But he knew she was out there, watching him through telescopic sights at this very moment, her finger on the trigger.
He waited.
“Come on,” he goaded. “I went against your wishes. I did the wrong thing. You can put me down now, just like Jonz.”
It was a better fate than being ripped apart in the Cellar, he thought distantly. A clean death. A quick death. He could do a lot worse.
But there was no response from out there in the darkness.
Sighing, Duran knelt and fumbled for the keys on Burress’ belt, then unlocked the cuffs. He tossed them aside carelessly and then stepped out onto the charred vinyl floor of Level Eighty-Seven.
“Here!” he called, and his voice echoed around in the emptiness. He spread his arms wide, accepting of his fate. “I’m ready to do this.”
Still nothing.
Duran waited for a few moment longer, then lowered his arms and slapped them wearily against his thighs.
“You won’t do it,” he whispered to himself. Then, raising his voice, he said it again. “You won’t do it. And I’ll tell you why.” He took a few more paces forward. “You’re not going to pull that trigger, Zoe. You’re not going to do it because you believe in me. Despite everything you’ve said, you still believe in me. You need to believe in me.”
He saw her then, walking slowly into the light a short distance away, her eyes to her scope as she kept him in her sights. As she neared he could see wetness on her cheeks where she’d been shedding silent tears.
“You don’t know jack shit,” she said bitterly. “And you sure as hell don’t know a thing about me or what I need.”
“You watched me for so long that you fell in love with me, didn’t you, Zoe? Or at least you fell in love with an ideal version of me.”
“Shut up.”
“And you’ve been waiting for me to become that ideal since the moment you rescued me.” He shook his head. “But I’m not him. I’m someone else.”
“Shut up, Alec.”
“So why can’t you pull that trigger?”
“Just watch me,” she said, stepping up close enough for Duran to see the fierceness in her eyes.
He lifted his fingers to the barrel of the rifle and gently pushed it downward.
“I’m here to tell you that you can still believe in me. I know what I need to do.”
She glanced doubtfully at him, as if she might still pull the trigger, but then she relented. The fight went out of her and she wiped the tears from her cheek.
“What are you talking about?”
“Prazor is a puppet. You know as well as I do that if we took him out of the picture, they’d just replace him with another puppet, despite what de Villiers might think. We’re wasting our time on a target like that.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“We reassess our targets, go for the ringleaders, the ones who will leave the biggest void in the Reach. And I know exactly where to start.”
He stepped forward and kissed her, felt her squirm away from him for a moment, but then she relented. She embraced him. He felt her need, her desire, just as he had when they’d coupled in the kitchen. After a moment he drew back and brushed his hand across her cheek tenderly.
“Say you believe in me.”
She swallowed, searched his face. “I believe in you, Alec.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” He reached down and took the holophone from her pocket, then called up Robson’s number.
After three rings he heard the tech’s voice on the other end.
“This is Switch. Go ahead.”
“Switch, this is…” Duran paused. “This is Phoenix.” He put his hand on Zoe’s cheek again. “I need you to bring us home.”
45
The flashing red lights inside the Infirmary faded and the soothing soft glow was restored, and a moment later Knile eased his way back into Roman’s room. Dr. Sullivan was still there, and as the door opened she positioned herself across the bed as if to protect the boy who lay therein.
Upon seeing Knile, she started and clutched at her breast.
“Wha–?” She shook her head, disbelieving. “How are you still here?”
“I’m tougher than I look.”
Sullivan glanced down at Knile’s dusty, torn clothes, his bruised and battered face and the blood that was matted in his hair.
“You’re a mess,” she said.
“Yeah. But you should see the other guy.” He moved around the side of the bed and clasped Roman’s arm. The boy was still sleeping, but his colour had returned and he was much warmer to the touch. “Is he…?”
“He’ll make it,” Dr. Sullivan said. “He’ll need rest, a lot of rest, but he’ll be okay.” She looked at Roman’s placid face with something akin to admiration. “This would have killed a lot of other patients, those who weren’t as strong. The kid’s tough. Real tough.”
Knile nodded, feeling tears well behind his eyes. His chest swelled with pride and affection.
“I know.”
“The Redmen, how did you–?”
“They’re gone,” Knile said simply. “We made sure of that.”
“We?” Dr. Sullivan said, and then she turned as the massive bulk of Aron Lazarus filled the doorway. Covered in dust and blood, his armour scorched and partially melted in places, the Redman looked as though he had walked through the very fires of Hell itself to reach them. Tenuous strands of smoke still drifted from his body, as if something within him was still smouldering, and as always, those piercing eyes stared out from behind the mess of his hair and beard like embers of cobalt blue.
Even Knile had to admit the guy was an awesome sight.
Sullivan gasped and moved to block Roman again, panicked, and Knile understood her confusion immediately.
“No, he’s okay,” Knile assured her, easing her away from the bed. “This one’s with me.”
“Has the healer saved the boy?” Lazarus said.
“Yes. He’s going to be all right.”
