Broken & Hunted

by Charissa Dufour

  “Men are coming, tell them I went through the kitchen. My life depends on it,” he added for good measure before turning and hobbling to the emergency exit.

  He turned the handle and gave the door a jerk. It opened with a rusty creak, and Calen disappeared behind it, sending up a silent prayer that the waiter would do what he asked. As he pulled the door shut, he heard the pounding of feet.

  Calen turned to find himself in a pitch-black hallway, the air clogged with dust. He pinched his nose, fighting the urge to sneeze. Instead of moving forward, he held still, listening to their voices.

  Maybe they’ll chase after me through the kitchen and I can just wait for Jack here, he thought as he continued to hold his breath.

  “Where is he?” demanded a voice.

  “He went through the kitchens. There’s a back exit that way,” the waiter said, sounding as nervous as Calen felt.

  The men took off and Calen tried to breathe a sigh of relief in the dusty air. He chocked and stifled another cough, covering his mouth. As he got his coughing under control, he heard the men return.

  “The kitchen staff say they saw no one. Where is he?” repeated the same voice.

  Shit, thought Calen, no longer able to wait the men out. He fumbled in his pocket for his emergency light and flicked it on. It provided little more than a flood of light around his feet, but it was enough to keep from running into anything.

  From what he could tell, the hallway was coated in a few decades worth of dust and cobwebs, just as the waiter had predicted. Calen took off as fast as his battered body could manage, nearly tripping over a few abandoned buckets and a broken chair. Finally, he reached the other end, where a door waited.

  Working as silently as he could, he turned the handle and the door creaked open until a gust of wind tore it from his fingers and slammed it against the far stone wall. Calen gasped as he found himself standing at the opening of the cliff face with nothing but the rusted grating of an outdated fire escape between him and nearly seven kilometers of sky.

  Calen glanced from side to side. The grating and railing ran off to one side, attached to the sheer rock face by enormous bolts until it connected with another door at least four meters away. Calen eyed the catwalk, noting splotches of aged, rust-marred metal. He glanced back at the dark hallway and felt the pressure of the pack against his fresh bruises.

  It wasn’t just a pack of embryos on the line. Jack might not have said anything, but he knew the truth. The company was on the brink of bankruptcy, and these embryos were the meal-ticket to keep them in the skies for another season. Besides, he didn’t much fancy meeting those men face-to-face.

  Calen took a deep breath, swallowed the fear forming in his throat, and took the all-important first step out onto the metal walkway. It held his weight as he slowly lowered himself onto it, his good hand gripping the doorjamb. Finally, he stood fully on the catwalk and shifted his grip to the railing bolted into the side of the cliff, his good arm stretched across his chest. It was just his luck that the paralyzed arm was the one nearest the railing.

  What if the arm never regains feeling? he wondered. You can’t pilot one handed!

  He pushed those morbid thoughts from his mind and focused on his next step. Slowly, painfully slowly, he scooted a few steps along the grating until he came to a short flight of stairs. Keeping his good hand on the railing, he placed one foot on the next step, his body at an angle. The step held and Calen shifted until both feet were on the one step.

  Calen took another deep breath, willing his heart to slow down. The pesky muscle refused to obey. Instead, it continued hammering through his chest as he shifted to lowering his foot to the next step. Assuming he made it to the door, his heart was going to give out under the stress. Calen was just about to bring his other foot onto the second step when a voice called out from the doorway.

  He looked up to find one of his pursuers in the emergency exit of the Noctis Bar, bringing his gun to bear on Calen. Without thinking of the various dangers around him, Calen bolted, his feet coming down on the stair. The very next step gave out under his weight, sending one leg through the gaping hole.

  “Dammit,” he cursed as his other leg and hip caught him in the metal grating, the sharp edges scraping up the dangling leg.

  Calen dragged himself upward by his good hand as a shot rang out, the strange bullet pelting him in the shoulder of the dead arm. He cried out while dragging himself forward and climbing to his feet. Ignoring the danger of the rusted catwalk, he ran toward the far door. His pursuer fired again, striking the rock wall. Calen threw up his good hand in a futile effort to protect his face from the splintering rocks flying off the cliff side.

  He raced down the catwalk as the metal creaked and groaned under his weight. Calen skidded to a stop in front of the door, his pack bouncing against his bruised back. He grabbed the doorknob, ducking at the sound of another shot being fired, and yanked the rusted door open. Calen threw himself into the other restaurant and hoped the other man didn’t have the backbone to follow him.

  Calen didn’t wait to find out, but scurried down the matching hallway to the one in the Noctis Bar—dusty and covered in cobwebs. The morning cleaners shouted in surprise as he erupted from the seldom-used fire escape. They watched him, wide eyed while he scrambled toward what could only be the main entrance.

  Once again, Calen found his safety dependent on a hope—he hoped the men chasing him were somewhere inside the nearby restaurants and not searching the streets. Calen emerged onto the street, the sun just peeking through the tall buildings and raced toward the nearest cross street, ignoring the various pains pulsing through his body.

  No one shot at him, and so he assumed the men missed his sudden exit. Calen made it to the first cross street and kept going, turning at the next. On this street he ran to another intersection where he turned in the opposite direction.

