by M. R. Forbes
"Did he mention the Magellan?"
Theodore's face changed to hear the name of the ship. "They want to take her," he said, his voice suddenly distant.
"You know?"
"I do now." He lowered his head. "It's wrong, son."
"I know."
"They're pissing on her grave. I told Alan that. He thinks sorry means jack to me. So what we haven't found a weapon to break them yet. So damn what? Nothing is invincible. You know that, boy, don't you?"
"I do, Dad."
"I told him I was going to stop this garbage. That I'm going to go before the Council and tell them what I think of what they want to do. I won't let it happen. They ain't going to do that to me. You hear me, son?"
The words were strong. The man behind them looked weak and frail. Tears were rolling into his eyes.
"I hear you, Dad. I'm with you."
Gabriel knew his father would never make it in front of the Council. He could see him fading away with each passing heartbeat, his eyes losing their sudden burst of soul.
"You're a good boy, Gabe. A good son. I'm proud of you. Your mom would be, too." Theodore shook his head. "So damn tired, son. Think I'm going to rest a while. You're late to school again anyway, ain't you?"
Gabriel reached out, helping his father shift so he could lay back in the bed. He was grateful he had gotten thirty seconds of the real Theodore St. Martin before the meds had hit him again.
"Can you get your mom for me, son?" Theodore asked. "I just want to see her face one more time before I go to sleep. I want her to sing to me like she used to."
"I'll get her, Dad," Gabriel said, fighting to keep himself from tearing up. "Just wait here, okay?"
"I will. You're a good boy, Gabriel."
Gabriel positioned his father's head on the pillow, turning away and heading out of the bedroom, wiping at his eyes as he did. He slipped out of the home, walking right past Sabine and Doctor Hall without saying a word.
In his head, all he could hear was his father's voice.
"They're pissing on her grave."
Not if there was anything he could do about it.
SIXTEEN
They were lucky that when they hit the water, it was deep enough to break their fall and not their limbs.
It didn't mean they hit the surface softly, or that there was no pain involved. Loose cabling in the narrow shaft got caught on Donovan's arm as he fell, wrenching it back and causing an agonizing throb from the shrapnel wound while turning him over and putting him in an awkward position.
Seconds later, he hit the water almost flat on his back, the force pushing his shoulder forward, snapping it back and sending another shiver of pain through his limb. He swallowed water as he sank a few feet below the surface, feeling a panic at the idea of escaping the Dread machine only to drown. He kicked his legs, pushing himself back up, breaking the plane a moment later. He used his good hand to cover his mouth and help silence his coughs.
"Donovan?" he heard Diaz whisper. It was dark down here, and she had the only light.
It appeared next to her face a moment later, providing just enough illumination for him to start swimming slowly toward her.
"I'm here," he whispered in reply. "Coming to you."
He could still hear the Dread above them, the earth shaking and bits of debris being knocked loose with every heavy step. They would have disappeared from its sensors the moment the water doused them. There was nothing it could use to track them where they had gone. The only question was whether or not it would decide to obliterate the area in an effort to kill them.
He reached Diaz a moment later. Her head was poking out of the water; her wrist held up next to it to provide the light. She smiled as he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he put his finger to her lips and shook his head. There was no sense risking being picked up. They had to stay quiet until the enemy left.
They were still for a few moments. The water was too deep to stand in, and now Donovan saw that the top of a subterranean garage was only a few inches over their heads. They tread water as quietly as they could, leaving soft splashes and a faint bubbling in the distance as the only sounds, which echoed in the small space.
They kept their eyes locked on one another, not wanting to be separated down here. The wound on his back stung sharply, and he wondered how clean this water was, and where it had come from. Not to mention, how had Diaz known it was down here? It was a question for later.
Later came soon enough. A few more minutes passed, followed by the sound of the mechanized armor trudging away through the city above.
"You're bleeding," Diaz said before Donovan could say anything.
"I've got some shrapnel in the back of my shoulder," Donovan replied, still whispering.
"Does it hurt?"
"You better believe it. It isn't serious unless it gets infected or I bleed to death. Either way, we need to get out of here and get back to the base. Doc Iwu can patch me up."
Diaz didn't answer right away. She had a concerned expression on her face.
"What is it?" Donovan asked.
"I found this place during one of the scouting missions before we made our run. The shaft, I mean. I saw it had water in it, and I remembered it in the case of an emergency. Better safe than sorry, right?" She smiled, the water dripping from her lips as she did. "I don't know how to get out of here. I don't even know if there is a way out of here."
Donovan pointed up. "There's one way out if we can climb it."
"With one arm?" Diaz asked.
Donovan tried to flex his other shoulder, stopping halfway because of the pain. There was no way he was going to be doing any kind of climbing, and Diaz wasn't strong enough to carry him out. If it had been the other way around, and she was the one with the shrapnel, it might have been different.
"You can climb out," he said. "Go back to base and get me some help. If you can't make it, leave me here. I'll see if there's a way out."
