Project HALO

Chapter 7

We both jump from the sound of the alarm.

My heart rate skyrockets and Dr. Pratt shakes me by the shoulders. "Do what you have to do!" He has to yell for me to hear him. His voice isn't shaking anymore.

Shit. I almost forgot about this part of the deal.

Who is he trying to avoid? If he has to be shot for them to leave him alone, I don't think I want to know.

"Are you sure?" I yell back, my hand tightening around the gun.

Dr. Pratt nods. "I need wounds that will slow me down, as if I were trying to stop you."

"Okay," I say, even though it's not okay at all.

He kept his promise, and I have to keep mine. That's how it works.

He tries to smile, but it reads more like a grimace.

Goddammit. Why can't he change his mind?

"I have to warn you," I try again. "Any bullet is lethal, no matter where it hits."

"Yes, I know, I know. It's... It's fine. Just shoot."

I tighten my fingers around the gun.

It's his turn to trust me. But a bullet can never be trusted.

"Now, Charles!"

The lighting is far from optimal. I can barely see the outline of his features. My mom would've never let me touch a weapon again if she was alive to see this. She was never one of those cops who shoot the innocent. Good thing I'm not a cop. And good thing the doctor isn't innocent.

I aim the gun at Dr. Pratt's calf and fire without any warning. If you have to be shot, it's better to not know when or where. The surprise eases the shock, or something. Still hurts like hell, though.

Dr. Pratt groans loudly and falls to his knees, gripping his leg. "Aaah! Thanks," he grunts. "But you have to do better. It has to seem fatal."

"You said wounds to slow you down! Not fatal," I hiss. I don't want to kill him. No matter how good of a shot I am, this room is too dark for details. "I can't do that."

"Shoot me again." His voice rises, "Now!"

The desperate panic in his voice jolts me out of my doubt. I do this for him and not for me, no matter how fucked up that is. I aim for his shoulder. It's big enough for me to get in a safe bullet. Well, as safe as a bullet can be.

But when I pull the trigger, shouts in the distance grab me.

My head automatically snaps to the direction of the noise, and before I know it, my arm has moved along. Though it's only for a nanosecond and only a couple millimeters, my finger has already pressed the trigger. The bullet flashes out the barrel. I'm not sure where it hits Dr. Pratt. Steel hands wrap around my lungs and squeeze them so hard I can't breathe.

The alarm grows louder, sharper, boring into my brain.

"Dr. Pratt?" I yell.

I think I hear him groan, but I can't afford to wait.

Fuck.

I glance at the door. So close, yet so far.

The sound of shouts closes in.

The knot reassembles in my stomach, tighter than ever. I have to run. I have to escape if I'm to keep my promise.

With a final glance at the unmoving body, I throw the door open with shaking hands and sprint out.

The sky is dark. Most of the lights outside are placed on top of a fence running around the plot. I run toward it, searching for the river Dr. Pratt mentioned. My legs quickly stiffen from lactic acid and my head feels dizzy, but I continue sprinting. The alarm shrieks somewhere in the distance, and the sound of my rapid pulse grows louder, slamming in my ears.

The fresh air is more humid than refreshing. My hair sticks to my forehead and my throat is dry. The smell of rain lingers on the asphalt. Bergen is the rainiest city in Norway, and I'll take that as a sign that I'm close to home.

The complete silence outside tempts me to stop, but I know I can't. I do slow down as I near the fence, though, trying to catch my breath. My belly growls and my limbs are heavy. Traces of the drugs must still be in my body, because I feel like shit.

The fence is taller than expected. I'm not sure if it's built to keep people in or out. I listen for the river. There's definitely a stream of water not too far away. Seconds later, I'm at the side of the building instead of behind it, and a narrow river flows from one side of the fence to the other side.

The side of complete freedom.

The river is both where I am and where I want to be, taunting me with its flexibility. Just the thought of climbing the fence is exhausting. My legs are tired, my arms weak, so I stay completely still for a minute, building up the energy to climb. I do my best to ignore the constant ring of alarms from the building. Instead, I focus on the calming stream of the river. My pulse steadies.

Then a bullet tears through the air.

It fires my heartbeat back into hyper-speed. I throw my gun over the fence and jump, my arms reaching upward. My sweaty hands cause me to lose my grip at first, but the guards come closer and their yelling grows louder, and I refuse to let go the next time.

With outstretched arms and extended fingers, I secure my hands at the top of the fence. I sway for a second, almost slipping again, but I tighten my grip so hard my knuckles turn white. I pull myself up with a loud groan and jump down on the other side.

My feet hurt a bit from the landing, but another kind of pain slams into me after I've picked up my gun. I gaze over my shoulder to get a glimpse of the whole building. Every window is eerie green. I should run before the guards come closer, but I can't move. A sign glows meekly on top of the building, pinning me in place.

My forehead wrinkles and I narrow my eyes.

I know that sign.

It can't be.

My breath catches in my throat.

Four guards round the corner, closing in, guns pointed at me. But I have to get one last look. I have to be certain.

As I read it again, as every hair on my body stands up, I am sure.

The letters spell out "NIC": The National Intelligence Centre. Norway's biggest security company.

My father's company.