  Calen zig-zagged through the district for thirty minutes until he stumbled upon a train station. He swiped his transit card and limped onto the platform. A second later a train appeared. Ignoring its destination, he jumped aboard and took the first seat available. The other passengers stared at him, and he had no doubt they had every reason to stare.

  Calen’s lips were swollen, blood had dried down the side of his face, and his left arm hung uselessly at his side—but he was alive, and the pack was still attached to his back.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jack nearly jumped out of his own skin at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Blaine grinning at him as he slowly pulled his hand away. Breathing slowly, Jack gripped his chest, waiting for his heart to slow.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Jack ordered.

  “Isn’t the point of all this to be sneaky?” asked Blaine.

  Jack stared at him for a second, noting his clear, focused gaze.

  “What?” the other man asked.

  “Nothing. Have you seen Randal?”

  “Not yet,” said Blaine. “Randal won’t show himself until he’s circled the area a couple times and is certain we’re safe. I suggest we stay put. Let him come to us. The last thing we need is for all of us to be running around in circles.”

  Jack nodded. Jack was not foolish enough to think as captain he could lead his men in all areas. In the area of fighting and espionage, Blaine and Randal were the leaders, and he was more than willing to follow them. They settled down into a small crevice between two buildings and waited.

  It wasn’t long before the sound of a throat being cleared alerted them to the presence of a third. Jack craned his neck to see Randal standing above their heads and to their left on the ledge of one of their protective buildings. Jack wondered how he had reached that position, but chose not to ask. He and Blaine climbed to their feet and met the security commander out on the street.

  “It’s clear,” Randal said. “I’ve circled the area four times and found no signs of a tail or anyone watching the bar.”

  “And Calen?” />
  Randal shook his head. “He could already be in the bar?”

  “True. He may not have thought to stay outside the building until he had our support,” agreed Jack. “What say you, Randal? Shall we risk going inside?”

  “Let’s go inside. I’ll come back out if we don’t find him in there and do another sweep.”

  With that they crossed the street, the traffic just beginning to build. Like the other two, Jack’s head swiveled from side to side, looking both for a vehicle that might be about to hit him and searching for his brother alike. They reached the small, sleek metal hut protecting the top of the stairs that led down into the bar. Randal opened the door and led the way into the unknown.

  They descended the stair with quick steps. Even in the dim, seductive lighting produced by the globes dotting the walls, Jack noticed red splotches staining the steps. It had been years since he had dined at the affluent Noctis Bar, but he doubted their reputation had dwindled to the point where they no longer took the time to mop their steps on a nightly basis.

  Jack felt his stomach clench as he wondered what the red stains might be—only one idea came to mind.

  They turned the corner into the restaurant’s main room, the far side open with nothing but a tall railing between them and the seven kilometer drop to the bottom of the Valles Marineris Trench. The red lines of the Mars trench were set afire by the sunrise. Once again, Jack found himself astounded by the beauty of his home planet—half natural, half formed by humans.

  He shook himself, remembering that there was nothing beautiful about their situation. He looked around the deserted restaurant, slowly becoming aware of the subtle tension coursing through the small day staff. He looked around, noticing two cleaners huddling in a corner, whispering to each other. The greeter stood by his podium, arranging and rearranging the perfectly neat tools for his work.

  As they entered, the greeter looked up, his eyes quickly going to their matching packs. He swallowed, fumbling with the stack of reservation cards he held until they collapsed into a heap across the top of his podium.

  “C-can we help you gentlemen?” asked the greeter, struggling to keep his professional demeanor.

  Jack pushed himself forward, taking the lead again. “Have you seen a man with a pack like this? Looks a bit like me, but with lighter hair.”

  The greeter hesitated a second, his jaw clenching and unclenching, before he nodded once. “Yes.”

  “Where is he? He is alright?” demanded Jack.

  “I don’t know. He came in. He was being chased by some other men. Mean looking SOBs, if you’ll pardon my language. I sent him in through that door there. There’s an old emergency catwalk that connects to the next restaurant over. He went in there and never came back out. The men after him figured it out, though. They chased after him and I heard gun shots. They came back out and raced back out the main exit. I don’t know if he made it or not.”

  “Shit,” Jack cursed, ignoring the way the distraught man flinched at his language.

  He turned to Randal and Blaine, panic climbing its way up from his stomach, blocking out his ability to think clearly. It wasn’t the embryos. He couldn’t give a damn about the package or its ability to keep his company in the black. His brother was in trouble and he had put him there. What had he been thinking sending Calen into danger?

  “Show me the catwalk,” ordered Randal in a voice perfectly mixed with command and concern.

  Jack let Randal investigate the catwalk, too frightened by what they might find. A moment later Randal returned.

  “There’s no blood on the catwalk or the cliff, though there is a step missing and it looks as though the metal gave way quite recently.

  “Meaning?” asked Jacked, his brain too fuddled with emotions to understand what Randal was saying.

  “I don’t think they shot him. I think he got away.”

  “What do we do?”

  Randal let out a long breath. “One of us stays here. The other two go out and canvas the area for him.”

