I wake up, feeling more refreshed than I've felt in years. I've woken up with sore lungs every day for as long as I can remember. But they pump oxygen into the air vents in the HQ. I am not sore, for once in my life. And, my wrists aren't sore anymore— the handcuffs were tight, but they're off now.
After waking up for a little bit, I notice Wheeler's awake. Lars and Wes are still asleep. "What are you doing, Wheeler?" I ask.
Wheeler looks at me. He's attempting to reach through the bars to scan his card to get us out. "I can't get my hand through. It's too big. Barely."
I force myself to stand up and walk over there. "Let me try." He hands me the card and I reach through and scan it with ease. The door opens. "Wes, Lars, wake up, we're getting out of here!" I say. Wheeler and I shake them awake and they get up.
"This way," Wheeler says. We walk toward the door. Other prisoners shout at us, trying to get us to let them out, but we don't listen. As guilty as I feel, I ignore them. We get to the door and Wheeler scans his card again to open it. When it opens, he pokes his head out to check and make sure the coast is clear. "All right, let's go." Wheeler, Larson, Wes, and I walk into the hallway, then up so many flights of stairs that I lose count. All I know is that I'm really exhausted from it. When we reach the top of the staircase, there is a short hallway, then it T's. "You three go right. I have to go left." Wheeler hands me his card. "You'll need this."
"Why are you giving this to me?" I ask him.
He takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly. "This—" He stops, fighting his emotions. "This is where we part, boys."
"What are you talking about, Wheeler?" Larson questions. "You're coming with us, aren't you?"
"Well, no."
"How do we get in without you?!" Wes half-whispers.
"It's all part of the plan, okay? Trust me, guys. I know, I'm not an extremely trustworthy person, being an ex-Fed, but I promise that this was the plan the whole time. Go through the second door on the right, then take out everyone in there; probably no more than eight people. There're two doors on the right. One has an ID scanner, the other doesn't. Go through the one with the ID scanner."
"All right, fine, where do we meet you after?" Larson asks.
Wheeler looks down. He's avoiding the question.
"Wheeler?"
When Wheeler looks up, he has tears in his eyes. "See, the thing is..." He sniffs. I force myself not to get emotional. I always cry when I see someone else crying. "The thing is, the only way we can defeat the Federation without hundreds of people dying is for me to die. I have to allow myself to get caught, and I need to try to fight them. Soon, all the guards and everyone on duty will be trying to get me and you won't have to worry about them catching you...so, this is goodbye."
Larson takes a step closer to Wheeler. "You never mentioned that you'd have to die."
"Yeah, because that's a totally normal thing to throw into a conversation; 'Just so ya know, I'm gonna die tomorrow, 'kay?' And besides...you wouldn't have let me do it, would you?"
"No, I wouldn't have." Larson takes a deep breath and sighs. "Wheeler, there has to be another—"
"There isn't, Lars. I wish there were, but the only other way would kill lots of people. None of us want that."
"You're right, we don't," I say. I realize that Wes hasn't said anything in awhile. "Wes, you're sure quiet over there."
"Yeah, well, yesterday was kind of the worst day ever, so..." He mutters.
"Anything else on your mind?"
"Well..." He looks up at us. "I'm not gonna miss Wheeler all too much." I look at Wheeler. He's taken aback and very hurt by Wes' comment.
"Weston!" Larson snaps.
"He let Naomi die, got us locked up in jail, he's an ex-Fed, I don't know that I trust him."
I start to defend Wheeler. "Wes—"
"No, no, Wes is right, Damien." Wheeler looks at Wes. "I'm not a very trustworthy guy. I'm obnoxious, arrogant, snotty sometimes, an ex-Fed, I'm pretty oblivious, I'm a mess. But I hate the fed. Hate. That doesn't even begin to explain it, in all honesty. I need you guys to trust me, please. I know I haven't done much to prove trustworthy, but I need you to trust me." We all look at Wes. He looks down, clearly refusing to trust Wheeler. "Wes," Wheeler begins. "I'm about to walk out of here and die. Would I do that if I wasn't on your side?"
