In the crude light of the long corridor, I saw the extensive damage peeking through the bandages. I averted my eyes feeling an iron grip over my heart. My legs wobbled as I walked. The doctor caught me before I kissed the floor.

"Hurts!" I gasped gripping my chest.

"Liliane!" called Grant, he left the dolly and rushed to my side. Victor blinked and shook his head as if waking up from a strange dream. He turned to us with a frown then his eyes stopped at the furry shape on the dolly.

"Hey! What's doing on here?" he shouted. Grant froze. His hand reached for his gun found inside his coat. His fingers shook as he touched the weapon. "No! What's going—who is talking—get out of my head!" he yelled in a broken tone. He hugged his head and trembled. Then he stood still. Eyes blank. Barely breathing.

"Grant! Don't do that," warned Dr. Churchhill. "There are cameras all other the place. Atlas knows what's going on...all the time," Grant pulled me away from the doctor, with a hand around my waist he guided me to the dolly.

"If he knows what's going on why doesn't he stop me?" said Grant without looking back.

"You can leave and save your friend," said a voice from the ceiling. We all stopped and gazed around shocked that Atlas replied. Grant's hand tensed around my waist.

"I've spoken to Captain Bernard. I've even viewed the arrest," I had to take short breaths to help me from fainting. "It was self-defense. The cyborg punched first, I'll ask for full diagnostic of the cyborg," he went on nonchalantly. Victor stood by the door as rigid as a plank.

"Grant please release our personal. Victor has a family, a loving wife and two children. He is very effective in his job. I would like to keep him alive," the voice was flat and emotionless. I shivered.

"What's your price?" shouted Grant. My head sprung in his direction. What was he talking about? This could go south very rapidly and I was not planning on dying tonight or lose both of them.

"Price?" asked Atlas.

"Nothing is free?" Grant said through gritted teeth. A terrifying sound filled the corridor, something like a mixture of a sinister laugh and a choke. This thing was never meant to laugh. Goosebumps broke over my whole body.

"I'll have to think about it," the voice sunk back to its lifeless tone. We left Victor back at the cells. He just stood there ignoring us as we went out separate ways. What exactly did Grant do to him? The elevator was waiting for us with opened doors. How convenient. I frowned at the doors as it closed on us. I was convinced Atlas had a lot to do with it. If he wanted he could send the cabin diving to our deaths.

Nobody followed us when we entered the main hall. Actually it was empty, the front desk where the girl greeted us, vacant. But shadows peered through the glass doors and corners. We were sure we were surrounded and watched. What did it mean? What was Atlas expecting from us? I quickly pushed the thought aside and pushed the main door. The warm midday breeze greeted me. Dr. Churchhill's red car was still there. Happy shoppers were busy with their lives, people were eaten out on terraces. Nothing hinted to what was unraveling. There were no alarms when we rushed down the steps and crossed the parking lot for our vehicle. I helped keep the door of the back open as Grant and Dr. Churchhill carefully place Demos on the seat. The car groaned under his weight. The doctor was panting when he ran to the driver's side.

"Get in," urged Grant, I squeezed my way inside with Demos. half of his body had sunk off the seat and it seemed quite uncomfortable. Grant shut his shut and before he was able to pull his seatbelt the car was already moving.

"Where are we going?" I held on the front seat as the car zigzagged to the main road. "Why did he let us go? Why isn't anyone following us?" both of them stared straight ahead in silence. I had a very bad feeling about this. I turned my attention back to the backseat. I ran my fingers on the dark fur, there were places where the white liquid has dried making it rough to the touch. Tears rolled down unconsciously down my cheek. The car braked sending me crashing against the front seat.

"Damn it!" cursed the doctor and he steered the car to the left making the tires squeal. Grant twisted around and touched my hair.

"Are you ok?" he frowned. He faced the old man. "Why are you speeding? Atlas is not after us, the police are not after us. Can't you slow down?" Dr. Churchhill gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"I'm angry—and nervous—I know all hell will break loose—we might all die!" he stepped on the gas pedal. He was not in his right mind. We might really die, right now in a car crash.

"Please," I held on the soft cushion of Grant's seat. He extended a hand to me and I took it.

"Dr. Churchhill if you were feeling unwell, please stop the car. I'll drive," the old man took his eyes off the road for a second. My heart leaped inside my chest.

"The road!" I shouted. He turned his head back and he slowed the car to a halt on the roadside. He didn't switch on the engines. He just sat there, eyes lost in the distance. All I could hear was the drumming of my heart in my ears.

"Grant," he whispered. "I-I was only planning to sell you and get my golden ticket for a good retirement on a tropical island," my cold just went cold. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe.

"But—" he looked up eyes teary. "I was wrong—there's no escaping the war. We can delay the inevitable. We can't—" his voice trailed off into sobs. He slammed his fists on the steering wheel, the car honked back in protest. The old man hunched over the dashboard, pressing his forehead over the wheel. Grant reached his hand at him but hesitated. He closed it into a fist.

"There's still hope," he said firmly. "Olga will help fix Demos," he retrieved his hand and opened the door. I watched as he rounded the hood and got to the driver's side.

"Get out, I'm driving," he held the door open for Dr. Churchhill. He sniffed and nodded.

"I wished I was the one who created you," they exchange a weird look.

We drove back to the lab, I didn't know Grant could drive. I was too shocked to ask any questions. Olga waited for us in the parking lot with two other women. They had a stretcher waiting for us. We all frowned at them. Were they notified of our situation? Did Atlas brief them? Olga pulled my side of the door opened when the car stopped.

"Liliane, are you ok?" she helped me out. "You look very pale," I just shook my head. What was I suppose to answer? The little episode of our good doctor shook me more than it should have. Maybe, I wanted to hear some sweet lies that everything will be ok. Even if I was certain in my guts—shit will hit the fan. Starting with Demos. I stood aside as they placed him on the stretcher and hurried to the door. That red dot glared at me as I got closer.

"Liliane, welcome back. Can I be of any assistance?" asked the AI. My knees shook as I forced myself to move forward. "You should get something to eat. You skipped lunch," a wave of nausea washed over me, I leaned against the wall for support. Hands wrapped around me.

"Liliane," I looked up and gazed in—Demos' eyes. I blinked and found Grant frowning at me.

"I'm getting you to the infirmary," he didn't wait for me to answer and swept me off my feet, my arms automatically went around his shoulder. I rested my head against his chest, shivering.

"W-what will happen to Demos? What will happen to us? I-I can't live without both of you. I—just can't," he stared straight ahead as he marched towards the elevator going in the opposite direction to where they were taking Demos. I wanted to fight and scream. But there was no strength left inside me. The only thing I could cling too was Grant. Yet he was heading away from there I wanted to be.

"Shh, I need to take care of you. Demos is in good hands. Olga will do her best," he gave me a tight smile that never reached his eyes.

"I'm tired," I said closing my eyes. The last words Demos said echoed in my head. Hurts. I too was hurting. That gaping hole inside my chest where the red thread that linked me to Demos was gone.

"I'll fix this," Grant kissed my hair. My heavy lids closed on his pained face. I tumbled into a pit of anguish chased by monsters who want to rip me to shreds. My hand gripped on the red spring of fate, the one that was supposed to guide me out of the labyrinth. But halfway into the darkness it broke leaving me lost and alone.

I woke up gasping for air, a hand held me down on the bed, I blinked and saw Olga sitting next to me. Her expressionless face was replaced with one of sadness. My eyes darted around the blank room. We were alone.

"Where is Grant? Where is Demos—?" the events rushed back. I searched her face. "What happened to Demos?" she just shook her head.