An indistinct and incoherent, muffled shout came from outside the flat. Miguel heard the soft scuff of bare feet on carpet as Kaylee moved within the bedroom. He crept forward, looking through the open door. He didn’t see her but guessed she was standing just to the right of the door, waiting to pounce and expecting him to be disoriented and off-guard. He didn’t notice that the pounding at the door had ceased, nor did he hear one of his men cry out, “Oh God!”
“This is your final chance. Reveal yourself and you will be treated fairly.” Not even giving her a chance to respond, he jumped around the corner. As he came into the room, she let out a battle cry and swung a heavy lamp at him.
Miguel easily ducked and grabbed her wrists, ignoring the shredding pain in his shoulder. He yanked her arms apart, causing the lamp to drop harmlessly to the floor. Kaylee struggled, but he held her firm. She tried kicking at him, but he twisted to the side, easily avoiding her strikes. He moved his face close to hers, grinning at her.
Kaylee spat in his face. He stepped back, stunned. Then, with surprising force he slapped her with an open palm. Face stinging and vision blurred, she was flung to the side, stumbling over and falling onto the bed. She whirled around, but in less than a moment he was on her, and her arms and legs were pinned.
A triumphant look crossed Miguel’s eyes as he considered his positioning; he grinned wickedly. Kaylee flailed about in an effort to throw him off of her, but he held fast. Still pinning her wrists up over her head, he swooped in and kissed her neck, biting down almost hard enough to draw blood. She snarled and thrashed her head; he jerked back before she could hit him.
He chuckled down at her. He released one of her hands, far too tempted by his impure thoughts. She struck him, pounded against him, but she couldn’t provide enough force to even phase his advances. She tried to reach over and strike at his injured shoulder, but he twisted away again. She clawed at his skin, pounded at his scratches and bruises, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His free hand roamed across her body. She shuddered as a wave of revulsion spread over her when he caressed the bare skin of her legs, sliding his hand up her dress.
Panicking once more, she flailed and thrashed her body around. She used her free hand to fend off Miguel’s, which pushed up at the fabric of her dress, exposing more of her bare skin. She pulled her other arm free and scratched at his face, drawing blood as she tried to reach his eyes. He unclasped his belt with one hand, pulling it free. He held a length of it and lashed her, across the bare skin of her thigh.
A loud slap echoed through the room and Kaylee gasped at the sharp pain, pausing her resistance in a moment of shock. Miguel took the moment to loop the belt around her wrists and pull it tight. With her wrists bound together, he held them against the headboard with one hand and continued roaming around with his other hand. Kaylee bared her teeth and growled.
Miguel looked back up at her, catching her eye and smiling. He leaned in close, inches away from her. “Now you will see, my dear,” he whispered in her ear, “Even with your poor attitude, I can still be generous to one like you,” he caressed the side of her face, pulling his hand back when Kaylee snapped at it with her teeth. “Soon, you will understand what a gift I can be. Then you will beg me,” he licked his lips, “you will beg me not to stop.”
A detached calm settled over Kaylee’s mind as Miguel turned his attention downward again, and she ceased her struggling against him. He fumbled awkwardly with his free hand at his trousers. The grip of his injured, likely very painful, arm loosened on her bound wrists, and the unfastened belt slipped.
Kaylee looked up, passive expression on her face as she noted the slackened grip on her wrists. As Miguel’s attention still lay elsewhere, Kaylee pulled her wrists apart, and the belt loosened further. In a quick motion she slid her right hand free once more. Her arm shot underneath the pillow, gripping the knife that still lay underneath.
Miguel glanced back at Kaylee with just enough time to see a mote of light from the hallway glinting off of the stainless steel blade of the knife. Just enough time for his eyes to widen and a cold chill to sweep through his body as the blade jammed into the side of his neck.
He released a raspy, gurgling scream and a jot of blood sprayed from his mouth down onto Kaylee. He jumped up and stumbled out of the room, leaving a bloody handprint on the doorframe as he exited. Kaylee pulled the belt off of her remaining hand and flung it aside. She jumped to her feet, and, after hastily straightening the dress, ran out in pursuit.
