Every man in the room snapped their weapons towards the unexpected entrance, and a large, rotund, bearded man whose expression could only be described as jovial bounded in the room.
Elijah yelled, “Hold your fire!” raising his hand before anyone could pull the trigger. “Arthur!” He cried out, flinging his arms wide and approaching the large man.
“Elliot, my dear friend! It’s so good to finally meet!” The two men embraced and began speaking, leaving Rick simultaneously to assume that this rotund individual was the inside man and to wonder, who the hell is Elliot?
******
Still not to any conclusive decisions, Michaels’ train of thought was broken by a knock at the door. The knock continued, frantic in its insistence, and he called out, “Yes, who is it?”
The muffled response came, “Oh God, you are here! It’s Myers, let me in!”
Puzzled, Michaels sprang from his seat, twisted the knob, and opened the door. Without hesitation, Myers rushed into the room, brushing past Michaels and looking nervous and frightened. He swept a hand backwards, “Close the door,” he said quickly before doubling over and breathing hard.
Michaels released the knob with a slight shove and the door swung not quite closed. He didn’t notice, as he was already moving towards Myers, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
Myers whirled around, still out of breath, “The Institute… I-I think all of Haven is under attack!”
Michaels reacted as though slapped, and he stuttered, “What?! H-how did? Who is it? What-”
Myers threw up both hands, “I don’t know! I came over here to see you and Arthur; th-there are fires, and a lot of smoke. I thought I’d be safe here. I had just set foot in this wing when I heard a lot of noise from the lobby.” He shook his head. “When I looked back dozens of men were spilling into the room. They shot everyone!”
Michaels felt a chill roll down his spine, almost disbelieving the tale but for the truth in the eyes of the frightened man. “Are they coming here? Are we safe?”
Myers shook his head, “I don’t know; I think so. I think they’re heading towards the Inquisition, but that’s not even the worst part.”
Michaels narrowed his eyes, “Then what?”
“I watched them through the window for a moment, an-and I saw something. It was Arthur.” Myers lowered his voice, “I think that Arthur is a trait-”
A resounding crack filled the air in the room and Citizen Myers developed a very surprised expression, gasping. Both he and Michaels turned towards the door to see Arthur Dunlevy standing, holding a smoking pistol at his hip. Myers looked down, seeing a pool of red seeping from the wound in his chest, just above the tip of the v-made by his suit jacket.
Shock and adrenaline took hold quickly, as Myers let out a roar and charged towards the other man. Dunlevy, calmly extended his arm forward and fired again. The bullet passed through Myers face, cutting off the yell and spraying gore in a wide arc behind him. Michaels threw up his hands, feeling the splatter of his colleague’s blood and tissue as Myers unceremoniously flopped to the ground.
Adrenaline slammed into Michaels’ system, causing a white-hot blaze of panic. He trembled and held his hands up, fully expecting Dunlevy to shoot him next.
Instead, Dunlevy stepped forwards, “Are you all right, Gregory? He didn’t try to hurt you?” He sounded almost concerned.
Still shaking, a part of Michaels mind, not flailing from the murder he just witnessed, became confused. His mouth worked up and down, trying to spit out the question. Arthur spoke first, grabbing him by the shoulders, “Gregory! Are you all right?” He shouted.
Michaels sputtered, “Y-yes.” He sucked in a breath. “Yes, I’m… I’m fine!” He looked at Myers facedown on the ground, seeing the bloody mash of the exit wound on the back of his head, and the bile rose in Michaels’ throat. He covered his mouth and turned away, taking several deep breaths to calm himself.
Without turning, Michaels tried to snap, but it came out tiny and weak, “Why did you kill him?”
Arthur put his arm around Michaels’ shoulder and drew him in close. “The Institute is under attack. I have reason to believe that he is responsible for granting them entrance as well as tactical information.” He walked over and looked out of the doorway down the hall. “It doesn’t look like they’re coming this way, thank God.”