"No."
"Do you understand?"
Silence.
"Please tell me you do, 'cause I'm running out of good stuff to say about myself..."
"Okay, all right, I trust you."
We don't quite believe him, but we continue our earlier conversation.
"Wheeler," Larson begins. "I haven't truly realized until now...You're one of the best friends I have ever had." He pulls him into a hug. "Thank you for sacrificing yourself, but I wish it were me, not you."
"I know you do. But no one needs me. So many need you."
"You know that's not true, Wheeler!"
"It is." Wheeler changes the subject, "If you guys happen to find Charlene, Jeremiah, or Lucille Hawkins, or TJ Kelley—" He chokes on his words. "—Tell them I love them."
Larson loses it and starts crying. He pulls Wheeler into a hug and says, "I will. Thank you for doing this, Wheeler." When Wheeler pulls away, he looks at me and hugs me.
"You can do this."
I nod. "Thanks, man." He pulls away and hugs Wes.
"I'm sorry I didn't trust you, Wheeler," Wes whispers.
"It's all right." Wheeler pulls away and starts downstairs.
"Wheeler!" Larson shouts. "That's the wrong way!"
"I know, but it was a lot more dramatic!" Wheeler answers. He comes back upstairs, walks past us, and down the hall, then to the left, at the T. Larson allows a smile to creep across his face.
Larson clears his throat and says, "Come on, boys." He walks down the hall and turns right, with Wes and I following. I ready my gun, hesitate for a moment, then scan the card. A few heads turn to look at us.
"Intruders!" One shouts, pointing at us. I aim my gun at his shin, close my eyes, and fire, instantly hearing him shriek in pain. When I open my eyes again, three guys are running towards us. As if we had planned it, Wes, Lars, and I each take on one. I run forward and slam my elbow into the side of his head, and he returns the attack by shoving me to the ground, falling on top of me, and letting his elbow slam into my ribs, knocking the wind out of me. I gasp for air and Larson, who had finished his guy off already, grabs the back of my guy's shirt, pulls him off of me, and tosses him backward a few feet, then punches him square in the nose.
The rest of the group, three more people, come at Larson, and he takes all of them on at once. I struggle to stand up so I can help, but hear the click of a pistol cocking behind me. I spin around, and see Wes' Fed sitting on him and holding a gun to his throat. I'm five feet away, so I lunge towards him, knock him off of Wes, rip the gun from his hands, and shoot his shoulder. Wes sighs with relief, and the two of us struggle to stand up.
"You two okay?" Larson asks, three unconscious Fed members at his feet.
I smile and answer, "Yeah, I think so." He walks over to us and helps us up.
"Dean O'Connor is through that door. You ready?" Larson sighs.
I nod. "Yeah." I look over at Wes. He looks nervous. I put an arm around him and say, "You ready, man?"
He grins and answers, "As I'll ever be." I take my arm off his shoulders, pull out the ID card, and scan it.
Larson walks in and shouts, "Hands where I can see them!" Dean's back is to us, so he slowly turns around.
"I don't want to hurt you guys," he says as he turns around. He stops when he sees me. "Damien?"
I'm shocked. I never thought I'd see him again. "Dad?"
Larson looks at me with a face of surprise. "'Dad?!' This is your dad?!"
"Yeah, dad, what-what are you doing here? Where's Dean?"
"That's an alias." Dean walks towards us. "Damien, it's been ten years! What's happened since then?!"
I fire him a confused look. "I break into your office to kill you, and you ask me what's going on in my life?"
"Damien," he steps right in front of me. "You're still my son—"
"No I am not!" In one swift move, I grab his collar to pull him closer, and hold my pistol to his neck. "You are not my father."
