“Captain Silny?” Kip’s voice came out shakier than he wanted it to.
The captain groaned. “What’s going on?” He sat up, his hand coming to his head like he was dizzy.
“You were infected. Are you okay? You don’t feel like killing anyone, do you?”
“Kill anyone? Of course not.”
Kip let out a relived sigh. “Oh good. Because, I’m all out of knockers.” He laughed. “Captain, I really don’t have a lot of time to explain, but I have a cure for the virus and I need you to take this ship out and make sure no one in the Machine is infected.”
“What? Oh… Uhh… Sure. Just let me get up and you can fill me in.” Silny raised his hand. “What the hell?” he said looking at his suit’s missing fingers.
“It’s a long story,” Kip replied. “I’ll fill you in later.”
Kip glanced back at Molly. He nodded and she charged her father, wrapping her arms around his forearm. “Oh, Papa! I was so scared.”
Captain Silny brushed Molly’s hair away from her face. “It’s okay now darling. I’m here.”
Standing, the captain scooped his daughter into his arms. She squeezed him the entire way back to the ship as Kip explained everything that happened after he was infected.
“Are you coming with me, Kip?” Captain Silny asked.
“No, I need to get everyone back to my workshop. Van is missing and I still don’t know what happened to Webley.”
“All right. Be safe. Thank you for everything you’ve done, Kip. I’ll get my men and make sure the Machine is clear of the virus.”
Kip sat at his workbench, spinning a wrench around his fingers as he watched his friends. It had been hours since anyone saw Van. Maza, Ypsilon and Arija had returned to the shop to regroup.
“Maybe she just needs to be alone?” Arija offered. “I know I would.”
Maza leaned over a lab bench. “Maybe. But I can’t take the chance that something happened to her.”
“I mean, Pajak is missing too. Maybe he took her? Maybe he’s doing whatever he did to Soisha to convince her to join him? We have to get back out there and find her.” Ypsilon was pacing. The Grinder refused to believe that Soisha did any of this on her own. But Kip knew the truth. Soisha had done this because of him.
Ypsilon stopped in front of the wrapped bundle that used to be her best friend. On her request they’d wrapped Soisha in a sheet and brought her back to the workshop. Once they found Van, they were going to go back to Taraveil to give Soisha a proper Grinder funeral.
Al had sent word that Webley was still sleeping, but he was getting better. Al had taken Webley back to his house and was letting him rest. He said that Webley should be back to normal in a day or two and they should focus on making sure the Machine was free of the virus, which was exactly what Captain Silny and his men were doing.
Kip glared at his empty weapons cabinet. No one else had noticed that his workshop had been raided and many of his tools and gadgets had been taken. Knowing full well what that meant, he remained silent.
Sometimes, we need to go alone to find ourselves.
Avani used to tell him that. He clutched his dead mother’s apron and hoped that Van would be able to find herself before she self-destructed.
34|Van
Van was numb. Her whole body felt uncomfortable, as if she kept trying to drink warm water on a sweltering summer day. You consume it, but does it even make a difference? It isn’t even palatable. None of this was. Nothing mattered anymore.
She stood at the end of the long corridor leading to the Hall of Doors. She remembered how to get here easily enough. Something she’d always been good at. Maza used to say when they were kids, Remember where you came from so you can go back if you need.
Right now, she didn’t want to think about what was back. Back was Soisha. Back was her killing the one person she thought she would always love.
The look on Soisha’s face as Van lowered her to the platform.
As Van stabbed her.
Back was pain, so why go back? Maybe if she ran fast enough, the pain wouldn’t be able to catch her.
When she left the fight, she didn’t know where she was going. But somewhere along the road, she decided to come here. She just couldn’t look at anyone right now.
The Hall of Doors was as she remembered it. Tubes and hoses crept like ivy across the walls. Orbs connected to pylons slept above her head, begging to be activated. She stood at the helm of the controls, running her fingers across the various buttons and switches. Countless possibilities lay before her. All she needed to do was flip a switch. It was simple. Why think anymore?
