“Why?”
“You’ll see. Thank you for coming when I needed you, you’re a good man.” I lean forward to hug him and, not wanting him to wake up with a headache, I turn him around and smother his nose and mouth, as I did with the woman in the elevator. The moment he passes out, I drag him into the storeroom. None of the others have stirred, so I lock the door behind me and head for the opposite side of the floor.
“I assume the lab will be heavily guarded?” Jethro asks as we race up the stairs.
“No doubt,” I answer honestly.
At the 95th floor landing I shrug off my rucksack and hand it to Brett, nodding at Jethro to do the same. “When we get in there, you stash these somewhere safe,” I order, ignoring his moan of protest, “then you help us. Got it?” He nods sulkily, not wanting to miss a moment of the action, but strategically this is the right call. Jethro is the superior soldier, he will be more use to me in the initial melee. I swipe the key-card and as the blinking light turns from red to green, I push against the door and take my first steps into the NUSA genetic laboratory.
The man nearest the door is wearing a white lab coat and he looks up as I enter, a confused expression on his face.
“What the . . .” he doesn’t finish the sentence. Jethro hits him square in the face and he flies back against a desk, knocking paper and stationery to the floor.
“Subtle,” I remark drily, as all the occupants of the room turn to stare at us. “Stop them,” I yell, pointing at a few lab coats who are rushing towards the private elevator. Jethro flies across the room, barring their way, and like sheep, they flock in the opposite direction. An ear-splitting wail rends the air and the red light above the elevator starts flashing.
“They’ve triggered the alarm, we need to move!” Brett hollers.
“Oh really?” I raise my eyebrows at him, my voice oozing sarcasm. “And here I thought they were throwing us a welcome party.”
Among the twenty or so people in the lab I pick out about six men wearing the dark blue of the NUSA army. I step forward, trying to draw their attention away from Brett, who is stowing the rucksacks under a desk near the stairwell. Five of the six come straight for me, moving with purpose, while one heads towards Jethro. Thankfully, they do not seem to have noticed Brett. I brace myself for the fight that is coming, standing on the balls of my feet. The five soldiers fan out around me, hemming me in. Keeping a cool head, I pick out one at random, a short red-headed man who, by the way he moves, seems to be speed-Gifted. I catapult towards him, grabbing his head as I fly past and jerking his body up and over my shoulders so he lands dazed at my feet. I lift my leg to land a crushing blow to his chest but I am hoisted into the air and dragged backwards, contained by two of the stronger men who have each taken hold of my arms from behind. I crouch forward, as low as I can get, trying to keep my centre of gravity, and then I launch my arms forward, throwing the two soldiers off me. They slide across the floor of the lab and into a surgical table. To my disappointment they rise almost immediately, but I do not have time to fret as I catch a punishing blow to my jaw. Spitting out blood, I turn to face my new opponent, an African-American man with a sadistic smile on his brutally handsome face. He’s taller than anyone I have ever seen, I have to really crane my neck to look up at him. I kick out, aiming for his abdomen, but he jumps back nimbly, surprisingly agile for such a giant of a man.
“Rebecca!” Brett’s warning comes too late and I take another pounding to the face, blood spurting from my nose to join the already metallic taste in my mouth. The fifth man has entered the fray. Heavy footfalls signal that the other two soldiers are also back, although the red-headed man is still on the ground. With a dramatic Tarzan yell, Brett slams the head of the soldier nearest me with the back of a chair, and he collapses to his knees. Brett turns the chair over and brings it down on his head, then repeats the motion again and again. Not wanting to witness the brutal end of the soldier, I turn back to the other three. The friend of Brett’s victim is temporarily distracted by the gruesome sight, and I use my speed to get behind him, snapping his neck like a twig.
