Resistance (28 page)

With Dom still propelling her along briskly and Carter a half-step ahead, Allie turned back to see what had frightened it.

Her breath caught in her throat.

They came from everywhere. Black-clad bodies emerged from cars, from dark alleyways, from stairwells. There were everywhere and they were heading right for her.

Words from the book Zelazny had given her appeared in her mind with cold clarity.
‘Attack him where he is unprepared. Appear where you are not expected.’

‘Carter …’ she breathed. And her voice must have scared him because he spun towards her just as Nathaniel’s guards attacked.

The night exploded into sound and fury.

‘
Go!
’ Dom shouted, shoving Allie and Carter hard towards the Land Rover. Whirling, she called to the others, her voice straining: ‘Positions. Now.’ She turned back, shoving the phone into her pocket and raising her fists.

Then the silence was split with cries of pain and grunts of exertion. And the raw meat sound of fist against skin and bone.

Carter grabbed Allie’s hand, pulling her close, shielding her with his body as they struggled to push their way to the car through flying fists and spinning kicks.

Fighting her way to the open door, Allie reached for the handle to pull herself up. She had one foot in when someone grabbed her by the hair and shoulder, tearing at her skin with their hands, yanking her back into the street.

She screamed and struggled to extricate herself from the unseen grip, and Carter leapt into action, kicking high and sure. His foot connected perfectly with the man’s jaw and he went down, nearly pulling Allie to the ground with him.

Pain burned like fire as he chunks of hair ripped from her scalp.

More hands were reaching for her now but, spinning back towards her, Carter grabbed her by the waist and threw her roughly into the vehicle. She landed in an ungainly heap on the floor.

Nathaniel’s guards were swarming them now. Too many for Allie to count. One of them reached for the door, another grabbed at Carter’s shirt, yanking him hard away from the car.

‘Carter!’ Allie screamed, reaching out to try and pull him in after her.

But he didn’t follow her. Instead he kicked the guard’s hands away from the door and slammed it shut.

‘Go!’ he shouted to the driver, slapping his hand hard against the metal of the door. ‘Get her out of here.’

His jaw was set and determined. He didn’t look at Allie. It took her a second to realise what he was doing. When she did, all the breath seemed to go out of her.

She stared at him through the window, aghast. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought it might explode.

‘No-no-no …’ Her voice sounded odd. Terrified. ‘Carter, no! Don’t do this.’

She scrabbled for the door handle, nails scratching against the plastic on the door. Before she could get it open, though, she heard a
thunk
, as the doors locked through the central system.

The Land Rover shot forward with such suddenness Allie lost her grip on the door and was thrown hard into the footwell.

Dazed, she thought she heard herself groan. Every part of her body hurt. Blood trickled down her face and she didn’t know where it was coming from.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself back up. ‘Stop the car!’ she said, with as much force as she could muster. ‘You have to go back and get him.’ But the car didn’t stop. It went faster.

Sobbing now, she grabbed the door handle, tearing at it with all her strength, but the locks were solid.

She was trapped.

‘We have to go back.’ She appealed to guards in the front seats hoarsely, striking the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘We can’t just leave him there. They’ll kill him.’

In the rear-view mirror, the driver’s eyes flickered to hers. ‘My orders are to get you back to the school.’

Only then did she realise they really meant to abandon Carter. They weren’t going somewhere to get it together so they could return and rescue him. They were
leaving him
.

‘No!’ She lunged for the driver, but the guard in the passenger seat was ready for her. Spinning around he caught her wrists, holding them in an iron grip.

She struggled in his grasp but he was unbelievably strong.

‘Miss,’ he said evenly, ‘I understand how you feel, but we have no choice. Our orders are to get you back by any means necessary. Please sit back in your seat and let us do our jobs.’

Mutely, Allie shook her head. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t let them leave Carter.

The guard held her gaze with cool blue eyes. ‘Miss Sheridan, don’t make me restrain you.’ He wasn’t angry or cruel and somehow that made it all worse. He just didn’t care.

Allie was trembling so violently now it was difficult to speak. Still, she pleaded with him.

‘But don’t you see?’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘He’ll die. And if he dies …’

…
my life is over.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. But she didn’t believe him.

Twisting in his grip, she strained to see what was happening behind them. Already they were too far away for her to make out the faces of those they’d left behind. For a second she thought she saw Carter amid a black cloud of fighters; standing his ground.

‘Oh God,’ she whispered, her heart breaking. ‘Carter …’

Then the car turned a corner and he disappeared in the dark of the city night.

H
uge thanks
, first of all, to my lovely new editor at Little Brown, Karen Ball. Karen stepped into the middle of the Night School series with fabulous ideas and calm rationale, saving me from panic and helping to bring it all together. Thank you, Karen, for everything.

I truly believe the Night School series would not exist were it not for my brilliant agent and friend, Madeleine Milburn. She continually inspires me with her savvy, her skill and her boundless energy. Because of her, Night School is now all over the world. Words are not enough to express my thanks, Maddy. So I will speak in the language of chocolate.

Many thanks go to Night School’s international publishers, especially the super cool Glenn Tavennec and everyone at Robert Laffont in France, the wonderful team at Oetinger in Germany, everyone at Otwarte in Poland, and all the publishers around the world who have embraced Night School and brought it to so many readers. I’m honoured to be working with you all.

I also offer gratitude, hugs and wine to my amazing friends Kate Bell, Laura Barbey, Hélène Rudyk, and Catriona Verner-Jeffreys, who read every Night School book before it’s edited; their thoughts and ideas make the story so much better. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you guys.

To my friend, former editor, and spirit animal, Samantha Smith – You are as much a part of Cimmeria Academy as Allie Sheridan. None of this would have happened without you. You know how I feel. My heart’s on my sleeve.

To Tory Lyne-Pirkis at Midas PR, who basically stood on the rooftops shouting about Night School until people listened, you are awesome. Also fun. And great at festivals. Thank you so much for everything.

A big shout-out goes to the Night School fan groups spreading the Cimmeria love in multiple languages. Especially Myriam Seth at Night School France, Tanya, Flor and Angela at Night School Spain, Daniel and Angelica at Night School Bogota, Jimena, Alexis, Cynthia and Sergio at Night School Mexico – You are simply the
best
! I am so grateful for all you do.

Over the years, a few bloggers have championed the series, and I don’t know where Night School would be without their hard work. Andrew at Pewter Wolf, Justine at Fairy Neverland, Lucy at Project UK, and Cait at Artistic Nonsense – thank you all so much for being there.

Finally, to my brilliant husband, Jack, who endures my deadlines, my panic attacks, and my freak-outs; who makes the best book trailers in all of bookdom, brainstorms plotlines, comes up with crazy ideas that
just might work
, and, most importantly, never doubts. True love forever.

A
former crime reporter
, political writer and investigative journalist,
C. J. Daugherty
has also written several books about travel in Ireland and France. Although she left the world of crime reporting years ago, she never lost her fascination with what it is that drives some people to do awful things, and the kinds of people who try to stop them. The
Night School 
series is the product of that fascination.

C. J. lives in the south of England with her husband and a small menagerie of pets.