The Reaping by Annie Oldham

there, but that barbed-wire fence makes me nervous. If there’s a fence like that, there’s bound to be additional security out there. I squint and make out guard towers in the corners of the compound. As I turn to look behind me, I realize the metal cover is in the middle of a swathe of concrete. A road. I look behind me and make out the sprawling train station. Then a shape wavers into focus through the heat haze, and I watch it for a moment as it rumbles toward me. I gasp and drop the metal cover as a truck rumbles overhead. When the rumble stops, I brace my shoulder against the cover and heave it open one last time. About twenty feet on the other side of the fence is another round cover. I crouch down and slip off Jack’s soldiers.
    “What was that?”
    Truck .
    “Are we by a road?”
    Right under.
    “Close to the hospital?”
    I nod.
    “How does it look?”
    Barbed wire. Chain link. Guard towers.
    Jack wipes the sweat off his forehead and licks his lips. They’re chapped and cracking. If we don’t get more water soon, we won’t last much longer. “The fence won’t work, not if there’s trucks driving by.”
    I nod. Another hole.
    “Like this one?”
    Building close by.
    “Look up again. Are there any more trucks?”
    Jack grunts as I step onto his shoulders and heft the cover open. I look back toward the train station. The dust from the previous truck is settling into eddies on the concrete, and nothing else is headed this way. I look toward the hospital. The chain link fence is rattling closed over the road. I totally missed the fact that the fence over the road is an enormous gate. The truck bounces in the distance, and there’s still ten feet of gate open. If we hurry, we can make it through before it closes. I have a split second to decide.
    I follow the perimeter of the fence with my eyes to the far guard tower maybe two hundred feet away. I can’t see anything in it. I turn the other way. Nothing there, either. That doesn’t mean there aren’t soldiers slouched down, ready to pounce, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take. I slide the cover onto the concrete and then go down a few rungs and offer my hand to Jack.
    “What are you doing?”
    There’s no time for any kind of explanations, not when I can hear the gate slowly closing off our immediate chance to get closer to Nell and Red.
    I thrust my hand to him again, his eyes meet mine with an intensity that burns me, and then he jumps and grips me. He almost wrenches my arm out of its socket, as he dangles and reaches for the bottom rung. I clench my jaw and my biceps are burning as I try to pull him up a fraction of an inch. Jack grunts and then wraps his fingers around the rung.
    “Got it,” he says through clenched teeth. “Go.”
    I scurry up as he pulls his feet up to the rungs and then I’m sprawled on my belly on the hot concrete as I leave the hole and head for the gate. Only five feet open. I cry out as the concrete burns my palms and my arms, and I hurry across it like a lizard with as little contact as possible. The dust coats my eyelashes and makes my eyes gritty. I cough and keep crawling, hoping that Jack is right behind me, because there’s only three more feet open.
    I slip through and collapse on the other side. Jack’s hands are there beside me, and then his shoulders, and the gate keeps creaking closed, falls silent, and then he gasps.
    “My ankle!”
    I look back and his ankle is caught in the few inches of space where the gate doesn’t quite meet the fence. His ankle is twisted and he pulls on it gingerly. I put out a hand to him.
    “No, it’s fine; it’s just stuck.” He pulls and the chain link rattles, but his foot doesn’t budge.
    I give his leg a small tug, and Jack can’t hide his wince.
    “Okay, that might start to hurt.”
    I twist his ankle the other direction and give it another tug.
    “No good.”
    I sit down and put a hand to my forehead and study his leg and foot—how in the world am I going