The fifth man has flown across the room towards Jethro, who has subdued his own opponent and is smashing the elevator control panel to stop anyone from escaping. They will not get to the stairs which are just behind us, without having to get through the fighting, and the lab technicians are not mercenaries, they are staying at the opposite end of the room, as far from the fighting as possible. The tall black warrior shows his teeth, battle lust shining in his eyes. He appears unmoved by the death of his associates, and he crouches in a fighting stance, his arms weaving back and forth, waiting for an opening. I feint to the left and then bring my right leg down on his knee with a bone-splintering crack. He leans precariously to the left favouring the injured leg, and I use the sudden balance in our heights to land a well-aimed roundhouse kick to the right side of his face. He shakes his head and spits out a tooth, looking back at me with murder in his eyes as he draws a wicked-looking dagger from his belt. I am about to pounce on him, when I am hit broadside by another chair. It hardly hurts, and I glance around to see one of the lab technicians holding the offending object, his whole body trembling with fear. As I stare at him, he drops the chair and turns, fleeing in the opposite direction. Fighting the impulse to roll my eyes, I turn back but the warrior is gone.
“Where . . .” I turn full circle, but he is nowhere to be seen.
Brett is heaving with exertion but is unharmed, and when I catch Jethro’s eye he gives me a thumbs-up, both soldiers lying dead at his feet. Still scanning the room for the missing soldier, I nod at Brett to retrieve the rucksacks. There is no time to waste, the alarm is still blaring and it won’t be long before NUSA reinforcements arrive. The disappearance of the African-American has me concerned, but right now my primary objective is to arm the bombs. Leaving Jethro to stand guard over the crouching prisoners, we carefully extract all the canisters one by one, and then I pull the detonating cords from the bottom of the bags.
“You remember how to attach them, right?” I ask Brett.
“Yeah,” he answers, expertly fusing the first bomb. I set to work beside him and in no time at all, all fifteen bombs are ready.
‘Okay, so once we set the fuse, we have four or five minutes, tops,” I call across the room so that Jethro can hear me too. “We take the stairs, it’ll be quicker than the elevator, anyway.”
“What about them?” Jethro asks, indicating the group clustered together at his feet.
“They only need to get to the 91st floor; they can leave after us,” I leave Brett with the pipe-bombs and walk across the room to address our prisoners.
“When we leave here, you have five minutes before this place is going to blow to hell,” I instruct, ignoring the shock and horror on their faces. “You’ll never make it out of the building in time, so I suggest you get to the 91st floor. You’ll be safe there, these bombs won’t damage any level but this one . . .” I am in the middle of speaking when Jethro blurs beside me and I turn to see the African-American soldier standing over Brett, who is double-checking the detonation fuses. Helpless, I watch as he raises the wicked-looking dagger and plunges it into Brett’s back, his evil black eyes meeting mine as he turns it swiftly, tearing through flesh and bone. With a howl of rage, I fly forward, reaching him only a second behind Jethro, who grabs hold of one arm and tries in vain to pull him backwards. I leap from a few yards away and land on his shoulders, grabbing his head and twisting it savagely in my hands, completely severing his spinal cord. I crash down on his lifeless body and roll off, coming to a skidding halt beside Brett, who is gasping for breath and arching his body, his arms stretching behind him as he tries in vain to stem the bleeding.
“You won’t reach,” I tell him, ripping off my white fleece, I bundle it up into a ball and press it firmly against the wound.
“It’s his lung,” I meet Jethro’s eyes over Brett’s he
ad. I close my eyes trying to think of anything I can do, but Jethro shakes his head at me.
“You guys better go,” Brett pants. “I’ll make sure they detonate.”
“No.”
“We don’t have much time, Rebecca, they’ll send reinforcements any second.” Jethro sounds resigned, but there is something else, as though he is struggling to keep it together himself. “What if they stop him?” he asks, indicating the lab personnel cowering in the far corner.
“They won’t,” Brett hisses, determined, but in a split second I make my decision.
“We’ll take them down with us, to the 91st.”
Jethro rests his hand briefly on Brett’s shoulder, and then he races back towards the prisoners, shepherding them ahead of him, towards the stairs.
