by C. Gockel
“I don’t think it’s impossible.” Aria frowned. “Maybe improbable. But he gave us the information for a reason.”
Niamh said, “But we do not know his reason.”
Aria shrugged. “I don’t care.”
Cillian sighed, as if he had already accepted that the mission was doomed. “If we make it out, I assume my strength will be gone, either through injury or healing Owen as much as I can. Ardghal will meet us here, at the top of the tunnel entrance, and carry Owen the rest of the way. Niall can stand watch and open the sewer as we get close.”
Aria studied the floor plan. At first, it looked only like a crazed mass of overlapping lines, but after a moment, she figured out the symbols for stairwells and doors between rooms. There were four stairwells between each floor; Cillian had indicated they would use the one closest to the eastern side of the building. Perhaps the closed stairwell would limit the number of soldiers who could fire on them at one time. Or perhaps, the stairwell was simply the closest to the outside door. It opened onto a long hallway with many intersections. Plenty of opportunities to be caught or killed. Virtually no cover.
Way to be optimistic, Aria.
She frowned at her own thoughts. “Okay. We’ll do it.”
“There are sensors all along the wall and at the gate to sense our blood.” Cillian raised his eyes to meet Niamh’s gaze. “Be careful.”
Niamh nodded.
“Those on the walls should return here a different way. Perhaps, if we are pursued, they can cause a distraction.” Cillian continued frowning at the schematics.
Gabriel put one hand on her shoulder, as if he wanted to be reassuring, and she wondered whether he agreed that the mission was doomed.
“Who else is going?” she asked him.
“Evrial and Jonah’s squads.” Gabriel waited a moment longer, in case Cillian had anything else to say. “Come. We’ll get you a headset and vest.”
Aria followed Gabriel back toward the clusters of lanterns at the other end of the platform. He outfitted her, loaded and checked her pistol for her, and finally looked her over with a frown.
“I’d rather you not go, too,” he said finally. “But it’s your decision.”
She didn’t answer.
Bartok appeared by Gabriel’s shoulder, already wearing his gear. “We found some interesting things in the books you retrieved, in addition to that bookmark. Clint thinks it might be worth going back tomorrow to see if there are any other clues. He used to be a detective.”
“Interesting like what?” Aria looked at him curiously.
“We’re not sure yet. Deliberate clues, but we don’t know what they’re pointing to.”
She frowned at him. “Huh.” She would have asked for more detail, but Cillian had joined them.
“We must leave. Petro specified 9:00. We cannot be late.”
“Are you going?” Aria asked Gabriel.
He frowned. “No. I’ve been asked to remain here. But you have good men going. Plus Evrial.”
Bartok raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think she’d be offended to be grouped in with the men. Not on a mission, anyway.”
“Come,” Cillian said.
He led the way into a train tunnel. They would split up later, once they were closer to the facility, but for now, they traveled in a tense, quiet line, flashlights bobbing in the darkness. It was a long walk, and Aria was already tired. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Somehow I doubt that my fitness level is the determining factor in whether we succeed or not. She wasn’t confident in the logic of that thought. If it is, we’re doomed whether I’m tired or not. At least no one else is coming in with us.
She found herself walking next to Bartok, his strides long and confident next to her shorter ones. She pushed down her nerves and tried to smile.
“Are you nervous?” He glanced sideways at her.
“Do I look nervous?”
“A little.” He gave her a quick smile. “I’ll go in with you if you want.”
The offer gave her pause, and she glanced at him again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He must know we’re probably going to die. Why would he offer something like that?
He nodded. “I thought you’d say that. But the offer is real.”
“Thanks.”
They walked in silence for several steps, and Bartok opened his mouth once, then closed it again. Finally, he said, “Be careful.”
“I will.” For what it’s worth.
Evrial and Jonah led their squads into an access tunnel that would lead them close to Forestgate Imperial Security Facility. Bartok gave Aria a quick pat on the shoulder as he followed them. Evrial patted her shoulder, too, a sympathetic touch that left her looking after them into the dark. Am I stupid to do this? I have to try. Niamh and several other Fae followed them, all outfitted with pistols and headsets.
She followed Cillian, Niall, and Ardghal a little farther to a different access tunnel and some distance down the dark passage, where they reached the bottom of a long ladder.
Cillian paused to tousle Niall’s hair and give him a quick, hard embrace. Niall leaned into him for a moment, thin arms circling his uncle’s waist. Cillian hugged Ardghal too, and a murmur passed between them. Then Cillian started up the ladder, his bare feet silent on the rungs.
Ardghal patted Aria on the shoulder. “It is brave, what you are doing. We thank you.” His voice was soft, sorrowful.
Niall hesitated, his pale face barely visible in the darkness, and then leaned in to give her a quick hug too. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the bones beneath his cool skin.
“I’ll do my best.”
They think we’re going to die.
She climbed up the ladder after Cillian, Niall behind her. Cillian waited until she reached him before moving the metal cover aside and slipping out. She climbed out next, and Niall closed the cover behind her, leaving just a crack through which he could watch down the street.
