“We’re not going to hurt you.”
“What do you want with me?”
“Nothing,” I answer. “Just your silence.”
“We really don’t need anyone knowing that we’re here,” Reed explains.
“I won’t tell anyone,” he answers, so obviously that even I can’t help laughing.
“Okay, well, let’s just say I won’t be taking your word on that,” I nod at Jethro and Brett, and they step forward immediately to bind his arms behind his back.
“This is a bad idea,” Reed shakes his head and shrugs his rucksack over his shoulder.
“Let’s go,” I say, ignoring him.
Chapter 9
This time, uninterrupted, our search for the access point of the tunnels doesn’t take long. David’s estimations are astonishingly accurate, and one by one we enter the old, partially covered manhole and descend into the musty darkness.
Our prisoner, Stefan, puts up no resistance and climbs down the rusted mine ladder between Jethro and Brett. Reed brings up the rear and pulls the manhole cover back over the top of the shaft, plunging us into darkness. The eight of us cluster around at the base of the shaft in the dark, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the blackness. The tunnel we are standing in is surprisingly cool and dry and remarkably well-ventilated.
Extracting two torches from David’s rucksack, Reed tosses one to Jethro, and they shine them back and forth down the tunnel in both directions. About six feet wide and about eight feet high, the tunnel walls are lined with coarse concrete and are oddly elliptical. The two-foot gauge track on the ground, which was obviously used for transportation before the war, stretches in both directions, until it is swallowed by the dark at the point where the beam of the torch cannot penetrate.
“Hand me that,” David takes Jethro’s torch and shines it down on the blueprint that he has unfolded on the dusty ground. He examines it for a few minutes and then he nods his head, hands back the torch and gets to his feet.
“We’re going this way,” he indicates north and Reed snorts with derision.
“Didn’t exactly need a map to figure that out,” he mutters under his breath and I smile in the dark.
We walk for about an hour, twisting and turning through the labyrinth of tunnels, stopping every few minutes for David to check the blueprints. The floor of the tunnel is mostly clear of debris, although in a few places there are piles of brick and plaster, obviously where the tunnels have partially collapsed. We manage to get through these obstacles without much difficulty. We pass a few abandoned freight cars filled with coal and postal packages. Picking a yellowed, faded envelope from a pile, I shine my torchlight on the address, written in a swirly, girlish hand.
“Jason Holland, c/o Macys, 111 N State Street, Chicago, Illinois, 60602,” Reed reads over my shoulder. “Love letter?” he muses and I turn the letter over to read the return address.
“I wouldn’t send a love letter to work, would you?”
“Maybe Laura Clancy was mixing business with pleasure?” His tone is teasing and I laugh, dropping the letter back on the stack. It’s hard to believe that these letters, written almost twenty-eight years ago, are just lying here, forgotten, lost in the passage of time. I wonder if Laura and Jason survived the war, and what became of the hundreds of other names written on these envelopes. It’s as if, down here, time has stood still.
“Come on, Tiny,” Reed calls as the group moves around another sharp bend, and I am roused from my musings and jog a few paces to catch up.
“What are those?” I ask as we pass yet another heavily reinforced steel structure resembling a door.
“Waterproof fire-doors,” David answers, leading us left as we come to another fork, “in case of fire or flooding, presumably from the river. They act as bulkheads, enabling flooded sections of the tunnels to be sealed off.”
“Ah.” My suspicions are confirmed.
A few yards on we make a sharp right turn and Reed stops dead. I am looking down and I walk straight into his back.
“What the . . .” I pause, coming to stand between him and David.
“That doesn’t look so good, Specs,” Reed drawls but David ignores the barb. This is the first bulkhead that we have come across that is closed, blocking our path.
“That’s not good at all.” He steps forward and presses his hand against the cold metal.
“Do we open it?” I ask, and David shakes his head, gesturing me forward. I place my own hand on the door and my pulse rate speeds up.
“Can you feel it?” he asks, and as I nod, the door gives an ominous creak. I can feel the pressure pulsing beneath my hand. There is water behind this door. A whole lot of it.