"Are you loco? I'm not leaving you here."
She swam over to the shaft, the doors just visible above the water. She lifted her arm as high as she could to shine the light on it.
"It doesn't matter anyway, Major," she said. "The walls are smooth metal, and the cables are at least twenty feet over our heads. We're both stuck down here."
SEVENTEEN
"I hope Sanchez and Cameron made it out. Someone needs to report back that the package was delivered," Donovan said.
"I'm sure they'll be fine. Sanchez isn't a rookie. She knows how to hide, and she'll take care of Cameron."
"And we'll take care of each other. That's how it goes, right?"
"No way, amigo. You're wounded. I'll take care of you. My brother would kill me if I didn't get his best friend home alive."
"Your brother would kill me if I didn't get his sister home alive," Donovan said, smiling. At least he had gotten trapped down here with someone he knew and trusted. "Let's see if we can find a way out."
"Not yet. We need to pull the shrapnel out of your shoulder and get it wrapped. You're turning the water a nice shade of pink."
She lowered the light to the surface so he could see. He hadn't realized how much blood he was losing, and the sight of it made him feel a little queasy.
"Don't pass out on me," Diaz said.
"How are we going to bandage this submerged?"
"We'll have to figure something out, won't we? Give me your shirt."
"What?"
"Your shirt. We need something to wrap it with, and I'm not giving you mine."
Donovan laughed and reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with his good hand. "You'll have to help me pull it off."
Diaz swam behind him, whistling softly when she saw the wound. "Hang on, D. Let me get a closer look."
He could feel her moving behind him, getting her face closer to the injury.
"Okay, it looks like it isn't too deep, but it can't clot with the shrapnel in the
re."
"It isn't going to clot very well wet either."
"No, but it has to help. I'm going to pull it out on three, okay?"
"Yeah, o-"
Donovan grunted as Diaz pulled the shrapnel from his back. One hand put pressure on the wound while the other worked to get his shirt off.
"That wasn't three," Donovan said.
"It would have hurt more if you were expecting it. Don't be such a baby."
"I'm still your CO," Donovan said.
"Sorry. Don't be such a baby, sir."
He helped her get his shirt off. She used a utility knife tucked under the waist of her pants to cut it into a long strip that she then wrapped around his upper back and shoulder. It took a bit of an effort since they also had to tread water the entire time, but once it was done, he found the pain had subsided substantially.
"There's some good news," Diaz said, circling back in front of him and putting her light against the water.
There was no sign of blood.
"The water's flowing somewhere," he said. "Hopefully, if we follow it, we get the hell out of here."
"Oh, come on, D, it's not so bad. It's like a vacation down here."
"Maybe compared to ten minutes ago. I don't like the whole not knowing how to get out thing."
"We've been through worse."
"We all have, which is why I'm not afraid. I am eager, though."
"Me, too."
"Then there's nothing to do but swim." He reached out. "Take my hand. I don't want to lose you."
She grabbed his hand in hers, using the other to shine the light ahead of them. Donovan flattened out, and they both began kicking.
They reached the edge of the garage a minute later. A solid wall above the water remained solid below it, blocking off their escape from that side.
"There are two more," Diaz said.
Donovan nodded.
They traced the perimeter. They were fortunate the water was temperate, but even so being submerged in it was starting to make Donovan cold. Or maybe it was the loss of blood? Either way, he was shivering by the time they finished moving along the western wall.
"South," Diaz said. "It has to be South." Her eyes fell on his lips. "We need to get you out of here. You're getting a chill."
"Yeah. I'm just about ready to leave. It's a nice place to visit, but I don't want to stay."
They continued swimming, moving around to the southern end of the garage. The entire surface was more solid stone.
"This isn't the outcome I was hoping for," Donovan said.
"I hear bubbling," Diaz replied. "Do you hear it?"
He listened for a minute before nodding. "Yeah."
"Bubbles mean air. Air means an exit, right?"
"I hope so."
They swam across the center of the garage until they found the source of the noise. Large air bubbles were hitting the surface of the water in a steady rhythm.
"I'm going to check it out," Diaz said, letting go of his hand. "Wait here?"
He laughed. "Careful. I might run off with a feisty mamacita while you're gone."
"As if," she said, rolling her eyes. Then she drew in and expelled a few breaths, expanding and gathering air into her lungs. She gave him a thumbs up before vanishing beneath the water.
He could see the light on her wrist fade as she dove, disappearing after a few seconds. He sat in complete darkness, the bubbling the only sound as he counted the time and waited for her to come back up.
He saw the light return as he reached the thirty-second mark. Her head broke the surface a moment later, and she breathed heavily as she spoke.
"I think I found where the air is coming from. The collapse left an exposed pipe. It's six feet wide, at least. A drainage pipe or something. It has a hole in it, and it's venting. It looks big enough for you to squeeze in."
"You want me to squeeze into a submerged pipe? How is that going to help?"
"The pipe is damaged, and if we can cover it and keep some of the air from escaping, we can use it to breathe."