  “What if he went back to the condo?” asked Jack.

  “I don’t think he would. That’s a long train ride to travel back all the way to Olympus District. Was he hurt at all?” asked Randal, turning back to the greeter.

  He nodded. “He was pretty bunged up and I think he was limping when he arrived.”

  “He won’t be going far hurt,” stated Randal as though that was the end of the debate.

  “The other question we need to consider is that man who chased us through the fishing district,” said Blaine, speaking for the first time since entering the bar.

  “What about him?” demanded Jack, annoyed at being distracted from his brother.

  “Is he the same man who stalked Bit in Ward Port?” replied Blaine.

  Jack and Randal watched Blaine, waiting for the crazy version of the security officer to return. Blaine stayed calm and collected, much to their amazement.

  “What?” Blaine demanded as they continued to stare.

  “Nothing. We’ll talk about it later.” Jack turned to the greeter. “Do you have a comm.-for-rent?”

  “This way, sir,” said the greeter.

  “I’m going to contact Reese early,” said Jack, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “Have him get a description from Bit of her stalker and inform him of the problem. Randal and Blaine, you guys decide on the details of our next plan. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  Within minutes, Jack was back to find Randal sitting at a tiny table beside the railing of the balcony overlooking the exquisite view of the trench and Blaine standing beside the main entrance, awaiting Jack. Randal stood upon Jack’s return.

  “I’ll stay here while you two do a sweep. Be back by 0800. I’d suggest shooting for 0730, just to allow for complications. I’ll stay here in case he turns up injured.”

  Jack nodded. Of the three of them, Randal was the most equipped to deal with injuries. Jack glanced at Randal’s table, noting he had wisely already ordered a meal. They would find the restaurant workers more helpful if they spent a little money.

  “Get going,” Randal ordered when Jack continued to stand unmoved.

  Jack gave Randal’s shoulder a little shake and turned to follow Blaine back up the stained staircase. Were the bloodstains from Calen or his pursuers? Had Randal and Blaine noticed the bloodstains? And what was up with Blaine anyway?

  Blaine appeared to be back to his usual self. Jack wondered how long it would last this time and, above all, what was causing the sudden lapses back into insanity. It wasn’t being caused by reminders of Bit. Blaine himself brought up the young woman without any ill effect, and yet at other times when the indentured servant was mentioned he acted like a lunatic.

  Jack had too many worries to concern himself with the man leading him out of the restaurant. His first concern had to be his injured brother. After that the embryos. Surely once they reunited with Debby she would be able to figure out what was wrong with Blaine.

  The captain tried to silence the fears coursing through his mind as he split from Blaine and began searching for his brother. Despite his efforts, the persistent voice chanted in his mind:

  Find your brother.

  “Still not going to tell me what that was all about?” Bit asked again, nearly an hour after they had left the pleasure district.

  Her ribs hurt with each jostle of the train as it rumbled onward, taking them farther and farther away from where she assumed Jack would be, but Oden insisted they return to Logan’s club. Though she admitted his reasons were valid, she wanted to head off full-throttle across the city and find their captain. Instead, they were stuck on a painful journey in the wrong direction, leaving her cranky and in search of a distraction.

  “What?” he snapped, clearly irritable too—then again, she had given him a scare at four in the morning.

  “That thing with the rick jerk in the strip club. You gonna tell me what that was all about?”

  Oden crossed his arms. “Not really su
re how it’s any of your business.”

  “Well, I did kinda give him a piece of my mind on your behalf. I thought the least you could do was tell me why we hate him.”

  “You weren’t required to hate him on my behalf. You were allowed to make your own opinion of him,” grumbled her friend.

  Bit rolled her eyes. “I may not have a lot of experience making friends, Oden, but when your friend hates someone you hate them too. I know that much.”

  “It might have worked that way when you were in high school, but we’re adults now.”

  “Well, I never got to go to high school, so maybe you could grade me on a curve.”

  Bit instantly regretted her words as the guilt spread across Oden’s mobile face. Any time he was reminded of her years of servitude she saw the hurt deep in his eyes, only further renewing the curiosity burning within her. What had happened to him to make him so sensitive to what seemed, to her, as the norm? Growing up essentially belonging to another human being was just another Tuesday to her. And yet when he remembered how she had grown up under those circumstances, his eyes darkened and his hands balled up into fists.

  “What is it, Oden?” she asked, gently placing her small hand over his as he clenched his bicep.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Bit let out a long sigh and slumped back in her seat, turning her gaze on the man sitting across from them. He coughed into a well-used kerchief, which came back red with blood.

  “I do worry about it,” was all she said before they lapsed back into silence for the rest of the journey.

  It wasn’t long before the train slid to a stop at their station. Oden climbed to his feet and held out his hand for her. She took it, more as a gesture of friendship than a need for help, though her ribs were screaming in pain. It was time for another pain killer, no matter how embarrassing the reactions.

  They walked down the street to the club and in through a smaller side entrance where no bouncer stood to guard the door. The enormous room was dark, save for a small row of lights guiding them back to the door leading into the hallway. They reached their little sanctuary without meeting a soul.