Michaels didn’t believe for a second that Dunlevy was telling the truth. Myers was just about to implicate him for the responsibility of letting the enemy soldiers in. That, Michaels thought, and he was the one who had murdered Marcus Coleman.
Dunlevy turned around and waved Michaels over, “Come on, let’s get out of here!”
Defiance sparked in Michaels, igniting into a roaring flame. He scowled, raised his chin and said, “I’m not going anywhere with you, filthy traitor.”
Dunlevy reacted with a shocked look. He blinked a few times, then his expression melted into one of… sorrow? Disappointment? Michaels wasn’t quite sure.
“Oh, my dear Gregory,” Dunlevy began, “how can you say that about me?”
“Myers didn’t have anything do to with the attack,” Michaels spat, “it was you.”
A sad smile crossed Dunlevy’s lips, “Yes. You are correct.” From his pocket, he once again produced the pistol that had caused the death of Dennis Myers. “I had hoped to avoid this until later on, but I’m afraid you must hear what I have to say and make your choice.” He pointed the weapon at Michaels, stepped over, and closed the door, twisting the bolt with a click. “For your sake, I hope you choose what is right.”
******
Sergei coughed, tasting his own blood on his lips. He sat in a dark alleyway, leaning up against the wall just under a fire escape. He looked down, wincing at the pain in his abdomen. Inquisitor squads had appeared out of nowhere and opened fire on Sergei and his men.
He bled freely from his shoulder where one round grazed the surface and tore away a chunk of his flesh. The other had buried into the lower left portion of his stomach. His extremities started to feel cold, and he wondered if he was going into shock.
Chaos reigned in the streets. Civilians scattered about, screaming and trying to keep away from the numerous fires and fighting going on all around. His own people seemed to be holding their own, trading casualties with the Inquisitors, but he knew the numbers couldn’t match up and, eventually, he would run out of soldiers. He had ordered them to try and disengage; to try and find someplace to hide.
“We did well, did we not, Piotr?” He said to a man standing next to him.
“Yes you did, Sergei.” The man murmured back. “You have done the family proud.”
“The family…” Sergei muttered. “Ah… Piotr. I am sorry.”
The phantom smiled. “It’s okay, brother.” He pointed. “Look out.”
Sergei raised his sidearm and fired as a cautious Inquisitor ducked into the same alleyway to take cover. The bullet caught the woman, Sergei felt a slight twinge of regret when he saw the tied back long hair, in the shoulder, spinning her around. She hit the ground facing Sergei. Not yet finished, she raised her weapon at him. Without hesitation, he fired again, killing the Inquisitor.
Sergei sighed, wincing again at the pain in his midsection. The world began to blur around the edges. “I’m not done yet, Piotr. I can hold this position if nothing else.”
His brother, long since gone, smiled again. “I know you can.”
Chapter 37: Nothing to Lose
Rick vaguely wondered where the fat guy who had called Elijah ‘Elliot’ had gone off to, but his present concern laid more in the task before him. In front of him and his men was a fairly long hallway that opened up into the lobby area for the Inquisition wing, and it was perfect for an ambush. His people moved slowly, keeping eyes on the other end.
“Contact!” someone screamed. Rick’s people opened fire, peppering the opposite side, bullets grazing off the walls, chipping and imbedding at the far end. Rick didn’t see anything, but,
in this long hallway, he really didn’t want to get caught in the open without any cover.
“Suppression fire!” He bellowed. “Move, move!” He made sharp gestures, and running low, his group of men advanced. He shouldered his own weapon and, through the scope, sighted, looking for any signs of enemy contact at the end of the hallway.
He cursed under his breath as he viewed the barest amount of black fabric of an Inquisitors sleeve, the person’s elbow unintentionally sticking ever so slightly. The rest of his people kept up a decent level of suppressing fire on the other end; anyone who dared reveal themselves wouldn’t last long enough to get off more than a shot or two.