“Tell Tim, will you,” he stammers, and I look at him quizzically, not following his meaning.
“That I saved the day,” he winks, “that I’m a legend. That’ll really piss him off.” He laughs harshly, an ominous wheeze emanating from his chest and then his face contorts with pain.
“I’ll see you around, Rebecca,” he smiles.
“I’ll see you,” I smile, my eyes filling with tears. I kiss his temple and then I go to join the others.
“The clock starts now,” Jethro leads the way, and I take up the rear of the group who offer no resistance. Getting down the four floors to the 91st floor is agonisingly slow; despite their frenzy to get to safety, these are just ordinary people, with ordinary capabilities. Although we are out of harm’s way with regard to the actual blast, we will have only a few minutes, if that, after the bombs detonate before the entire building is placed on lockdown. If that happens we will never make it out.
We barge through the door on the 91st floor and the lab techs fan out, trying to get as far from us as possible, taking refuge under desks and inside cubicles.
“Uh-oh,” Jethro indicates the storeroom, which is open and empty. A quick scan shows that the two soldiers who were locked in it are not on this level – they have probably already gone for help.
“Let’s just go,” I turn back to the door and see a grey jacket disappearing around the corner.
“Chase!” I yell, streaking after him. Chase is already heading for the stairs up to the lab level. Cursing, I race after him. I reach him only one flight up, hoist him over my shoulder and descend again. I am about to set him down in the storeroom again and lock the door, when Jethro interrupts me.
“How valuable is he?”
“Chase? I don’t know, he’s on the Board of Dane Corp, he’s probably pretty important, why?”
“Bring him. At least if we get cornered, we have something to trade.” I can’t fight the logic in this so, hitting Chase hard enough to knock him out, I shift his weight more comfortably over my shoulder and fly out of the door, Jethro right behind me.
We race down the stairs, the alarm sirens still blaring, Jethro keeping a keen eye out for any soldiers coming the opposite way. We have almost reached the 60th floor when we hear the explosion. Giving only a moment’s thought to Brett and the sacrifice he has made, I keep going, my feet flying beneath me as I scurry down towards the lower levels. The explosion seems to act as a catalyst to the NUSA defence and they all seem to be going in the same direction, up to the lab. Every time Jethro sees them coming up the stairs, we exit the stairwell and take refuge on a quieter floor until they have passed.
We have almost reached the 20th floor, and are just a few short storeys away from escape when I hear his voice.
“Rebecca!” I freeze, lose my footing and start to fall, but Jethro grabs my vest from behind and pulls me back upright. I drop Chase, who tumbles only a few steps to the next landing, his glasses falling off in the process. My eyes wide with incredulity, I turn to look back up the stairwell, taking a few steps up, unable to believe what I am seeing.
“That’s impossible,” Jethro breathes behind me.
Leaning over the railing a few floors up, Reed grins down at me, his shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes. My heart thudding in my chest, I sprint back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Reed has disappeared, he is obviously coming down to us, and about ten floors up, I screech around a landing and he is standing there, filthy and covered in dried blood, but alive. And he is not alone. He is holding on to my father, who looks a little thinner and seems to have quite a lot more grey in his dark hair, but other than that he seems none the worse for his experience.
“I told you I’d find him,” Reed drawls, and I burst into hysterical laughter, grabbing both of them in a bone-crushing hug.
Chapter 12
There is no time to discuss how they came to be here, and we hurtle down the stairs again, Jethro, Reed and my father nodding only briefly at each other in greeting.
‘Who’s the spare?” Reed nods at Chase’s unconscious body sprawled on the landing.
“Collateral,” I answer, feeling ridiculously happy now that he is here, despite the gravity of our situation. “We might need him.”
Reed hoists Chase over his own shoulder and we keep descending, bursting out of the stairwell and into the basement, which is, thankfully, deserted. We find the door leading into the Pedway and, our feet pounding against the polished floor, we race towards the public section.
