I throw a leg over the open window. I’m the last one out. We’re on the second story, so I have to jump. I glance down and see one of the WUN soldiers waiting to catch me, the other four guarding the soldier’s back. Beyond them I can see to the end of the king’s property and the road beyond. That’s where the car my father spoke of should be waiting.

A hand wraps around my arm. I don’t think; I bring my arm up and shoot to kill. The king’s soldier falls away, but more come after me. They’ll shoot my guards if I don’t do something first.

I aim and fire. One, two, three, four go down before the gun clicks. I drop it and grab another from the carnage. I shoot three more men and drop the weapon. I pick up two more guns before I’m able to focus on jumping down. This is all the ammunition I’ll have between here and scheduled pick up, so I’ll have to restrain myself from shooting anything that moves.

I make eye contact with the soldier waiting for me below, and then I jump, my arms pointing to the sky since I’m carrying two loaded weapons. He catches me, easing my impact.

“Let’s go!” I shout.

The soldiers surround me, and we sprint through the king’s stupid gardens. I pass the alcove he pushed me into, and I have to suppress the desire to shoot the balls off the marble statue that rests within it.

The quiet is eerie, and I know not to be deceived by it. The king’s guards are regrouping, setting something up. I pray to any god willing to listen that our ride will still be waiting for us, that we’ll get past the king’s people, and that we can get the hell off this godforsaken land.

The gardens taper off, and beyond them is open grass. The trees and hedges have hidden us from view until now, but that’s about to change.

I don’t need to tell the soldiers this; they’ve noticed. Our collective speed picks up. We exit the gardens, and I spot the wrought iron fence running along the back of the king’s estate.

A shot rings out and blood sprays as a soldier ahead of me takes a bullet to the head. What remains of his body collapses, and I have to jump over him to keep from tripping. There’s nothing we can do for him at this point.

“Sniper!” I shout. The remaining soldiers and I scatter, running wildly left and right. I’ve trained with these people; we work soundlessly as a unit. Only now I’m their commander. Because my father …

My eyes move over the fence, until I spot a car waiting about a hundred yards down to my left. I whistle and point to my men. Their movements are still wild, but they’re moving towards it. I hear the sound of another gunshot, and the soldier running ahead of me falls.

I snarl and glance over at the mansion. It’s impossible to see a sniper from here, so I can’t do anything about it. But someone does catch my eye.

The king, standing on his back balcony. He’s too far away to shoot as well, otherwise I would. He’s also too far away for me to make out his expression. I hope he’s hurting, I hope he knows I slaughtered his men, and I hope today causes him unending grief, like it will for me.

I know it won’t.

I turn away from him and focus on the fence and the car, some heavy SUV with tinted windows. Another shot rings out, and I hear it ping against the car’s armor. At this point, I can only hope it didn’t destroy anything vital, or else we’re out of an escape.

Ahead of me, someone—probably our ride—has cut away two of the wrought iron fence posts, leaving an opening wide enough for a person to slip through. The soldiers exit through it and jump into the car.

I’m the last out, and I follow my soldiers into the back of the SUV.

Our driver, a burly, bearded man, guns the engine and peels down the road, constantly checking his rearview and side view mirrors.

We skid around the corner, the car fishtailing, then we’re accelerating until my surroundings blur. Three official-looking cars pull onto the road behind us. I glance at our driver. He doesn’t look nervous. No, he smiles when he notices the vehicles. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s just as bloodthirsty as I am.

I hear a distant, high-pitched whine, and then the first car behind us explodes in a burst of flame. The sound of crumbling metal follows a second later, presumably as the two cars following the first crash into it. Someone laid in wait for those cars. And someone shot them with a grenade launcher.

Our driver whoops and slams his palm triumphantly on the driving wheel. “That’s how it’s fucking done!”

Rather than join in, I feel myself weaken as I release the last of my adrenaline. I lean back in my seat. “Who are you?” I ask.

The man pauses a beat. “I am a part of the Resistance.”

He eyes me in the rearview mirror. “And judging by the fact that you have more blood on you than a butcher, I’m guessing that you aren’t as traitorous as everyone’s making you out to be.”

I look out the window. My hands are shaking. Soon the rest of my body will follow suit, and then I’ll have to truly feel again. Once that happens I’m going to wish I were dead. As it is, my head pounds as it tries to disassociate itself from all that just happened.

My father’s dead.

His body lies in enemy territory.

I bury the emotion that’s rising. Just because I’m not running and shooting at the moment doesn’t mean I’m safe. I can’t allow myself to fall apart now, not when I have three WUN soldiers whose lives I can still save.

I digest this. “Thank you,” I finally say, “for risking your life to get us out of there.”