Lazarus nodded. “That is well.” He glanced back in the direction from which they had come. “We should not delay. Once the Crimson Shield fail to report in, they will send more to investigate. Your devilry with the alarms will not fool them for long.”
Knile glanced down at the tablet. He’d eventually completed the hack that rescinded the Code One alert, but Lazarus was right. He’d bought them a few more minutes, at best.
“I’ll need that back,” Dr. Sullivan said, holding out her hand. “If you leave with it, it’ll be my ass.”
Knile smiled and passed the tablet to her. “Wouldn’t want that.”
“There is a woman,” Lazarus said from the doorway, seemingly unwilling to enter the room. “Her name is Tosia. We need to see her.”
“Like hell,” Sullivan said. “You’re not getting anywhere near one of my patients.”
“Please,” Knile said earnestly. “We mean her no harm. We just need to give her something, that’s all.” He gestured to Lazarus. “Show her.”
Lazarus reached into his ruined armour, wincing, and extracted the power blue diary from within. Its edges had been singed and were now yellow and black, but for the most part it had survived the battle unscathed.
“A diary,” Lazarus said, holding it up. “It belonged to her daughter. I wish to return it to her.”
Sullivan looked at Knile, doubtful, then exhaled sharply.
“You guys are just about out of favours,” she said, tapping on the tablet. A few moments later she raised her head. “Room Seventy-One B. Do what you have to do and then get out.”
Lazarus nodded but made no move to leave. Knile took a step toward him, then the Redman held up a meaty palm.
“No, Knile. You have done your part. I discharge you from your duty.” He nodded to himself, conviction in his eyes. “This is something that I have to do.”
He lumbered out of the doorway without another word, and Knile turned back to Sullivan.
“Do you have a gur
ney I could take?”
“An orderly is already on the way with one.”
“Thank you.” Knile began to move toward the door, but Sullivan stepped forward to intercept him.
“I can’t figure out if you’re incredibly brave, or just plain stupid, but either way I hope you and Roman make it.”
“Thank you, Dr. Sullivan. You can’t know how much I appreciate this.”
“Sera,” she said, her stoicism giving way to a smile for the first time. “Call me Sera.”
Lazarus arrived at room 71B and proceeded quietly inside, the diary held before him like a candle that lit his way in the darkness. He had never seen Edyta’s mother before, but one look at the woman sleeping on the bed told him that this was indeed her. Although withered and sickly looking, there was something familiar about Tosia’s nose, her jawline, that reminded him painfully of his lost love.
He stopped to look upon her for a moment, memories of the woman to which he’d once been devoted flooding back to him. All of a sudden he could recall her smile, her laughter all too clearly, and he lifted a hand to cover his eyes. His body was wracked by a silent, mournful sob.
When he lowered his hand, the woman on the bed was staring right at him.
“Tosia?” he said gently.
Tosia showed no emotion as she looked upon the smouldering Redman who towered above her. Lazarus wondered if perhaps her senses had already fled, if she was so close to death that she could no longer recognise anything or anyone around her.
He wondered if this whole quest had been in vain.
He cleared his throat. “Greetings. I am–”
“I know who you are,” Tosia said in a voice that was surprisingly lucid and full of vigour. There was also more than a hint of bitterness in her tone. “You’re the one who corrupted my Edyta.”
Lazarus shook his head. “That cannot possibly be the truth.”
“Why not?”
“Because your Edyta, your little girl… she was never corrupted at all.”
Tosia pressed her gummy lips together, discontented. “Why are you here?”
“I came to give you something–”
“I don’t want your empty gifts,” Tosia said, turning away. Her lips trembled as her stony exterior began to crumble. “You destroyed everything I once cherished. There is nothing you could give me to repay that.”
“Please, Tosia. I came at great peril to see you–”
“To what end?” she snapped, tears in her eyes. “Did you come to kill me? To finally finish the thing you started?”
“No. I came to bring you the truth. If you will allow me, I would lay it before you.”
Tosia’s eyes fell upon the diary in his hand for the first time, and her eyes widened in recognition.
“Why, that’s… Edyta…”
“You remember this?”
“Remember it? Of course I do. I was the one who gave it to her.” She reached out a trembling hand and gently took it from his grasp, then stared at the powder-blue cover. She brushed a flaking piece of charcoal from its edge, then opened it to the first page.
Her face crumbled at the sight of the cursive script within, her daughter’s handwriting. Her eyes flitted across the words as she silently began to read.
Lazarus already knew the first paragraph off by heart: Today is my twelfth birthday, and my mother gave me this diary just a few minutes ago. She gave me a beautiful gold pen to write with as well. I’m not sure what to say, so for now this is all. Maybe tomorrow will bring something worth writing about. Yours truly, Edyta.
The old woman flicked several pages ahead, her eyes full of wonder, then a few pages more. Lazarus watched her silently for minutes on end as she took it all in, knowing that danger might be closing in on him and not really caring. This was where he needed to be, right here with Tosia. Nothing else mattered.