Aria took a deep breath and followed Cillian. They slipped down the street, keeping to the shadows, and circled around to approach the wall from the west side, where they could see the front gate. It was wide enough for two driveways for entering and exiting cars, with a guard post in the middle. The guards were in position, two visible standing outside the gate and at least three inside the gatehouse.
Aria glanced at her watch. Faint ambient light from the spotlights illuminated the face. 8:53 PM.
“What do you think is going to happen?” she murmured to Cillian.
He stared at the guards for a long moment. “Technically, the gate itself is open now. But we should not approach until 9:00.”
Aria frowned. She glanced between her watch and the guards.
8:55.
She felt her heart thudding. What do I expect to happen? This is suicide.
8:58.
One of the guards turned to speak with another and then nodded. He disappeared behind the gate. A heartbeat later, the other guard glanced around and walked inside the gate too.
9:00.
“Now.” Cillian stepped forward.
Aria followed, hurrying to keep up. He strode toward the gate with apparent confidence. Aria could read his tension only because she’d studied Owen’s face so intently. She kept her pistol hidden under her jacket, hoping that looking innocuous would help somehow. What about the sensors? He didn’t do anything about them. Maybe he can’t.
The guardhouse had bulletproof glass walls on the three sides that faced away from the facility. Aria could see the shapes of the guards inside, bulky forms wearing thick army green jackets with the Imperial insignia. One figure turned briefly toward them, and Aria expected a shout of anger or a cry to halt. But he turned away again, as if Aria and Cillian were either invisible or simply unnoticed. Cillian strode through the wide car entrance and followed the driveway toward the front door of the building.
The driveway curved in front of the main building and continued to a parking area to the left. Floodli
ghts lit the broad paved patio and bathed the driveway and front gate. Aria’s heart thudded as she realized how exposed they were.
Cillian hesitated for only a moment before striding up to the large glass doors. He stepped through first, holding one hand out to keep Aria back while he glanced around the empty lobby area before continuing onward. A reception area faced them, with a metal detector for guests and turnstiles operated by badges. Cillian glanced around again before vaulting over a turnstile. She followed, the motion feeling awkward in comparison. She drew her pistol.
They headed toward the left corner, where a hallway led to the access stairs they had identified on the schematic. Down. And down one more floor.
They saw no one. Perhaps that isn’t so incredible. It is late, after all. But surely a place like this has security around the clock. And then, don’t question, Aria. If we get caught later, so be it.
Cillian hesitated for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, his head raised a little.
“What is it?” Aria whispered.
“Blood.” Cillian’s silent steps quickened as he followed the long hallway, pausing only briefly at each intersection before leading her on. He turned right, then left, and continued straight for another thirty feet.
He stopped at a metal door. “He is here.” He put his hand on the doorknob, and Aria heard it unlock with a nearly inaudible click. He pushed it open.
From the narrow doorway behind Cillian, Aria saw only that Owen was strapped to a metal table, head turned slightly away from them to face Grenidor. The colonel sat in a plastic chair on the other side of the table, and he looked up, startled, as the door opened.
Cillian lunged forward and around the table to wrap his hands around Grenidor’s neck. “I should kill you!”
“Don’t.” Owen’s voice was so faint Aria barely heard it, but it stopped Cillian.
Grenidor struggled to breathe against Cillian’s harsh grip, his feet dangling six inches in the air. A clipboard fell from his hands and clattered to the floor as Cillian bared his teeth and growled. Grenidor’s face darkened with blood as he choked.
“Don’t,” Owen repeated, only a breath.
Cillian threw Grenidor against the wall ten feet away. His head cracked against the concrete, and he slumped to the floor, dazed.
Aria turned her attention to Owen and caught her breath, tears welling in her eyes.
His left eye was shadowed by a deep bruise, and his right eye was swollen completely shut, the skin taut and dark. The angular line of his cheekbone was completely lost in a mass of bruises and swelling, with a deep cut that seeped blood into his ear. He wore the same clothes, the shirt plastered to him with fresh and caked blood. His chest moved with his breaths in slight, irregular starts.
Cillian moved to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
The bonds were not straps, as Aria had first thought, but metal shackles bolted to the table. She turned to Grenidor. “Where is the key?”
He glared at her, gasping, one hand raised to his throat.
She raised her pistol to aim at his knees, eyes holding his.
He swallowed and finally pointed to the far wall. “Second drawer on the left.”
Aria stalked to the desk and opened the drawer, which was empty except for the single key. She hurried back and turned the key in a lock that secured the shackle around Owen’s right wrist. She flipped back the metal and glanced at his face.
His eyes were closed, and his free hand lay slack on the table. She looked closer and sucked in her breath. The metal felt cool and smooth against her skin, like any other metal, but it must have been different for Owen. His wrist was raw where the metal had touched it, a livid band of angry red an inch wide.
“What is this?” She turned to Grenidor again.
“Getlaril,” he muttered.
Cillian trembled beside her, his anger palpable, but he waited for her to unlock the other shackles, one hand resting on his brother’s shoulder. He must have been doing something, because Owen suddenly took a deeper breath, a pained gasp that gurgled in his chest.