Clutching the toggle in her hand, she slapped it forward and the entire room sprang to life. Electricity ran through the atmosphere, racing across her skin. Bright blue arcs lit the room, making shadows dance around her. The archway in the center of the room began to shake as electricity ran along its structure.
Van closed her eyes. Letting fate decide, she randomly placed the tip of her index finger on the nearest switch and flipped it on.
The noise in the room increased as the arch shook and sprang to life. A dim purple hue formed in the center of the doorway, lighting the room in lavender.
Wherever this portal led, it had to better than here.
She clutched the bag she’d taken from Kip’s workshop. Weapons, supplies, everything she thought she’d need to survive on her own. In the event fate had another cruel trick for her, she strapped as much of it to herself as possible and loaded her Grinding kit with all the toys. She was ready for anything, but the darkness in her wished for nothing more than sleep. Maybe she would get that instead.
Soisha’s face as Van forced the knife into her stomach appeared in Van’s mind. She shook her head, trying to force the image away. She had to go before it consumed her. Screaming at the top of her lungs, Van charged at the portal and leapt into its amethyst core.
The End
Dear reader,
Thank you so much for following the gang through another crazy adventure.
Things got kind of crazy there at the end.
Where did Van escape to?
Will she ever get her happy ending?
And what about Pajak and his Kleinmasch?
To find out the answers to these questions, keep an eye out for the next Hall of Doors book.
You can also learn about Adal and Arija’s past by reading their story in Webley and The World Machine. OR…
If you need more Ypsilon in your life, you can read her story in Kip and The Grinders.
Newsletter
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***Turn the page for the first three chapters of Webley and The World Machine***
Prologue
2,400,000 B.C, The World Machine
Cog rolled end over end across the platform, tumbling like a rag doll. The brass surface was slick with oil and gears from fallen soldiers on both sides.
His brother had gone too far this time. His damn machines were proving a little too difficult to kill. Though Cog had always considered himself a master inventor and a skilled warrior, his winged pack was scarcely a match for the mechanical monstrosities his traitorous brother had created.
The world exploded around him as airships and mechanical creatures circled overhead. The smell of gunpowder and copper filled the air as brother fought brother and friend fought friend. All for what? Power? Freedom? Greed?
One of his fellow soldiers flew into a massive girder, spun and collided with a brass beam. The force of the explosion pushed Cog to the ground. Remnants of the battleship landed amongst a giant set of gears that rotated in a feeble attempt to power the furnace that kept everyone alive.
His brother had orchestrated this attack, and the boss ordered him to protect the furnaces at all costs. The thought of failing tore at Cog as he collected himself and drew his trusty pistols, firing wildly at any mechanism that flew past.
As he swatted one of the insect-like mechanical cr
eatures from the sky, several more took notice of his attack. They turned their attention from an airship and swooped down, their bladed appendages barely missing Cog’s head. He ducked, unleashing another barrage of shots from his weapons.
The cold chill of fear rippled through Cog as his instincts warned him he needed to get to the furnace. He sprinted the length of the platform, the metallic surface clinking beneath his feet with every step. As he neared the giant turning gears that powered the World Machine, towers of fire and smoke billowed from its gargantuan pipes. The same winged monstrosities that had nearly gotten the best of him were doing their worst to the exterior of the furnace.
An airship thundered overhead. One of his. Captain Silny shouted to his men as the ship’s guns fired upon the furnace's attackers. A litany of small explosions scattered the enemy soldiers. At that moment, Cog realized what would happen if the airship continued to shoot at the creatures.
He opened his mouth to protest, but another explosion flattened him as shrapnel launched into the sky above. Terror caused Cog to lose himself briefly to the blackness.
When he pushed the sludge from his brain, the great ship had vanished into a cloud of fire and smoke, and the furnace’s warmth and light had extinguished.