“One small question,” my dad pants as we reach the door and he doubles over to catch his breath, “don’t you think someone might just notice him?” He waves his hand at Chase’s body slumped over Reed’s shoulder. Reed drops him unceremoniously to the floor.
“Problem solved,” he shrugs.
“Chase is on the Board, he’s Joseph Hale’s right-hand man,” my dad speaks up. “He probably has a lot of information we could use.” The implied meaning is clear, we need to take him with us, if at all possible.
“Probably,” I agree, weighing up our options. “Jethro, you know the way back, right?” At his nod, I continue, “Okay, you take my dad and get back to the tunnels. Remember he’s nowhere near as fast as you, so just be casual, get back to the Macy’s basement, we’ll meet you there.”
Jethro shrugs out of his black hoodie and hands it to Reed. It goes some way to hiding his torn and bloodied clothing, and hopefully it will be dark enough that no one will notice what we can’t hide.
My dad gives me one last, brief hug and then they push through the door. It closes behind them with a gentle click.
“You think they’ll make it?” I ask, avoiding his eyes, and I can hear the smile in Reed’s voice.
“I think we’re the ones you should be worrying about, Tiny.”
“Okay, ready?” I ask, lifting Chase and supporting him with my right arm. Reed comes around his other side and does the same with his left.
“Let’s go.”
Staggering through the Pedway, which is far quieter than before, it being after midnight, we avoid making eye contact with the few people walking by and hope that our ruse is working. Reed and I are both laughing uproariously and staggering slightly, trying to give the impression that we have had too much to drink.
“I told him not to have that last tequila,” I chuckle, earning myself a filthy look from a passing couple. We make it to Macy’s without much trouble and as we enter the basement I start to feel relief coursing through my veins.
David, Jethro and my father are waiting at the fire-door, and they take Chase from Reed as we come through it. My dad grabs hold of me and pulls me against his chest, even though it’s been only a few minutes.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Bex,” he murmurs into my hair.
“What happened?” I ask, searching his face. “What happened when we left you after the battle?”
“Let’s get back to the tunnels,” David prompts, not unkindly. “I know you have a lot to talk about, but the sooner we get back to the Toledo camp the better. They know we’re here now and we
can’t be certain that none of you were followed.”
He’s right; we need to keep moving. NUSA will be on high alert, it’s going to be even harder getting out of the States than it was getting in.
“Okay,” I nod, “let’s get back to the others, we can regroup and plan from there.”
David throws Chase across his shoulders and we follow him as he leads the way. I avoid meeting Reed’s gaze; now is not the time to talk. We need to focus on getting safely out of Chicago.
“Okay,” David lowers Chase to the ground and indicates the packed rucksacks. “We may as well get going; I don’t think we should hang around here a minute longer than we have to. With any luck they’ll be searching the streets and any roadblocks should be well within the tunnel radius. They won’t expect us to get as far as the river, but we need to hurry. They will extend the search eventually.” Nobody argues, his logic makes perfect sense.
“How are you doing?” I ask Gabe, who is sitting in the same spot as when we left, hours earlier.
“I’ll be okay,” he replies hollowly.
“What do we do with him?” Reed indicates Chase, who is starting to regain consciousness.
I bend over him, shaking him slightly. He sits up with a start, his hand coming immediately to his head.
“Rebecca?” he asks, confusion in his tone. “Where are we?”
“We’re under the city.” I offer him a bottle of water and he gulps it down greedily. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he regards me contemplatively.
“So, it’s true? You’re working for the Resistance?”
“Not exactly,” I smile. “I am the Resistance.”
“We’ll take him with us.” I stand abruptly, and Chase gets unsteadily to his feet.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Gabe calls, his voice suddenly heavy with emotion. “The last time we took a hostage it didn’t end so well.”
“I’m sorry about Marcus,” I reply, knowing that no apology will ever be enough, “but we may need him.” I bend to retrieve my rucksack, hoisting it over my shoulder and nodding at David, “Let’s go.”
The Legion Page 10