Soon Tosia had moved on to the last half of the diary, where the entries regarding Lazarus and Edyta’s burgeoning romance had been described in great detail. She seemed to take her time with these, poring over them word for word, and then eventually she lifted her head.
“I can sense the love, the joy in her words,” Tosia said, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s like… poetry of sorts, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“She always had such a lyrical way of talking about the things that she loved. That’s why I gave her the diary. I didn’t want those thoughts, those words to be lost to the wind.” She ran her fingers across the page in wonder. “Her love for you was real. I see that in every word she wrote about you.” Tosia looked up at him. “She adored you.”
As he stood there, stony faced, tears streamed down Lazarus’ cheeks, carving a path through the dirt and the blood and the grit.
With these tears I wash away my iniquity, he thought.
He nodded. “Yes. And I, her.”
“Those things they said about her… they weren’t true, were they?”
“No. They used Edyta to hurt me. They dragged her name through the mud as they attempted to destroy me, but even to the end her love was pure. She never gave up on me.”
“How could they do this to my little girl?” Tosia said, turning back to the diary. There were tears on her cheeks now as well. “How could they say those things?”
Lazarus thought of the Redmen who had sullied her name, their cruelty and their hatred. He pictured each one of their faces in his mind, the men beside whom he had once fought. Men who he had once called friends, brothers.
“They are wicked men. Hateful men,” Lazarus said.
“Someone should make those men pay,” Tosia said, her tears giving way to anger. “Someone should make those men pay for what they did to my Edyta.” She looked up at him again. “To your Edyta.”
Lazarus stared back at her, and now the tears had stopped.
“Yes. Someone should.”
46
Knile sat in the chair and watched as Roman lifted the mug of broth to his lips. He blew away the steam and slurped at it once, smacking his lips and frowning down at it sceptically.
“Sorry,” Knile said. “It’s the best I could do on short notice.”
Roman took another sip and nodded. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
Knile glanced around at the sparsely furnished room to where the sleeping pallets lay in the corner. Roman had lain there for a long time after Knile had brought him down from the Infirmary, too weak to even sit up. Now he seemed to be making progress, at least, sitting at the table and attempting to eat.
Small steps, Knile reminded himself.
Hidden away in a dingy part of Gaslight, their apartment was a little more austere than what Knile would have preferred, but what it lacked in refinement, it made up for in convenience. It had been rented to them, no questions asked, by the little old lady landlord, a woman who had the look and manner of someone who made these kinds of arrangements on a regular basis.
It was quiet, out of the way, somewhere for Roman to regain his strength. That was all Knile needed.
Knile’s holophone rang again, and he slid it across the desk so that he could see the display. A moment later he pushed it away in disgust.
“Talia’s number again?” Roman said quietly.
“Yeah,” he said, bristling. “I’m not going to give that bastard Emil the satisfaction of answering. I’m sure he just wants to gloat about killing Talia anyway.”
“Don’t you want to at least vent at him? Scream your lungs out, tell him you’re going to have your revenge or something?” Roman’s eyes were glistening. “She deserves that at least.”
“She deserves more than that,” Knile said. “Much more. But right now, we have to assume Emil knows we escaped. Why else would he be calling?”
“So?”
“So, I don’t want that hacker of his tracing our location. If I answer, there’s a chance he could do that.” He reached out and clasped Roman’s forearm. “We’re going to get him back for this, Roman. I swear to you. He’ll pay fo
r what he’s done. We just have to do it smart.”
The phone rang again, and Roman squeezed his eyes shut as if pained by the sound of it.
“Just turn it off if you won’t answer,” he said.
Knile reached out to do just that, but then his hand froze in mid-air. It was not a call, it seemed, but a message – a message with a photograph attached.
On the display Knile saw an image of Talia’s face, battered and bruised but very much alive, a pleading look in her eyes. There was something else in her eyes, as well. Elation? Hope? Not the emotions Knile would have expected to see if Emil still had a gun pointed at her head.
Another ruse? Knile thought. Is Emil trying to trick me?
He stared at Talia’s face for a moment longer, then snatched the holophone up and initiated a video call.
Roman looked up sharply. “What are you doing?”
Before Knile could answer, Talia’s dirt-smeared face appeared on the screen, and at the sight of him, tears began to spill down her cheeks.
“Thank god,” she gasped. “You really are still alive.”
Roman staggered up from his chair, knocking it over in the process, as he manoeuvred himself behind Knile in order to see more clearly.
“Talia?” Roman said, disbelieving, while Knile simply gaped at her.
“Hey there, handsome,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” he said. “Better, seeing you.”
“What’s going on?” Knile said. “Where’s Emil?”
“There was an attack. Capper and Crumb and their cronies busted in here right about the time we last spoke to you. In the confusion I got away, but Emil was killed in the fight.”
“Holy shit. Got what he deserved,” Roman muttered.
“What about Capper?” Knile said.
Talia smiled. “We don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
Silvestri appeared over Talia’s shoulder looking pleased with himself.
“Happy family reunion, I see,” he said.
Landfall (The Reach, Book 2) Page 32
