An alarmed whisper ran through the rebels. Holt glanced at his troops and tilted his head to the side.
“You’re alone. And unchained.”
Vermen gritted his teeth and straightened. “Andeal and Henry are preparing the balloon for take-off. He gave me the key.”
Dozens of little conversations started at once. The men argued with one another, disputing his claims or pushing for an evacuation. They remained seated and wasted the precious time he’d bought them in useless debates. Idiots. How had they survived this long?
“Seraphin!”
Maniel’s voice buried all others. Seraphin met her gaze. He seemed uncertain, fragile—accessible and human.
“Evacuate.”
Holt licked his lips. He studied Vermen, as if he could read the truth from his stance. The captain swallowed hard. He detested the cold scrutiny—like Seraphin picked his insides apart to better understand how he worked. Hans didn’t want him to understand, but a part of him wished Seraphin would trust him, that he wouldn’t need to understand to believe in him and his word. And that desire, small though it was, scared him. It implied a certain intimacy he shouldn’t be wishing for.
When at last Seraphin broke the stare and climbed on his seat to capture the rebels’ attention, Vermen exhaled.
“End of the party, everyone. Form the evacuation groups. Joshua, Tanya, Ennio, get what supplies we have left and report to your respective leaders.”
The rebels scrambled to their feet, some emptying their glasses first. They moved with surprising discipline, regrouping around three of theirs. Those named dashed out of mess hall to get the supplies. These men might not be soldiers, but they had obviously rehearsed their escape multiple times.
“Captain!” Seraphin sprung out of his chair and crossed the room with a newfound assurance. The rebel leader was in control. “Return to the balloon. You’ll take off with Henry. I want Andeal and Maniel to stay together.”
“Yes sir.”
Before he could regret the instinctive deference he’d just given Seraphin, the first explosion rocked the ground with a deafening boom. A few plates slid and crashed to the ground. Rebels screamed and their hurried steps broke into sprints. Vermen propped himself against the wall and sought Maniel. She stood straight and calm in the burgeoning chaos, giving concise directions to the panicking rebels. When she noticed him, she nodded at the tunnel. Hurry up.
The captain pushed himself off the wall and dashed away. As he ran up the corridor, punishing his ankles once more, the second bomb exploded and the electricity fizzled out.
Vermen let his fingers trail on the cool stone wall as he progressed in the dark. He slowed his pace and stalked along. Blood coursed through his body and made him light-headed. His brother’s towering shadow scolded him. Don’t participate in their escape. Betray them. Let them die and avenge me. The captain took a deep breath and pressed forward.
Three consecutive bombs blasted the hideout and slammed Vermen to the ground. The shock expelled air from his lungs and stole his remaining breath. A low rumble followed. Under his stinging palms, the corridor began to shake. Dirt and tiny rocks fell on his head. How long would the tunnel hold?
Vermen scrambled to his feet and ran. He took three long strides before the first deafening crack. Large stones detached themselves from the ceiling and crashed ahead of him. A shard clipped his cheeks and he flung his arms up to protect his eyes. He stumbled back and a fourth explosion threw him on his ass. Vermen retreated, on all fours, as the tunnel ahead collapsed. He curled against the wall and waited for the chaos to still.
Dust stung his eyes and dried his throat. He crawled forward, coughing every few feet, until his fingers touched cool stones. He groped around the boulder but his hands only found more rock, so the captain stood and climbed the crumbled pile. He pushed off gravel and pebbles, fumbling for a way through. He grabbed a stone and removed it, but more immediately fell on his hands. He scraped and pushed at the top of the pile but the mount would not budge. The tunnel was sealed.
Vermen rubbed his face and felt grit and blood. He wiped it off with his shirt and stumbled down the pile, his stomach clenching. He could no longer reach Andeal. His only option was to follow the rebels and trust his long-time enemies.
Hans did not bother with a wall-guide this time. He forced his faltering steps to lead him back to the mess hall.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Henry clipped the last rope to its corner of the balloon basket and pulled on the envelope. He dragged the heavy fabric up and threw it over the balloon’s burner, centering it as much as he could before he gathered the remaining fabric at his feet. The basket turned into a gold and purple cocoon, protected from the outside world, with Henry kneeling at its center. He spread his palms against the bottom to stop the shaking which had slowed him throughout lift-off preparations. He needed his hands steady for the launch, could not afford to panic as the entire balloon leapt off the railing.
This is it, he thought. First flight. First test.
If only he could munch on uncooked instant noodles. That’d ease his stomach and stress.
He pushed himself up and peeked from under the tent-envelope. How long had Andeal been gone? He’d run off to get the recording and papers. Captain Vermen had warned them: twenty minutes tops before the bombs. How many had they wasted now? He glanced upward, half-expecting the ceiling to crumble without warning, then back at the entrance. No Andeal yet.
Henry wiped the sweat from his face and climbed down the basket. Only one step left to preparations. He tried not to think of what came after, of the long drop and desperate maneuver to lift-off and the very real possibility of a crushing death. No, better not to linger on that. They would be just fine.
He hurried across the room, collected the empty helium pocket and folded the thick plastic. Without this pouch at the top of their balloon, they’d waste a whole tank of gas to fly a hour. Andeal argued helium could keep them aloft an entire week on the same amount of fuel. Henry plodded to the basket with his precious load. He stretched his arms and dumped his cargo inside, flattening the envelope under it with a woomph.