Miguel had fallen down and was feebly crawling away, leaving a smeared trail of blood on the carpet as he went. Finally, as he reached the edge of the couch, he turned around and sat against it, collapsing as the strength and life flowed out of the wound. Wet gasping noises issued from his throat.
Kaylee felt a grim satisfaction as she watched his struggle; she walked to the couch and stood over him. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with fear, as he sputtered and gurgled. He opened his mouth and gave a pathetic cough, unable to speak, clutching at his bleeding throat, knife still imbedded deep within it.
She watched him, as he lay dying, with a slight sneer curling on her face. Finally, with short, sharp gurgling gasps, Miguel’s eyes slid out of focus, and his hand fell to the ground. After a couple of twitches, he did not move any further. Kaylee stared at him, vaguely aware of the sounds of muffled thuds and activity out in the hallway, not caring about what the guards would do to her when they saw what she had done to their leader. She had succeeded. Elijah would be proud of her.
The door burst open with the sound of splintering wood as the jamb shattered. Kaylee spun around just in time to see the upside down body of a large man in a suit flying through the air and flopping to the ground, at her feet.
In the doorway stood a familiar figure. He wore several layers of clothing across his body and a large trench coat. Across his face he wore a loose wrapping of cloth and scarves, and atop his head laid a battered, wide-brimmed hat.
They stared at each other across the short distance. Malcolm’s eyes, with the swirling hints of color set in milky white, narrowed as he saw the body of Miguel.
A lump formed in Kaylee’s throat as she stood there, once again battered, exhausted, and bloody. And triumphant, she thought. Much to Malcolm’s surprise, she jumped forward and flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly. His arms flailed around briefly, unsure of what to do before settling awkwardly around her shoulders. He stood, moderately uncomfortable, as she sobbed lightly into his shoulder.
She broke away from him, eyes still wet from the flood of tears, “Thank you.” She whispered.
Malcolm nodded. A grating, hoarse noise issued forth from him, a sound like a man with half of a lung clearing his throat. “Hkhwellcomm.” Came the reply
Kaylee smiled, comforted more by his presence than his conversation ability. After another quick hug, the distant, constant chatter of weapons fire brought back the desperate circumstances outside to the front of her mind. She ran over to the window. She could still see a few vague shapes running around. In the distance, a few blocks away, down the street running off to the right of the club, Kaylee could see forms of men. Some twisted bodies were lying in the street, unmoving. Others were taking cover against the cold and half-broken brick walls, jumping out occasionally to fire their weapons. Several of them pulled back, ducking swiftly around cover as they fled.
They looked like they were being driven back. Cold apprehension swept over Kaylee. She glanced off to the left, seeing the street fairly empty, a few men sprinting with their various weapons in that direction. She frowned.
She jumped slightly when she noticed that Malcolm, without a sound, moved to her side, also looking out the window. He didn’t appear to be concerned about startling her; he silently watched out the window.
Kaylee looked down at herself. She still wore the dress, although now it was disheveled, wrinkled, and smeared with Miguel’s blood. She straightened out the hem and twisted the fabric around until it sa
t properly. She frowned; it’s so impractical, why am I still wearing it?
She looked outside once more; at a loss for what to do. She shrugged. It’s safer in here than out there, she thought. Until we figure out what we’re doing.
Chapter 20: New Allies
Victor smiled; the icy cold of his blue eyes thawed slightly with the warmth and sincerity behind it. Not that it mattered; the size, imposing nature, calming voice, and easy speaking of the large bald man still made Sergei feel on edge.
“I am certain, my new friend, that you understand the urgency of the situation,” Victor said, “but we need to get moving right away. The Citizenship has already begun to siege the red-light district. Miguel’s forces total nearly one-third of the population under Haven,” his smile faded, replaced by a grim demeanor, “you understand that we can’t waste the asset. The longer we wait, the fewer there will be left.”