"Damien," Larson grabs my wrist. "Don't do something you'll regret."
I look at Larson angrily. "Regret?! I would never regret this! All the pain he caused our family when he left. My mother died because of him!" Tears spring to my eyes and I turn my focus back to Dean. "She's dead! All because of you!"
He looks hurt. "How did she die?"
"Does it matter?! She's gone." I put my gun down and throw Dean backward as I release his collar. "Give me one good reason not to shoot you right now."
"I'm your father, Damien."
Hearing that sentence come out of his mouth again makes me snap. "You are not my father!" I scream at the top of my lungs. I slam the heels of my hands into his chest and knock him over. I look over at Larson. "I need to do what we came here to do." I pull out my rifle and Larson runs over to me.
"Damien, don't—"
I fire the gun. My heart feels hollow. I remind myself how much grief he caused. I know now that he made all those laws— the trackers, the law against having kids, and all the other problems the Federation caused. But, even after reminding myself of all the pain he's caused, I still burst into tears and fall to my knees next to Dean. My dad.
"Damien," Larson and Wes come over next to me. "I'm proud of you."
"You're proud of me?"
"You did what you had to do. Killing your—"
"He's not my dad...not anymore. I don't have one anymore." I stand up. "We need to get out of here."
"Right. Let's go. C'mon Wes." Larson leads the way out. We keep our guns ready, but walk imprudently through the halls. Soon, I'm in front. We walk down two flights of stairs and reach the bottom of the staircase, the whole time not seeing the Fed members who were just out of our peripheral vision until now. Six of them. All with guns. I hear a bang, and, suddenly, my shoulder is in an excruciating amount of pain. I scream and drop to the floor, falling down a couple steps in the process. I hear someone scream my name.
I can't make out what's going on. My mind slowly registers everything. I'm terrified and confused, but I can't move so I lie there. There are gunshots, screams. I don't know whose, my brain isn't working well enough. I notice the gunshots quiet and Larson is in my sight, barely. My vision is a little fuzzy, but I can see him as he kneels next to me.
He's talking to me, but I can't understand him. "We—" I cough for a couple seconds. "We need to go."
For the first time, I understand him. "You're right, Wes help me." Larson and Wes start to pick me up, but the pain in my arm flares and I scream.
"Stop," I cough. "Put me down." They lay me back on the ground. I squeeze my eyes shut. "Go."
"Damien, we are not leaving you," Weston says.
"That's the only—" More coughing. "—The only way you can get out." Coughing. "I'll slow you down."
"I don't care." Larson sits me up and drapes my left arm over his shoulders, then helps me stand up and walk, my shoulder throbbing the whole time. "Wes, cover us." Wes walks in front of us and keeps an eye out, as we walk down staircase after staircase. I make it down three flights before I let myself drop from Larson's grasp and fall to my knees.
"No, Larson, I can't—" I swallow and attempt to catch my breath. "—I can't go any further."
"No, no, Damien, c'mon, we gotta—"
"Lars, I can't." I have a quick, but painful, coughing fit.
"Damien, I am not leaving you here." Larson very carefully scoops me up in his arms. "Wes, find a bandage, or use your shirt, or something."
I hear ripping. I'm blacking out. The next thing I know, Wes is wrapping some cloth around my wound. It hurts, and I think I'm screaming, but I've bled a lot, so it's all a little hazy. Maybe groaning. I can't really tell, but I can tell that Larson starts moving.
My eyes blink open slowly. It's not quite as bright as it was at the HQ, but it still hurts my eyes. I'm still in Larson's arms. I let my eyes flutter closed again and vaguely pay attention to what's going on. It takes me a second to realize that I'm outside.
"Get the door, Wes, quick," I hear Lars say. I pay better attention for a minute, and notice the heavy safe house doors opening and the chatter and clambering of our fighter coming to see us.