"What happens if the pipe gets smaller further down?"
"We die. Do you have a better option?"
He didn't. "I can't swim down there like this."
"I've got you covered. There's lots of crap on the floor down there. I'll bring something heavy up. Just hold onto me and let yourself sink."
"I never knew you were so resourceful."
"You've barely ever noticed me at all, D. Not as anything more than Matteo's sister."
"That's not true, or you wouldn't be my Lieutenant."
She rolled her eyes again. "You know that isn't how promotions work these days. I just happen to be the second best t-vaulter in Mexico."
"You're number one to me right now," Donovan said.
"Don't get all sappy on me, Major. I'll be right back."
She took in more air and vanished beneath the surface again. Donovan watched the light fade away once more. He'd never realized she had felt excluded from his attention. Maybe because he never wanted Matteo to get the wrong idea about his intentions. He liked Diaz. She was smart, witty, funny, and she had a warm heart. But how do you be friends with your best friend's sister without them thinking you're looking for something else?
Then again, if he had gotten closer to her, could he be certain he wouldn't be?
He couldn't believe he was even thinking about it. It had to be the loss of blood clouding his mind.
The light returned a handful of seconds later, with Diaz swimming hard to reach the surface holding a metal plate that might have come from the bottom of a car. She clutched it tight against her chest, her legs pumping to keep her on the surface.
"Are you ready for this?" she asked, beginning to fill her lungs once more.
He followed her lead, taking quick gulps in and out. Then he reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, putting them so close their foreheads were touching. They kept their eyes on one another as they began to sink.
EIGHTEEN
Donovan's lungs were burning by the time the weight of the metal Diaz was holding carried them the seven meters down to the pipe below. From what he could tell in the dim light and murky water, the plasma fire that had caused the garage's collapse had also made a crater on the ground, which had exposed the pipe. He doubted it had always been damaged and leaking. As his feet touched the ground alongside the pipe, he could tell the wound was fairly fresh, and he wondered what could have caused it.
The Dread, of course. The question was, why? And was the damage intentional?
He didn't have time or air to examine it further. Diaz handed him the weight, turning herself over and swimming down into the pipe. She kept her wrist up so he could find her, taking two steps to the lip of the cut and looking in. He wasn't as sure as she had been that he would fit.
He kept his grip on the metal and stepped over the edge, feeling the air bubbles slipping against him as they made their escape. His feet made it in without issue, as did his legs. He clenched his teeth as the jagged edges of the hole approached his upper body and shoulders, closing his eyes and saying a silent prayer.
He felt a scratching along his arm, a piece of the metal digging into his flesh. It was all he could do to stay still instead of panicking and trying to swim, letting the metal slide through and release him. He looked over at his left arm. It was cut and bleeding, but it was nothing compared to his shoulder.
Diaz grabbed at the piece of metal he was holding, pointing at the hole. They lifted it together, laying it across the opening and holding on. The venting air tried to pull it aside, but the added weight helped keep it in place. Donovan was ready to pass out. They had no idea if this plan would work.
It did, well enough. Some of the air escaped, but some of it remained in the pipe, continuing with the flow of water. Diaz nodded, and they both let go of the metal, pushing off the side of the pipe with their feet. He was out of breath, his body begging for him to take in the water. He held his mouth closed, growing despera
te for air and imagining Diaz felt the same.
They traveled twenty meters or so, with Diaz holding her hand up to the top of the pipe. She gripped a seam suddenly, tilting her head up and back. Donovan did the same, bringing his face up next to hers in no more than a few centimeters of air.
They both breathed in harshly, taking massive swallows of oxygen. Donovan's stomach muscles were contracting and cramping, sending waves of pain throughout his body. By the look on Diaz's face, she was suffering something similar.
"That sucked," Donovan said, the words coming out in a broken whisper.
"We made it," Diaz replied. "That's all that matters now."
They continued along the pipe with the air bubble, keeping their heads down and coming up every fifteen seconds or so to take a breath, hoping that the pocket was large enough to sustain them. Neither one of them had any idea how long the pipe was, or where it was going.
Or if it went anywhere at all.
An hour passed. Then another. They stopped stroking, letting the flow of the water carry them for a while, floating on their backs with their heads in the air pocket as best they could, holding one another's hands so they wouldn't be separated. Time seemed to fade away with the constant, soft whoosh of the flowing water and the sounds of their light breathing. Each heartbeat began to bleed into the next and Donovan found his thoughts wandering. They settled on the mission, and on the men and women who would never be returning home.
He remembered Diaz's question about Gibbons, and in his mind he saw the man fall dead again, burned by a plasma rifle. She was a good Lieutenant, a skilled t-vaulter. That she had mentioned an interest in anyone meant she was considering giving up the rifle to bear children. She wanted warriors, he realized. Children that would be strong and healthy, like Gibbons had been. Like she was. Offspring were the best way the free females could help the cause. At the same time, no one had ever presumed to stop them from fighting. It was still a choice to be made, not an expectation to be followed.