Cog looked at the silent heart of the Machine in disbelief. In the deep crimson smoke, the outlines of those damn flying things still whizzed with triumphant victory. They didn’t even know the depth of what they’d done. With a scowl, Cog retrieved his pistols from the platform near his feet. He couldn't let those bastards win.
Without the radiant heat and power from the furnaces, the World Machine would suffer, and all the Dwellers would die. His friends. His family. His love. They would all perish unless he did something. Even if it required killing thousands, he had to save the Machine.
1| Mr. Smooth
Present Day, Germany
Adal shot from his bed and surveyed the room as sweat trickled down his forehead. It didn't help that, when the hot morning sun peeked over the horizon, it poured right through his window.
“Damn!” Adal turned his panic-filled eyes toward his alarm clock. He was running late. Today he would present his grandfather’s story and family history to his senior class. He hopped from his bed. As he did, his foot tangled in his sheet, causing him to fall face first to the floor.
He caught himself with his arms and leveraged himself back into a standing position. He paused for a moment and looked around his room, ensuring no one had seen him take the tumble. Coming back to reality, he scoffed and rolled his eyes before jogging to his bathroom.
He stumbled through his morning ritual as quickly as he could, taking only a few minutes to stare at himself in the mirror. Adal made it a point to look as good as he could before he left his room. He had long worked on his stylish reputation and wouldn't let something as trivial as being late jeopardize it.
Once prepared for the day, Adal took a moment to appreciate his appearance before leaving the mirror. His low-cut, white t-shirt dipped just far enough to show the crease between his pecs that he’d spent months chiseling with track and field. His hair and fade lined up perfectly, and he ran his hand over his neck. Smooth as ever.
After giving himself a wink in the mirror, Adal slipped his sneakers on and hastened for his bedroom door. As he grabbed the handle, he froze and smiled. He turned around and grabbed his notebook off the desk near the door. In all the morning rush, he nearly forgot the report on his grandfather.
Swinging his bedroom door open, he ran through the hall and hopped down the stairs to the first landing. Collecting himself, he walked down the last three stairs, then made a dash for the front door.
“Adalwolf Stein. You get your butt over here right now,” his father’s voice bellowed from the dining room. When his father used his full name, Adal knew he was in it deep.
Adal rolled his eyes and turned around, walking into the dining room. His father and grandfather were seated at the table, eating. Grandpa Lawrence was reading the paper, as he did every morning. His mother poured coffee and beckoned Adal toward the one empty seat with a plate already set for him. His father sat at the head of the table, a stern look on his face as he peered impatiently over the frame of his glasses at his son.
“Boy, are you running late again?” Adal’s father leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee.
Adal reluctantly walked over and plopped into the empty chair, setting his notebook on the table next to a pitcher of orange juice.
“Well, the boy wouldn't be so late if you didn't stop him from gettin’ to school. Pick those fights, Son,” his grandfather chimed in, not even lowering the paper that covered his face.
Adal smiled. He knew his grandfather was trying to conceal a laugh as he hid behind his morning paper.
“Dad, now’s not the time. The boy is becoming an adult, and he needs to be thinking about his future, about what he wants to do with his life. He has to get himself together and learn to be organized,” Adal’s father said.
This time, his grandfather remained silent.
Adal’s father had drilled into his head every day for as long as he could remember the importance of getting into university and getting a good job. Don’t follow those lazy friends of yours! Adal’s dad had said so many times that he could mimic both the tone and inflection of the lecture.
“Dad, it’s not my fault. I was up all night working on my report for history. I forgot to set my alarm!”
“That’s the problem, Adal. You need to listen to your father. We raised you better than that,” Adal’s mother joined in as she wiped the counter with a paper towel.
Adal sucked on his teeth and sank into his chair. They weren't about to hear him. They never did. His parents were always ‘A+’ parents. You could bring home an A, and they would ask why it wasn't an A+.