But a shot in these tight corridors is all it will take, Rick thought. Hard to miss. They’re just waiting for us. Well, fine then.
Rick stopped his forward motion and carefully aimed at the left side. He squeezed the trigger, and the gun gave a satisfying bark. He didn’t hear the impact, but a small blood splatter and an angry shriek of pain was all the confirmation he needed as the round chipped the corner and shattered the hinge joint of the person’s elbow.
“Forward!” He yelled to everyone. “Watch the sides!” Just a little further, he thought.
One Inquisitor whirled around the corner, firing his weapon as he turned, without aiming. Bullets impacted harmlessly into the walls in a sweeping arc, and Rick put a round through the man’s head before he could send any into the moving column. As the body fell, another person stepped out. This Inquisitor hit the ground hard after a suppression round fired by one of Rick’s men tore through his shin, his unslung weapon sliding out of his reach. They continued advancing.
Around both sides two men reached around and fired blind. A few of Rick’s advancing group in the hallway were cut down in the hail of random gunfire. Rick swore and aimed. His assault rifle barked, and the Inquisitor on the left dropped his weapon, shrieking, as the round punched through the back of his hand. Rick’s soldiers kept up a stream of suppression, and their fire pocked and chipped at the both corners. The Inquisitor on the right pulled back around, fearful of incurring the same fate of his screaming colleague.
With still too long a distance to cover, Rick gripped the one of two grenades they carried. This is it, he thought, if I do this wrong, it’ll kill us instead. “Hit the deck!” he shouted, and all of his remaining men dropped to the ground. He hurled the heavy fragmentation weapon down the hallway. He heard some indistinct shouting, along with what he thought was “take cover!” The grenade clattered and bounced, its path taking it just inside the lobby opening.
A deafening explosion echoed down the hallway, and he heard one of his people, on the ground in the front, screeching as the shrapnel tore into his flesh.
“Advance!” Rick yelled, and his people sprang up and sprinted down the hallway. A few precious seconds passed as they came closer and closer, and no Inquisitors were seen, shooting or otherwise.
With only twenty feet left to cover, two Inquisitors rolled around the two corners, firing their weapons. Rick dove to the ground, feeling the hiss of rounds just over his head. He cringed to hear bullets striking his men behind him.
Rick hit the ground hard, his vision exploding with stars and the wind rushing out of his lungs. Shit, he thought, gasping for breath and trying to will himself to move. He heard the rattle of return fire and saw from his hazy vision several crouching figures stepping over him.
He craned his neck upward, seeing his remaining men arriving at the end of the hallway. Jonathon had pulled a blood-spattered Inquisitor from around the corner and shoved him up against the wall. The other man’s eyes were wild with fear; he gripped Jonathon’s arm, desperately trying to push away the combat knife that inched closer to his throat as more of Rick’s men ran past, firing their weapons on both sides.
Little by little, Rick’s lungs started accepting air again, he clamored to his feet, wincing at the blunt pain radiating from his knee. He limped forward, vision still hazy. He stepped over a few bodies of his fallen men, not looking to see if they were alive or dead. He reached the corner.
The room was not overly large; two hallways on either side stretched out. Emblazoned behind the central desk just above the elevator was the word ‘vigilance.’ Twin pillars, symmetrical in the room, sported scorch marks and had likely kept the Inquisitors remaining from the blast alive. Blood and bits of flesh scattered around along with twisted, unrecognizable bodies. Rick swept his weapon back and forth; he fired, punching a burst of rounds into two Inquisitors attempting to limp down the right hallway.
To his left, an Inquisitor crouched on top of one of his people, both men unarmed, striking the now unconscious man across the face with his fists. Rick fired a round through the side of his head and the man convulsed and toppled off, hitting the tile ground.
