“Don’t worry about the dog—not now! Stay focused or you’ll get yourself killed,” Keegan says.
I want to fight him, to find Zeus, but I clench my jaws instead. I feel empty, disturbed, and afraid. Zeus was the only comfort I had—the only piece of happiness I clung to. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him.
With each explosion, I jerk, then close my eyes and pray. The walls rattle around me. I try to make myself invisible by pressing harder into the wall, making myself less of a target. Debris smashes to the floor from the ceiling. I stare up at it, wondering how long it’ll hold. A steady thrumming buzzes in my ears. I catch eyes with Keegan. His are stony and flat, his body rigid as he flings through his meager supplies. I hear the tamping of feet go by and Keegan whips around, facing the door with his gun at the ready. I hold my breath, waiting for it to pass. I wonder if anything will be left for us in an hour. Remembering my ring, I twist it around nervously. But the words inscribed on it don’t bring me peace like they usually do. In fact, I think about the odds. The Hole’s filled with thousands of people—weak, starving, beaten-down sinners. Is it even possible to dream we can liberate it? But then I shake the doubts away. I have to believe the best. I have to trust in the plan Sutton put forth. Even if parts of it fail.
Time ticks by. It feels like months before Keegan rises to put his hand on the knob.
We listen, and there’s no sound outside. He slides the door open and listens again. Nothing. He motions and we creep forward into the hallway. Or what’s left of it.
Large holes have been punched into the walls from explosions and bodies sprawl in awkward positions on the floor. There aren’t as many as I would’ve thought, though I don’t know how anyone could’ve survived. Ironically, I feel lucky. But the revelation also makes me feel slightly guilty for surviving. As I step over the bodies, I can see their blood trickling into puddles, pooling around them. I smell death with its heavy lead fingers encircling all of us.
Keegan kneels down, searching for more ammunition and scowls when he finds nothing that matches his weapon. I avert my eyes to keep from recognizing anyone I might’ve known. I’ve already got enough gory images imprinted in my memory.
Light filters in some of the rooms where the ceiling crumbles and rubble forms small mountains. Not a soul is in sight. I feel naked holding on to my small handgun. Keegan turns right down another hallway, staying close to the wall.
Another large doorway was blasted through, so I know Isaac made it this far. I pull my jacket up over my nose to prevent myself from breathing more particles and drop it once I realize it’s impossible to avoid. An open doorway on the left snatches my attention.
Holding my gun ready, I peek in.
It’s a bedroom. It would be beautiful if not for the holes blown through it. In the corner, on a platform, sits a large king-sized bed draped with a cream and silver embroidered comforter. A crystal chandelier hangs by electrical wires from the ceiling. I bet it looked amazing once.
I continue following Keegan, going room by room, scouting for the commander. We have to be close to his personal quarters according to the maps we studied during training. Doors line the hallway lit only by the sunlight filtering in from the devastation around us. We see more and more rooms, each one becoming more opulent than the last. Precious artwork dangles from the walls if not blown to pieces completely. I recognize some of the paintings with regret. Disgust rises in me, imagining the commander entertaining wealthy people here while sinners die of starvation just outside.
Keegan taps my shoulder and I jump, turning and slamming my back flat against the wall behind me. He motions for me to go first.
I hold my gun close to my face and hug the walls as I tiptoe over pieces of broken glass, contorted bodies, and cement blocks. A guard lays to my left, his body resting against the wall. He looks peaceful like he’s taking a nap on a Sunday afternoon.
Keegan squats, roughly lifts the guard’s torso, and takes his extra ammunition. Slamming a new magazine into place, we move forward. Popping sounds echo from farther in the residence.