He knew they loved him, but he wished they showed it in ways other than riding him all the time. That’s why, over the years, Adal had grown so close to his grandfather. Ever since he was little, his grandfather had been the only one with any chill.
The story was always the same when he asked his dad why he was so hard on him all the time. Being raised in Germany, the mixed-race son of a black American and a white German, Adal’s father was always an outcast. That drove him to move to Africa where he’d met Adal's mother.
When Grandma Ursula died and Grandpa Lawrence needed help to get around, they moved back to Germany. That adversity made his dad proud, strong, stubborn, and driven. Adal had inherited his father’s strength and pride, but he had a personality to go with it.
“Look, I get it. I screwed up. My bad. Can I go? I really am going to be late for my presentation.” Adal stood and grabbed his notebook before his parents could argue.
His mother sighed, and his father sipped his coffee. “You can go, Adalwolf, but we will talk about this when you get home. Things are going to change around here. I expect a decent grade on that report today, and I want to see your teacher’s notes on it too.” His father slid his glasses back up his nose to signal that he was done speaking, and Adal turned on his heels.
“Adal,” his grandfather called, putting the newspaper down. With age, his grandfather’s hair had turned white, offering a sharp contrast to his dark complexion. He never called Adal “Adalwolf;” he was the only one in his family who respected Adal enough to know he hated his full name.
“Are you doing the report on our family? My story and how we got here?” he asked, nodding to Adal’s notebook.
“You know it!”
“Then let the boy alone. Quit being so hard on my grandson all the time.” Lawrence nudged his son in the shoulder, producing a smile from Adal and a frustrated snort from his father. As a rule, you did not speak to an elder with disrespect in their home. It took Adal a few strikes on the back of the head growing up to learn that lesson, but it took nonetheless.
“Thanks, Gramps.” Adal chuckled, pointing to his grandfather and nodding toward the ceiling.
; “Damn, I remember that day like it happened this morning.” Grandpa Lawrence leaned back in his chair, the familiar memories of war playing across his face. “We arrived at the outskirts of the bunker where that son of a bitch, Hitler, was holed up, just as the sun was peeking its head over the hills. We’d marched all night and, let me tell you, my feet were so blistered I couldn’t take a goddamn step without popping one of those bad boys.” A guttural laugh escaped the old man’s lips, and Adal knew he would really be late.
“The tanks rumbled as I walked with my machine-gun. Oh lord, that was the most empowering moment of the war. We knew what we were gettin’ ourselves into, and we were ready to be heroes. We were the 761st Tank Battalion. Our motto was Come Out Fightin’. Being a mostly Colored unit, we were always given the suicide missions. Damn army didn’t care about us.”
“Gramps I love this story, but I’m gonna be late.” When Grandpa Lawrence didn’t stop talking, Adal leaned against the wall by the kitchen door. Adal’s father rolled his eyes, no doubt having heard the story a million times.
“We reached our rally point. The tanks quit rolling, and we all gathered in formation. They called my unit the ‘Cutters.’ We carried the BAR, that was the Browning Automatic Rifle.”
“Yeah, we all know that, Dad,” Adal’s father chimed in as he turned the page of his newspaper and took a sip of his coffee.
“I’m tellin the boy!” Lawrence snapped before continuing his story. “Anyway, we kept those Krauts in check with heavy fire while our tanks did what they came to do. We had a little bet going with the Red Army, so we weren't waitin’ for anything. You see, sometimes in war, you gotta make a game out of it, you know...to keep out the dark thoughts that you killin’ a bunch of people. We entered the clearing, and our tanks opened fire. BOOM! We fired, moved, fired, and moved killing as many of those Kraut bastards as we could. You shoulda seen their faces. Hitler’s final stand outside his goddamn compound and there we were, a battalion of black men showing those Arian bastards what real warriors were.” Lawrence paused to take a sip of his coffee and shovel a piece of Brötchen into his mouth. Bread crumbs and drops of coffee stuck to the stubble on his face.
Ypsilon and the Plague Doctor Page 21