“I shouldn’t be down here,” Stefan whimpers as we bend to consult the blueprint for an alternative route.
“None of us should be down here,” Marcus shivers involuntarily, eyeing the massive door uneasily.
“Okay,” David eventually breaks the long silence after studying the blueprints intently. “There is another way through, but we’ll have to backtrack a bit.”
We turn and retrace our steps and Reed pauses and examines the first fire-door we pass. When he starts pushing against it, I realise what he is doing and I add my own strength. Wordlessly, David comes up behind us and starts to push too. The door is meant to be mechanically closed, but with our combined strength it starts to move, inch by inch.
“Just a bit more,” Jethro calls, watching from the side. With an audible ‘clunk’ the door locks into place, and David slides the fastening mechanism across it with little difficulty.
“Just in case,” Reed mutters, his face expressionless.
“I shouldn’t be down here,” Stefan echoes but we ignore him as we venture further along in the murky darkness.
Having to circumnavigate our original route takes far more time than we initially estimated, and by the time we reach the three-point split in the tunnel that David has earmarked as our temporary camp, we are tired and hungry.
“We’re only a few hundred yards from the Macy’s basement,” David announces. This means that we are only about one and a half miles from the Dane Corp Plaza. “The freight cars used to run right up into it for loading, but I’m fairly sure the entrance will have been completely barricaded up. We’ll get through, though.”
“Okay, and the plan again, once we get into the basement?” I ask.
“We access the Pedway,” he says. This is where our operation becomes risky. We emerge from the tunnels in Macy’s deep sub-basement, make our way up a floor into the basement, and then enter the underground Pedway, which is a popular public pedestrian system. We need to venture out in public and make our way through the Pedway without drawing any attention to ourselves. It is still far safer than emerging onto the street itself, which we will only need to do a quarter of a mile from the Dane Corp Plaza. The Chicago Pedway, a network of public tunnels used for foot traffic, particularly in inclement weather, will at least keep most of our journey as concealed as possible.
“Okay,” I nod in the dim light of the torches and I turn back to our luggage.
In the absence of Veronica, I set about retrieving what little food we have carried with us and prepare a meagre meal. Hardly satisfied, we settle down to sleep, Reed offering his concave stomach as a makeshift pillow. Far more comfortable than the hard stone floor, I lie back and am asleep within minutes.
It feels like only moments later that I am shaken gently awake by Jethro to take my turn at watching over Stefan. We cannot afford to allow him to escape, even though the chances of him finding his way through the tunnels without David’s expertise are slim. We are taking two-hour shifts and I am second in line, so I have not had much rest and my eyes are scratchy and burning. I cross the space to sit close to where Stefan appears to be sleeping, pulling my knees up to my chest and for the first time doubting my decision to keep
him alive. It’s putting us all through a lot of unnecessary stress. Jethro has moved not too far away and soon I hear the soft sound of his snores. Almost immediately I hear Stefan’s urgent whisper in the dark.
“Rebecca?”
“Hmm?” I am not in the least bit surprised that he is not really asleep.
“You have to get me out of here.” I frown into the blackness as he continues, “They’re going to kill me.”
“Not if you behave yourself.”
“No, listen to me, I’m serious. I can feel it, it’s only a matter of time!”
“What makes you think I would help you?”
“I know you don’t want to kill me, you’re not like the rest of them.”
“Really? And what gives you that idea?”
“You saved me . . . You . . .” He hasn’t even finished the sentence when I spring up, landing like a cat, and grab him around his throat.
“Listen to me,” I hiss, my mouth against his ear. “Don’t for one moment mistake my momentary compassion for weakness. I will kill you in an instant if I feel, even for a second, that you pose a risk to any of these men.” I ease up as I hear the rattling of his breath in his throat. “I’m the one you should be worried about,” I add, dropping him back to the ground and settling myself in my original position as though nothing has happened.
“It’s my turn,” Brett takes over from me a few hours later. “I’m sorry I overslept, you should have woken me.” His sandy brown hair is standing up on end and his blue eyes look black in the dark.
