From her memory of the area, they were in front of the engine room doors. She heard what sounded like a saw? Several of them paced back and forth, based on the impact of their boots on the flooring, but it was hard to tell how many. One she could only hear by breathing and heartbeat. Lounging? She focused harder. No, seated. That would give them an advantage, a slight one.
She leaned back against the wall, tugging on her hair as she thought. At that distance, she couldn’t eliminate the enemy quietly. Were there other, closer, intersections they could use? She motioned to Tristan, ordering him to move away from the corner. He nodded and they retreated, finding their way to a room that offered a small noise barrier.
Yet again, they were in perfect darkness.
“What is it?” Tristan said.
“Is there a hallway that empties out closer?”
“No. That’s it.”
“Damn.” She shook her head. “We’re gonna have to use the guns.”
Mila nodded to herself and left the room, slipping back to the corner. Her gaze drifted to Tristan, who already had his gun at the ready. She hefted her gun up as well and nodded before mouthing a countdown. Three. Two. One.
They turned the corner in unison like a couple badasses from an action flick. The loud cracks of the rifles echoed off the walls, hurting her sensitive ears. She gritted her teeth as she held the automatic’s trigger, sending a spray of bullets down the hallway. Their opponents fell before they could even start in surprise.
The echoing silence was almost as bad. She lowered her rifle to her side, lifting her hand to her temple to rub at the headache growing there. She groaned, closing her eyes against the pain.
“You all right?” Tristan asked, grasping her shoulder.
She nodded and closed her eyes again when the movement sent sharp shock-waves through her brain.
“Headache?”
“Yeah,” she whispered, afraid more sound would only make it worse.
“I’m not surprised. This isn’t exactly the ideal place to fire a gun. I’ve got one myself.” He walked ahead, tossing the rifle against his shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
She mouthed okay and followed him to dispose of the bodies once again, wondering if there was a point now.
As she stood over the bodies, a radio crackled to life. “What was that? Was that gunfire I heard?”
Tristan reached over and grabbed the radio, bringing it to his mouth. “This is Tango four. We had a confrontation at the engine room. The threat has been neutralized.”
They listened with bated breath, the silence filling them with dread.
Finally, the radio squawked once more. “Roger that, Tango four.”
It died once more and they let out a collective sigh.
“That was close,” Mila said, feeling weak with relief.
He lowered the radio, some small detail nagging at him. Something was wrong.
“Sir?”
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“Is everything all right, sir?”
“I’m not sure. Go check on the engine room.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier dashed off, disappearing from sight around the corner.
He looked to the slow but steady progress on the door, then at the radio. Tango four had sounded… odd. Different. Wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mila wondered what the other teams were doing as they reached the bridge. Had any of them confronted intruders? Had they gotten a radio?
The bridge was another strategically problematic place. The door was closed. No element of surprise this time. And the consoles were too far into the room. No hand-to-hand either.
As they got ready to breach, Mila caught movement around the corner, her ears still ringing too badly to hear someone approach. She dropped to a knee and raised her rifle, preparing to fire.
Tristan grabbed the barrel and lifted it quickly, keeping her from firing. She let out a breath and shifted away any traces of visible changes. Avery and Braddock. She flipped them the bird and they smiled back at her before stationing themselves at the other side of the door.
Tristan did the signaling this time. They had no idea how many men stood beyond that door, so Mila was grateful for the added support. She stood and kept her gun at the ready as she waited out Tristan’s countdown, following along in her head.
Three. Two. One. Go.
She entered last, the four of them fanning out in a fraction of a second. Once again, the concussions echoed off the walls, making her blink with each sharp pop that accosted her ears.
Bodies fell, but not without a fight.
“Fuck,” she said as a bullet slammed into her arm, sending her into the wall at her back. She tried to return fire, but couldn’t control the gun with only one good arm, so she retreated to the hallway, praying the others came out unscathed.
The shots continued to echo in her head long after they stopped firing.
“May?” Tristan called from the other room, her ears so messed up she heard it as a whisper. She didn’t hear him enter the hall and kneel in front of her.
When did I end up on the floor?
“You’re shot.” He pulled at her shirt, checking the wound.
“It’s fine. It’ll heal.”
“Easy. You don’t have to yell.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been yelling. She tried for a normal volume this time. “Sorry.”
“Is she okay?” Avery said, exiting the bridge.
“Fine,” she reiterated. “Perfectly fine. See? Barely bleeding.” She poked at it, not bothered by the pain that flared like a good friend at the pressure. “Can we get going? We’ve still got bad guys to take out. We know there’s at least one more group at life support.”
“I like her,” Avery said with a huge grin on his face.
Braddock glared at him. Well, he would never be a fan of hers. So be it.
She pushed to her feet. “Let’s go.”
Mila kept to the back now. She wouldn’t be much use. Her head was splitting so much she felt like she could barely keep her eyes open. Just walking was giving her a migraine and she’d long gotten rid of the enhanced senses. Even her normal senses were exacerbating it.