Aria was crying, tears streaking down her cheeks unnoticed, and she glared at Grenidor again. “Why? Why would you do this?”
Grenidor glared back at her, though he didn’t rise. “He’s not human! This is science. My methods will save lives. Human lives! You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” He cleared his throat with a cough and shot a furious glance at Cillian. “He might look human, but he’s an animal. Animals do not have human rights, regardless of how pretty their faces are.”
Aria wanted to scream at him, but time pressed upon her. They had to leave, get Owen out before soldiers descended upon them.
“He’s better than you are,” she muttered, not caring whether he heard or not. Then, “Can we lift him?” On a quick impulse, she unclipped the papers from Grenidor’s clipboard and folded them in half to cram into her back pocket. Perhaps they had something that could help his healing.
Cillian frowned down at Owen, lips pressed together, then nodded. He knelt to slip his arm under Owen’s shoulders and lift him into a sitting position as Aria shifted Owen’s legs toward the floor.
Owen gasped and his left eye fluttered open. “Cillian?”
“Yes. I’m here. We’re leaving now.” Cillian’s voice was low and steady, and he kept his face turned away so Owen wouldn’t see his tears. “I’d do more, but I need my strength to carry you.”
Owen’s head lolled forward, and Aria bent to get his left arm around her shoulders. Cillian was strong, but he was also far from recovered himself, and she imagined the help was welcome.
Aria glanced over her shoulder at Grenidor as they started toward the door. He still crouched against the wall, breath rasping in his throat. But he might not stay that way for long. She considered shooting him, but couldn’t bring herself to do it in cold blood. Perhaps, if he’d been chasing them, she would have; but not now, while he only glared.
She wrapped her right arm around Owen’s waist and held his left arm over her shoulder, trying to avoid the burned ring around his wrist. Her right hand was sticky with his blood as she stepped forward, matching Cillian’s strides. She glanced back again. Could she block the door somehow? But it opened inward, and there was nothing to use near the door anyway.
Owen’s feet barely moved as they dragged him forward, sagging between them.
The alarm finally sounded, a blaring repetitive wail that was deafening in the confined hallway. The lights flickered in time with the sound.
Aria’s heart sank into her stomach. There was no way they could escape. Cillian had been right. Niamh and the others would not be able to save them.
She hurried forward anyway.
Grenidor slipped out the door behind them, and she expected a bullet in her back in moments.
Footsteps sounded in a neighboring hallway. Boots running.
“You keep going. I’ll handle it.” Aria’s breath caught in her throat, but she was proud of how steady her voice was; she sounded confident, competent.
When she started to shift from beneath Owen’s arm, he slumped to the side. Cillian struggled to lift him, hitching Owen’s right arm further around his shoulder and staggering onward.
Aria glanced behind them again and darted back to the last intersection, where she peeked around the corner. Immediately she pulled back, but not before a shot nearly hit her. The soldier approaching the corner had whipped his gun toward her without aiming in the split second she was visible, but training gave him reflexes much better than hers.
“Stupid, Aria!” she muttered to herself. She flattened herself against the wall and stepped back from the intersection, pistol aimed at the corner. He’d be around it in a moment. She couldn’t hear his footsteps; he must be creeping slowly, ready to surprise her. She tried to keep her panicked breathing silent. Stay calm. Keep it together, girl.
A metal door slammed across the intersection with a solid thunk. Aria blinked, then backed a step away. The door stay
ed closed.
What happened?
Don’t question, just run. She sprinted toward Cillian and Owen, who had almost reached the stairwell.
She pulled Owen’s arm back over her shoulder and hauled him upward. Cillian was fading, and she imagined he was giving as much to his brother as he could without becoming a burden himself. Perhaps more than he should have.
“It’s not much farther,” she muttered, as much for herself as for them.
Owen grunted, not a particularly reassuring sound, but at least it meant he was conscious enough to hear her. She didn’t want to think about the long, painfully exposed sprint to the front gate, nor the streets beyond, where the soldiers would easily be able to catch them.
A hailstorm of bullets cracked into the cement beside her, and a metal door clanged shut to her left. Up the stairs. It was a struggle with Owen a dead weight between them. Aria’s legs burned by the time they reached the top, but she ignored the pain.
Owen muttered something she didn’t understand, and Cillian grunted in response. On, through another hallway. She stumbled, nearly dragging Owen down with her before she recovered.
They reached the front door. Aria darted forward again, leaving Owen leaning hard on Cillian as she peered out. “I don’t see anyone. Yet. Let’s go.”
They hurried across the lawn.
Where are the soldiers? We should be dead by now.
A shot cracked the glass of the front door behind them, but none tore into her back and she didn’t dare slow long enough to look behind her.
Are the guards asleep? The gate is still open. Go, go, go.
Teary-eyed and breathless, she stumbled through the gate and down the street.
Another block, and they would make it. It’s impossible. They’ll catch us before then.
She startled when someone matched her steps on the other side. Petro. She stopped, her heart in her throat, then hurried forward again. “What are you doing here?”
His jaw tightened. He seemed reluctant to answer, and then said, “It was required in order to avoid undesirable results.”