“It’s fine.” I pat his shoulder as I make my way past him and settle down next to Reed, who pulls me against him in his sleep, warming my numb, cold body.
The next morning our plans are once more in full swing.
“We should move further down the tunnels to assemble the bombs,” Marcus warns. “We’ll find a subsidiary tunnel, just in case. We don’t want to block our exit if anything goes wrong.”
Between them, he and Gabe carry the four rucksacks filled with the materials they need, and Reed, Brett and I follow behind, leaving Jethro and David to keep an eye on Stefan. David is still poring over his maps, trying to find the quietest place to exit the Pedway, one that will minimise our chances of being seen, and from where we can scout the Dane Corp Plaza. We are still not entirely sure how we will gain access to the building or how many guards are patrolling it. We may need to make the trip a few times to gather information before we launch our attack, although this is not ideal because it will increase our chances of being discovered. With a little luck, David will come up with a foolproof plan.
We stand a relatively short distance away from where Marcus and Gabe are working, but I watch closely, fascinated by what they are doing. Their concentration is palpable, and their movements are slow and precise. Eventually, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, Gabe beckons Jethro over and hands him a rucksack filled with five completed bombs. Jethro carries them gingerly to our makeshift camp, and before he returns, Marcus calls me over to collect a second rucksack.
“Slowcoach,” Gabe smiles at his friend as I step forward to take the bag from him.
“Show-off,” Marcus grins back at him as I turn away and they both get back to work. We are taking twenty pipe-bombs into the Plaza, carried in four rucksacks by Reed, Jethro, Brett and me. David, Gabe and Marcus will remain in the tunnels awaiting our return, and then we will head back home to Vegas. I am filled with apprehension as I carry the satchel back to the others and place it carefully beside the one Jethro has already bought back. I heave a sigh of relief when I set it down and then return to watch Marcus and Gabe finish their task.
“Done,” Gabe announces eventually, looking smug, and he stands and shrugs his second satchel gently over his shoulder, waving away Jethro’s offer of help.
“Dammit!” Marcus mutters in mock annoyance at having been beaten again, and Gabe laughs.
“Always two steps behind, old friend,” he winks as he passes us, Jethro just behind him, and they are soon swallowed up as the tunnel makes a sharp right turn further along.
“You may as well go back,” Reed says. “I’ll wait for Marcus.” I am about to object when Marcus speaks.
“No, it’s fine, I’m done.” He stands, shouldering the pack.
“Okay, let’s go.” I turn to lead the way back and as I do, chaos erupts.
I hear shouts from the direction of our camp, and a tall figure comes sprinting towards us, almost knocking me off my feet as he shoulders bodily past me. I hear Reed’s low, “Son of a bitch!” and then we are bathed in light as Jethro and Brett come flying around the sharp bend after Stefan, torches in their hands. This all takes just a few seconds, but everything seems to happen in slow motion.
I turn to run after Stefan when I hear Reed roar “No!” and he hits me square in the chest with both hands, propelling me backwards with the force of a freight train. I am flying through the air, my arms and legs wind-milling, and, with a jolt of pure, unadulterated terror, I realise that Stefan has collided with Marcus, whose eyes are round with horror. The satchel has slipped off his shoulder and is falling to the ground. Reed’s eyes bore into mine for a split second, and then he turns, blurring with velocity, as the five highly explosive canisters hit the ground. The explosion shakes the ground around me and a hot blast hits me full in the face, burning my eyes and skin. The force of the blast propels me back even faster through the air, and I fall heavily into Brett and Jethro, all three of us hitting the ground hard.
Dazed, I cannot move, and although my body is screaming in agony, I can’t make a sound. David’s face looms above me, barely visible through the cloud of dust, and I can see his mouth moving but I cannot hear a thing. He reaches for the side of my face, pressing his hand against my ear, and when he raises it, it is stained crimson with blood.
“Just hold on!” I manage to lip-read, and then my eyes close, once, twice and then my strength fails me and I give in to the void.