And with her arm out of commission, she couldn’t fire the gun. She glared at Avery and Braddock. Without them there, she might have been useful. Claws were better than nothing.
She could have also healed her arm if the two bozos hadn’t been there. Mila rubbed her wound, digging in until gating cleared her head a little. Better her arm than her head.
Tristan turned toward her, giving her reassuring looks as they headed to the life support room. Hopefully, that was the last of them. How many more could there be?
After the second report of gunfire, he knew they needed to change tactics. He paced the hall, considering his options. Go after the enemy? But he already had men roaming the halls looking for stragglers. Call all his men back to his location? No, if Tango four’s report was false, they had a radio now. The enemy could listen in on their communications.
A crack of running feet against the magnetic tiles reached his ear and he turned. The man he’d sent to the engine room rounded the corner and raced up to him. “Sir. They’re dead. All of them. I found them in a room near the engine room.”
“Then we assume the men on the bridge are also dead.”
The man’s eyes bulged, but he kept quiet.
He continued his pacing. The situation had gotten out of hand. This would require a decisive action. “Everyone. Stop what you’re doing. We’re heading back to the airlocks.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
They reached the corner closest to the life support room and stopped, Tristan giving orders through hand signals. Mila leaned against the wall, ignoring them and pressing even harder into her gunshot wound, causing it to bleed again. She watched as the slow flow of blood stained her sleeve a little more.
They took off as one, guns at the ready, but there were no shots. She pushed
off from the wall and snuck her head around the corner. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Tristan said, turning in a circle as if seeing the scene from all angles would make it make more sense.
“They retreated? Went back to their ships?” Braddock asked hopefully.
“Doubt it,” Mila said, swaggering into the hallway behind them. “They probably have something nasty up their sleeves.”
“But what could be nastier? These are the three strategic weaknesses of the ship. They haven’t managed any of them.”
Mila looked up at him, alarmed. “The airlocks. If they can trip the airlocks…”
“Everyone on board would suffocate,” he finished.
“But they could be at any of them,” Avery chimed in.
“Well, how many are there?” Mila started pacing, thinking.
“Too many for us to cover individually,” Tristan said with a sigh.
“Well, do we know which airlock they came from?”
They looked at each other, growing panic setting the mood.
“By the engine room!” Tristan exclaimed. “That’s where the suits were found.”
“Well, let’s go.”
They took off, no longer caring about stealth. If they didn’t get there in time, everyone would die.
Mila lost ground, not being able to keep up with the longer strides of her companions. Her lungs burned, her legs burned, her arm burned and throbbed, her head throbbed. She felt like her body would conk out at any moment. Not now! She tried to concentrate through the haze brought on by her headache. Shifters had unbelievable control over their bodies. Not just changing tissue, which allowed them to heal, but changing how their bodies functioned.
Like right now, she could really use some adrenaline and endorphins. Her head fought her, skull splitting with the pain from abused senses. Mila focused and gradually, her body rewarded her. She sped up as the pain lessened, became manageable.
She still couldn’t close the gap, though. Not without doing something noticeable. But she kept on, using the pounding rhythm of their feet as a hypnotic metronome to keep her going almost effortlessly. Her mind cleared for the first time in quite a while.
They had to get to that airlock.
Tristan pointed. The suit room must be up ahead. They angled toward it, but Mila had other plans. She couldn’t let the enemy get to that airlock. Suits would only slow them down. The others ran into the suit room, preparing for the inevitable.
She ran straight past and looked back. Yes! They didn’t notice. She reached the end of the corridor and enhanced her hearing, listening for the enemy. She heard them putting on suits. Not all of them, though. Some must have been playing sentry. She returned her hearing to normal. She didn’t want a repeat occurrence if she had to open fire.
Mila prepared herself, taking deep breaths. Remember. Don’t hold your breath. If the airlock opens, don’t hold your breath or you’ll die. They’ll have ninety seconds to rescue you if you don’t hold your breath.
She shifted what she needed. Speed. Strength. Claws. And turned the corner at a dead run. Her feet pounded on the metallic plates. Otherwise, she didn’t make a sound, charging like a train on its tracks toward the sentry who turned, raising his weapon. He didn’t get to fire as she jumped, landing on his chest and knocking him to the ground, her claws buried between his ribs.
Mila took a fraction of a second, the blink of an eye, to reassess the situation, picking her next target from the movements he made. That one’s lifting a gun. She charged again, raking her hand across him and throwing him into the wall. After that, each of her movements was fluid, like a ballet, one attack flowing into the next. One man after another went down. Claps of gunfire sounded, but everything missed, her movements too erratic to predict, to follow.
Then, a warning sounded, causing her head to come up. “Oh shit.” A single crack of a gun echoed off the walls and the bullet knocked her back, stunning her for a moment. But the bullet meant nothing. The injury meant nothing. The doors were opening.