"Larson!" It's Piper. I eps ant to see her but I can't get my eyes open. "What—oh my gosh." I feel her gentle touch. One hand on my cheek and the other carefully studying my injured shoulder.
"Where's your mom, Piper?" Wes asks, panicked.
"I don't know," Piper answers. She's clearly distracted. She continues caressing my cheek and I want to reach up and grab her hand, but my good arm is wedged between my side and Larson's ribs.
"Weston, Piper hasn't seen Damien since yesterday morning. She's worried about him. Why don't you go find her, 'kay?"
I don't hear Wes leave, but I assume he does. Soon, Larson sets me down on an operating table. I'm dizzy and trying hard not to black out.
"So, Wanda, what's the verdict?" Larson asks.
After some poking and prodding, Wanda lifts my shoulder off the table and feels the back. "It didn't go through. That means he'll need surgery, most likely. The bullet grazed his collarbone just right to shatter it." I finally notice that I don't have a shirt on, because starts feeling down by my ribs. I grunt and groan in pain; that's where the Fed member slammed me with his elbow. "He has a broken rib, and, as you can see, he is extremely bruised. He's going to need a lot of recovery time."
Larson sighs. "He'll be okay, though...right?"
"Probably. But I can't be certain. He's lost a lot of blood, the bullet is still in him—I don't know for sure, I'm sorry."
Piper starts sobbing, and Larson begins to soothe her, though emotional as well.
"Wait, where's Wheeler?!" Piper exclaims.
"He...he didn't make it."
Piper continues sobbing. I open my eyes. All I see is a bright light, until Wanda's face comes into my vision. I use my left arm to try to sit myself up, but the pain in my shoulder and my chest is too much, so I scream and lower myself onto the table.
"Relax, Damien, don't try to sit up." Wanda soothes. "You'll hurt yourself more. You have a broken—"
"Yeah—" More coughing; this time, bringing much more pain than the other times. "I heard. I've been awake since we got here."
"Damien! Damien!" I hear my name shouted repeatedly as it moves closer; it's Ritchie. "Ah, freak—" He's studies me for a second, then turns to Wanda. "What are you doing?! Why aren't you saving my little brother?!" He crouches next to the operation table and looks at me. "You're gonna be okay, Damien. Don't worry, Wanda's gonna save you—"
"Ritchie, I don't know, for sure, that I can."
Ritchie stands up straight and faces her. "What?! You have to! He can't die! I already lost one brother today!" Brody. He died today. Today sucks. "You can't let him die." He tries to keep yelling, but he starts crying too hard.
"Piper, honey, I need you out for the operation, please," Wanda orders.
"C'mon, Piper," Lars starts leading her out, but she stops and turns to face Wanda.
"No, wait. Mom, can I have a minute with him, real quick?"
"Quick," Wanda states. Everyone leaves, and Piper and I are alone.
Piper places a hand on my cheek, the way she did when I first got back. Tears run down her cheeks, dropping off her face and onto my chest.
I muster up enough strength and energy to reach up and put my left hand on her cheek, brushing hair out of her face. "I love you," I manage to say.
After a quick sob, she says, "I love you, too, Damien."
Wanda walks in. "Come on, hon." Wand places her hands on Piper's shoulders and starts to walk her out, but Piper wriggles from her grip and comes over to me.
"You'll be okay." She leans down and kisses me, then walks out. Wes, Ritchie, and Larson return.
"We don't have sedative or anesthesia, so he has to be awake for the operation. You three need to hold him down." I feel hands clamp over my ankles and wrists, and a hand on my left shoulder. Over to my right is Ritchie, tear-stained and puffy-eyed, by my feet is Wes, melancholy as usual, and Larson to my left. He looks nervous. Wanda appears, pulling blue rubber gloves over her hands, and holding a scalpel. I squeeze my eyes shut, then feel the scalpel break through skin, and scream, jumping, and wanting to move. The pain is so much, that I finally stop fighting the impending unconsciousness, and allow myself to black out.
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