I wake to the sound of coughing and moans of agony.
“Ah,” I gasp, clutching my head.
“Rebecca!” David is at my side in an instant and tries in vain to stop me from sitting up. It seems not much time has passed; there is still a faint haze of dust over the chaos around me. Gabe is crouching over Brett, the source of the moaning, who is slumped against the concrete wall a few yards down the tunnel clutching his chest, and Jethro is lying a few feet away from him, whether unconscious or dead, I don’t know.
“Jethro!” I try to clamber to my feet, and my right leg collapses beneath me.
“Easy! He’s okay!” David reassures me. “You can hear me?” He checks my ears.
“I heal fast. Brett?” I ask, gasping as a searing pain shoots up my leg.
“Not fast enough, apparently,” he says, cringing at my obvious pain. “I think he’s going to be okay, I’ll get to him in a minute.” David, with his ability of strength and Gabe, who has no Gifted abilities, were not fast enough to reach the tunnel by the time the bombs detonated, and so they are unharmed.
“Go, I’ll be fine,” I insist, seeing that Gabe is at a loss as to how to deal with Brett. I can already feel the tingling in my leg that indicates my healing ability is starting to work. David, hearing the authority in my tone, nods quickly and then moves away to crouch over Brett and examine his wounds. Using my hands I drag my body backwards and prop myself up against an enormous boulder. Leaning forward, I rip my denims from calf to upper thigh, wincing involuntarily when I see the bloody gash. Blood is pouring from the wound, staining the dirt, and I press both hands down, applying pressure while trying to figure out what has just happened. It suddenly occurs to me that the cut is in almost exactly the same place where I was shot by Cole Thomas just a few months ago. That time, Reed had tended my wound. Like a shot to the heart, I remember. Reed! Ignoring the pain in my leg, I get to my feet and hop forward, praying ferven
tly, my torn jeans flapping around my right ankle.
Away from the discarded torches the blackness engulfs me and I scream back down the tunnel. “David! The torch! I need the light!”
The feeble beam cuts through the dark, swinging this way and that as David runs towards me. I keep moving forward, away from him, until my progress is halted suddenly by a wall of boulders and stone.
“No!” I whisper, running my hands in all directions over the barrier, trying desperately to find an opening. Gabe is suddenly beside me, his own hands pulling out rocks, clawing at the impenetrable mountain, and I realise that his best friend is in there, too.
“Reed!” I call, scrabbling frantically, throwing boulders behind me, ignoring the rocks bumping painfully against my legs as they roll down and land on my feet.
“Reed!” I scream, my fingernails bleeding. “Reed!”
Beside me Gabe is calling for Marcus, and I tear at the wall of rock like a woman possessed.
“Stop it!” David yells, grabbing me from behind and trying to pull me away.
“Let me go!”
“There’s nothing you can do!”
“Let-me-go!” I roar, guilt fuelling my anger. Reed pushed me out of the way and it cost him the time he needed to save his own life. He sacrificed himself for me. Kicking back at David, I feel the crunch as my foot connects with his knee. He releases me instantly, dropping painfully to the ground and as I turn, mortified, to apologise, I hear Gabe’s pitiful howl beside me. Glancing down at the hand illuminated by the fallen torch, I feel the energy drain from my body and I slump to the ground beside Gabe. The lifeless, bloodied hand protruding from the debris is missing two fingers. Marcus.
“There’s nothing we can do,” David echoes, and I put my arms around the sobbing Gabe, my own tears streaming down my cheeks and my body racked with silent tears for the man I have lost. The man who, I realise too late, I love.
Chapter 10
“We only have fifteen bombs left,” David announces as he carefully examines the contents of the rucksacks. “I don’t know if it’ll be enough?” He lets the question hang, but Gabe is lost in his suffering and offers no answer. Brett seems to be far better, other than the massive dark purple bruise spreading across his chest, and Jethro is at least conscious, although David is worried that he may have a concussion. Being closest to the actual blast, my injuries were by far the worst, but with my exceptional gifts, I am almost fully healed already.
The Legion Page 8