Mila raced to the control panel, ignoring the rest of the enemy who still had weapons and fight in them. No! She ran, feeling like a tortoise could run faster. She wouldn’t make it. She couldn’t make it. She had to make it.
The alarm gained intensity and the light above the door changed from green to red. No! She grabbed the man at the console, shoving him from the panel, but it was too late. The doors opened, and she latched onto the first thing in sight as the sharp pressure change caused by the opening tried to equalize the two systems.
Things, bodies, something flew by her as she held on for dear life. It was her life. If she let go, they might not get to her in time. Ninety seconds. In vacuum, she had ninety seconds before permanent damage ensued. She had to hold out, but she could feel her fingers slipping.
Her injured arm felt increasingly weak, unable to keep up even with the adrenaline pumping through her system. Come on! Just hold on till they get here. All they have to do is close the outer hatch. Her arm started to go numb, then slipped from the surface. One hand left. Just hold on. But black spots were starting to form over her eyes. Her other arm was starting to feel numb. No! Just a little longer. They’ll get to me!
But that arm too gave up the fight and she sailed into space. Try to breathe. No air. Try to breathe. Suffocating. Can’t think. She told herself to breathe. Count. How many seconds before she lost consciousness? Nine? Ten? Eleven? Lack of oxygen was making her head fuzzy. How many seconds now?
She couldn’t help watching the ship’s portal shrink as momentum forced her to drift farther and farther from help.
Sorry, Tristan.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tristan ran into the room, racing to the nearest suit, expecting everyone to follow. Bodies dashed around him, stumbling and jumping as they tried to suit up in lightning speed when the suits were not designed to be donned in a rush. He’d zipped up and grabbed a helmet before he turned and realized with monumental dread that Mila wasn’t there. “Oh no.”
“Captain?” Avery asked.
“She didn’t. She did,” he said in a daze.
“Captain, what’s wrong?” Braddock asked.
“M—,” he said before stopping himself again from saying her real name. “May’s gone ahead.”
“That wasn’t the plan!” Avery shouted, forgetting that the enemy was just around the corner.
He looked over. “No shit!” His heart raced even harder than when they’d run down the halls, fearing the worst, fearing they would be too late. Now, he knew he would be too late. For her.
Shots echoed down the hall, spurring them to action. They waddled for the door, slowed by the suits that might very well save them, save everyone, if those doors opened.
Frustration built as they moved slowly down the hall, serenaded by the song of violence. As long as those guns are firing, she’s still alive. He took little comfort in the thought.
An alarm sounded. Depressurization warning. “Helmets on! Now!”
They complied as they continued to make slow but steady progress. They would be too late. He just knew it. He couldn’t fail her. He couldn’t.
A second more strident alarm sounded and he felt the pull as the chamber started depressurizing. No! He made the corner, turned and saw Mila, holding onto the control panel with only one arm, her other dangling useless beside her.
He tried to pick up speed, but his progress was slow. Just hold on. He watched, breath coming in shallow, pained fits, as her fingers lost their grip. “No!” He reached out, but he still wasn’t close enough. She drifted through the hatch and into space.
He jumped, hoping the force of the depressurization was greater than the magnetics. He couldn’t engage the propulsion on the suit until he cleared the opening. Hold on, Mila.
Avery didn’t bother trying to correct his captain, tell him not to chase after her. He had more important things to consider. Like closing that hatch. One life wasn’t worth losing the entire s
hip.
He waddled to the control panel as it became harder and harder to keep his feet on the floor. Fortunately, the soles of the suits were designed to walk on the side of ships in zero gravity. He felt the pull, his upper body wanting to be drawn through the hatch, but his feet remained planted.
But he also couldn’t move fast, no where near as fast as he wanted. If both feet left the ground, he would fly through that hatch just the same as Trace and the captain.
He reached the console and got to work, but something was wrong. He tried to close the inner hatch, but an error sound blared in his ears. Come on. He tried a different approach. Same sound, causing him to flinch. What the hell did they do to this thing? He wasn’t a computer guy. What the hell did he know about fixing it?
But lives counted on him, on them, getting that hatch closed. He tried the outer hatch. The sound blared again, causing him to flinch once more. “Captain, what’s your override password?” he demanded into the radio in his helmet.
“Mila,” came the answer through the speaker.
Avery typed in the override password, mentally crossing his fingers, hoping it would work.
He got a new screen. Different’s good. He resisted the urge to count the seconds. How long does she have left? He found a master override for the inner hatch and activated it.
The door closed, sealing with a hiss, and the constant pressure dragging him toward the entry ceased. He sighed. But it wasn’t over yet.
“Do you have her, sir?”
“Almost.”
Avery and Braddock waddled to the small viewing window in the hatch, knocking heads together before remembering they didn’t need the helmets anymore. They took them off in unison, too concerned to even smirk at the comedy of the situation.
The captain had Trace in his arms now. She wasn’t moving. How long had she been out there? Could it have been ninety seconds already? “I don’t suppose you bothered to count the seconds,” he said.
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