Sergei wiped the cold sweat from his brow. “Yes, I see that. I… I am concerned about committing what little army I have to the fighting,” he frowned, “if there are as many Citizen soldiers there as you say, I see adding what few men I have doing little good. I do enjoy a good fight, but won’t this be a massacre?”
Sergei had been struck with surprise when Eugene and Tanya had returned so promptly with such profound success. To his mind, Elijah would have been much more elusive to discover. When they told him that not only was he found, but politely standing outside with his small entourage, waiting to be invited inside the warehouse building, Sergei thought their brains addled.
Surprised though he was, Sergei was not put so far off balance that he was going to immediately agree with anything. When the huge man came inside, his imposing presence and reputation made Sergei feel distrustful, no matter how sound his proposal was. I wanted an alliance, but to launch an attack, right now?
Victor sighed inwardly, keenly recalling his distaste for diplomacy. On the outside, he maintained the picture of perfect calm and confidence. “Sergei, my friend. My people are soon going to be working very hard to expel the remaining Citizens, but they are outnumbered eight to one.”
Sergei nodded seriously, as though this proved him right. “However,” Victor continued, “they are accustomed to long odds. The Citizens are on unfamiliar terrain, and they will have their backs to us. If we strike hard, and fast, they will be completely off-guard.” Victor laid a hand on Sergei’s shoulder, “I’ve received word that my men have taken the fortifications at Purgatory, without any losses. The Citizen forces are cut off from the surface and completely unaware of it. As soon as we move everyone in, we will be able to surround and crush them with little difficulty.”
Sergei opened his mouth, an objection boiling on the tip of his tongue, but Victor held up his hand. “It is also important, as a symbol of our new alliance, for your people to be present at the victory.” The way he said ‘victory’ sounded as though it was already a foregone conclusion. Sergei struggled in his own mind, resolve weakening. “Our alliance will make a strong case for Miguel’s people to join, as well as the others.” He ticked off a few names. “Quinton will certainly join, as will Desmond and Olivia. If we appear strong enough, Fredericks is sure to-”
Sergei shook his head, “Fredericks was killed by Miguel three months ago; all of his people scattered.”
Victor frowned, “A shame.”
“Terribly so, but I understand your thoughts on full unification, and,” Sergei let out a heavy sigh, understanding that he had crossed over. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that you are right, my friend. I think it is time that I put my trust in you. I will support your action.” He turned and shouted over to someone behind a makeshift wall. “Gregov, Nalim, Piotr!” Two similar-looking men immediately rounded the corner and came jogging up. They wore dark jeans and brown jackets, and had M-16 assault rifles slung across their backs.
“Elijah, I would like you to meet my heads of security here.” He gestured at each of them, both brown-haired, brown-eyed, with sharp features. “Gregov, Nalim, and Piotr.” For the third man, Piotr, Sergei pointed to an empty space. Victor frowned as he noted Gregov and Nalim exchange exasperated glances.
Victor, thought the two could easily be brothers, if not for Nalim’s slightly darker skin tone. He shook each of their hands in turn; the pair muttered quick greetings and turned their attention to Sergei.
He spoke quickly. “Pull together everyone capable of fighting, arm them, and get them mobilized. I want them ready to start moving in twenty minutes.”
The two exchanged startled glances, and both men eyed “Elijah” warily, on the verge of objecting. Sergei waved them away, “This man is my guest and is to be trusted without question.”
“Piotr,” Sergei spoke to the empty space again. “I want you to find my weapon and a city map. We need to plan our attack.
Victor narrowed his eyes, not understanding. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on. Gregov and Nalim, who had not yet departed, gestured frantically for his silence. Victor raised an eyebrow at them but decided to hold his question.
Sergei finished his conversation with the invisible man, turning back towards everyone else. “What are you two still doing here?” He demanded of his heads of security. “Get moving!” The two gave him a nod, muttered a brief discussion, and took off in opposite directions, running to awaken some and inform others.