The frenzy of activity lasted only a few moments longer. All of the Inquisitors, numbering more than twenty total, lay unconscious and dying or already dead from injuries. Jonathon, whose bandage was now dripping, stepped up next to Rick, arterial blood spattered across his face. He wiped his combat knife on his sleeve before sheathing it.
Looking backward, a dozen of his men were unmoving in the hallway behind. He cursed silently as Elijah and Victor picked their way down the hallway, given the all clear. The old man seemed excited about something, barely glancing at the numerous wounded and dead men. Sentries were posted at either hallway, watching for any stragglers.
Rick shook his head, sliding the lids of a dead man’s glassy stare closed. From those left of his insurgent, well-trained group of twenty-five, twelve more were dead or dying along with another eight injured. Not including himself, only five unharmed soldiers remained.
“Was it worth it?” he muttered to himself.
Elijah, who was within earshot, stepped up to him and grasped his shoulder, “It will be.” He turned away and looked over the shoulders of those working on the elevator.
Victor stepped up along side Rick and surveyed the carnage. In the usual calm voice, he said, “The way will be clear. Secure this position and wait for our return.”
Rick shot him an incredulous look. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “You’re going alone? You think there won’t be anything or anyone waiting up there?”
Victor didn’t meet Rick’s eyes. “There most certainly will be. It’s not your concern.”
“The hell it isn’t-” Rick started.
Victor silenced him with a sharp gesture. “Stay here.”
“Fine…” Rick shook his head in disbelief as the elevator doors slid open. He waved his men back, ignoring their confused looks as the smiling Elijah stepped in with Victor.
“They’re going alone?” “What the hell is that about?” murmurs floated around the room.
Rick threw up his hands, “They can do whatever they want.” He shrugged. “Keep watch on the sides. The rest of us; let’s tend to our wounded.”
******
“Why?” Michaels asked honestly, trying not to provoke the man with the gun.
Dunlevy’s expression turned sour, “Why? Why? Why do you think, you impudent moron?” He threw his hands in a sweeping gesture. “Is this civilization? Is this life? Is all of this ‘enlightenment’ worth the price?”
Michaels narrowed his eyes. “What price?”
Dunlevy set his jaw, his round, bearded face intense with conviction, “The destruction of human dignity.”
Michaels very nearly cut loose a laugh at the ridiculous statement, but he stifled it and covered by putting on an incredulous look. “What are you talking about?
Dunlevy seemed almost eager to jump on his soapbox, “Society, my dear Gregory! Look around!” He swept his arms around, as though the entire city could be seen from inside the small office. “Our system, our way of life, the isolationism that started everything is based upon the assumption that certain people are more valuable than others!”
“Well, yes, but-”
Dunlevy continued, heedless of the interruption
. “But it’s not true. You can’t create some arbitrary means of expressing superiority; it is complete nonsense! Not that it matters, our methods are barely viable as they are.”
Michaels narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean?”
Dunlevy leaned forward, “It’s about wealth and power! They don’t care about genetics or intellectual superiority. It’s not advancing the path of human evolution. Hell, if Wresh gets control, it will only be about controlling every aspect of a person. Their every thought and action, accountable and predictable.” He straightened up, smug look spreading on his face, “Even as it is now, the ranking system is based on extrinsic qualities and material possession.” He pointed at Michaels. “Even intellect and trade-skills garner you, what? A tiny apartment you never see? Hours upon hours of work that you despise?”
Michaels scoffed, “Despise? My work contributes to the good of society.”
Dunlevy extended out his arm holding the gun and took a step forward, threatening, “Your work ruins lives!” he snarled angrily. “Stripping people not only of their willpower, but their basic ability to reproduce? Turning them into mindless slaves? Taking away everything that makes them people?” Michaels took a step back, clenching his teeth. “Tell me, how is that good for anyone?”
Michaels opened his mouth, but Dunlevy didn’t give him a chance to answer. “No!” He shouted. “Providing servants for slothful aristocrats does not count.”
Haven Page 39