Sergei rubbed his chin. “I hope you know what you are doing my friend.” He wagged his finger. “This is a large step for my people. To enter direct conflict.”
Victor laid a large hand upon his shoulder. “Your wisdom led you to seek this beneficial arrangement.” He cracked another smile. “With your help, we might pull this off and take the fight to the surface.
Sergei let a slightly dreamy smile seep across his face as he considered the possibility. “That would be nice.” He nodded. “That would be very nice. Let us get to work, then.” He gestured towards the outside.
“Rejoin your people; we will be prepared to move very soon.” Sergei said before jogging off back through the main floor of the warehouse to the office rooms. Victor took just a moment of self-satisfactory pride in his success before turning and leaving the warehouse to rejoin his escort.
******
Malcolm sat on the couch in the flat where Kaylee had been held prisoner. He had spent the last twenty minutes rotating between it and the window, restless while waiting for her.
She had told him, once she had regained composure, that she wasn’t sure what to do next. “I hadn’t expected to survive, honestly.” She had said.
Malcolm offered no suggestions as he did not really have the clearest idea of what was going on. Kaylee took a moment to fill him in on a few of the details, which he absorbed in silence. “Regardless,” she had said, “I’m filthy and covered in that bastard’s blood.” She decided to mull over the options over during the course of a rudimentary clean-up.
After swigging some, she took the remaining stale water from the broken fridge and had gone into the bathroom to clean herself up as best she could. While he waited in the living room, Malcolm had moved the bodies to the outside. One of the guards, the man left outside, was dead, a product of over-application of strength. The other, used as a battering ram to the room, was unconscious, his breathing shallow. He had sustained such a serious head injury that his survival without intense and immediate care was unlikely, not that Malcolm knew it.
So he dumped them, and the late Miguel, into another empty suite across the hall. He wasn’t sure if anyone would be coming up to investigate or not, but a stack of dying and dead bodies would be a bit of a giveaway.
He walked back over to the window, looking outside. The intermittent sounds of gunfire still filled the air, and from what it looked like, Miguel’s forces had gotten pushed back even further. They barely now held the line just outside the square, several of them fell to the onslaught every minute of combat, and Malcolm could now see a few of the opposing soldiers. They were well-organized and to
ok advantage of every opportunity to advance forward. They incurred losses every so often, but not nearly as many as the disorganized rabble that frequently featured some person turning tail and running off.
This occurred less and less because it tended to expose them more, and very few of them made it away before they were targeted and taken down. What surprised him is that several Miguel’s downed men appeared to be still alive.
An image flared through Malcolm’s mind. He saw a shirtless man lying on a table, his body bruised and battered. A tube ran into his arm connected to a plastic bag hooked up to a metal stand with wheels. Clear fluid filled the bag, which in turn seeped into the man’s arm. Another image flashed before him, of the same man’s face, eyes and ears covered by an apparatus. Slack-jawed, the color in the person’s face faded as he twitched back and forth, tired, beaten, and terrified.
He shook his head, clearing the confusing images from his mind. He still didn’t know where they kept coming from or what exactly they meant. Watching out the window, he saw a cloud of white vapor envelop the edge of the square. He could see several of Miguel’s men burst out of mist gagging and coughing. They crawled around on their hands and knees, gasping for breath.
Kaylee came out and stood next to him. She had removed the dress and put on her old clothes. “Jesus,” she whispered, “they’re gassing them.” The term clicked with something in Malcolm’s mind, and he nodded.
Suddenly she remembered something. The transmitter. She reached inside the bottom hem of her sweatshirt and flipped it upward. She stuck her finger into a hole in the fabric, retrieving the small device from the crude hiding place. She used her fingernail to press a tiny switch on it, and a faint blinking light told her that it was working. Or at least functioning. Whether or not it was giving Rick her location, or if it was even a transmitter and not some piece of false hope, Kaylee didn’t really know.
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