The first bomb hit as he clambered up the ladder and the impact shook the railing. Henry clung to his perch, eyes snapped shut, his clammy palms threatening to slip and let go. He wasn’t high, no more than two feet above ground, but the thought of falling terrified him—as if letting go meant never reaching the balloon again.
“Henry!”
He dared to open his eyes. Andeal ran the distance to the balloon and scaled the railing, not bothering with the ladder. He’d rolled the papers and stuck them in his belt.
“Is everything ready?” he asked.
“Almost. Tie the helium pocket.”
He mustered his courage and climbed the rest of the way. Together they unfolded the pocket then slipped under the envelope with it. They set it atop the burner, then fastened it to each corner of the basket. Henry plugged the helium pump in, started the machine. What a strange sandwich they’d built: the envelope on top, the helium pocket under it, then the burner, them, and finally the basket. A dozen ropes hung from it, pooling at the bottom for now, color-coded to identify their function. As the gas filled its pouch, it began to lift, taking the envelope with it. Their sandwich-tent rose.
“Did you get the provisions?” Andeal asked.
“Yes.”
“The extra rope?”
“Yes.”
“All five tanks of propane?”
“Of course!” Henry dragged the helium pocket down before it floated too far up. The tunnel down wasn’t all that high and they didn’t want to scrape the top while rushing along the railing. “I know my job. Remove those brakes! We need to launch.”
His snapping tone took Andeal by surprise. The engineer lifted his eyebrows but reached over the basket’s edge to the brakes’ lever. Once he pulled it, nothing would hold them in place. His gaze was on the corridor where Vermen had disappeared. Henry put a hand on his s
houlder.
“We can’t wait for him.”
“I know. It’s just…“ Andeal shook his head, turned to Henry. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Andeal laughed and pushed the lever.
The basket lurched forward and Henry clung to the pump. The tiny wheels creaked and the railing trembled under their weight. They gained momentum and his teeth clattered as they sped through the tunnel. The wind caught in the envelope. Andeal scrambled to grab the line and keep their sandwich from flying off. Why hadn’t they thought of something to hold the fabric until they’d reached the launch ramp? They should’ve known. Henry’s heartbeat shifted into frantic mode. They improvised too much, hadn’t predicted everything. Most likely result: their homemade balloon flattened on the mountainside with their crushed bodies inside.
The helium pocket finished inflating as they careened out of the tunnel. Henry slammed his heel on the pump’s stop button just as the basket reached the launch slope. The sudden shift in angle made him lose his balance and land on his ass. The pouch of light gas slipped out of his fingers, floated up, caught in the envelope. They lifted. Andeal released all rope lines and whispered a prayer as the sandwich rose far above their head. Henry scrambled up and grabbed the burner’s lever.
Their gaze met. This is it. Either they flew, or they died.
The wheels left the railing.
Andeal reached over the side and released them. For an instant they floated through the dark night sky. Wind flapped at their deflated envelope and the bomber blimp’s whirring engine filled the silence. The basket’s upward curve stopped and they began to fall.
Andeal snatched a line and pushed it as far as he could from the basket, enlarging the opening. Air rushed into it and inflated the envelope with a great snap. Henry prayed the reinforced sewing lines would hold and pressed both burner levers. Flames sprung to life and a wave of heat washed over the basket’s occupants. The fire reached far into the envelope, a two-meter high brazier. Andeal flipped the propeller on to give them what little extra lift they could. But would it be enough? Gravity pulled them to the ground with alarming speed. Henry squeezed his eyes shut. They’d never get enough upward momentum in time.
Three bombs exploded across Mount Kairn’s side, flashes of light and sound. It rattled Henry’s bones, but he felt detached from it. The cavern could shudder and collapse now—he was out. In the sky. Plummeting to his death.
“I think we’re slowing,” Andeal said. “Henry, it’s working!”
Henry risked a glance and regretted it. In the last few seconds they’d crossed half the distance to the mountainside. But Andeal was right. They’d lost speed. The propeller’s spinning blades under the basket were a blur and the air above shimmered with heat. Hot air wrapped around the helium pocket and pushed the envelope upward, fighting gravity’s pull. If he survived, Henry promised himself two potfuls of delicious noodles.
Then his eyes caught the cloud of dust and stones that rolled down the cliff—rocks torn away by the bombs. A growing rumble buried the blimp’s engine and crushed his meager hope. Their fall brought them straight into the landslide’s path. Henry cursed and pushed hard on the burner’s switches, well aware it’d change nothing. Everything that could slow their fall was already used at max capacity. The boulders tumbling down would catch in their envelope and rip it to shreds, then crush the basket and everyone inside.
Bitter disappointment swirled at the bottom of his stomach. Dead. He would have no noodles, no flight, no chance to honor his mother’s memory. He would perish on this mountainside, the recording with him.
Andeal sprung into action. He set one foot on the provision crate, the other on the basket’s edge. One blue hand clamped on a purple rope—the helium pocket ones—and the other on the burner’s metal support. He leapt out of the balloon and pulled the rope down, outward, forcing the helium pocket to slide to the side, away from Mount Kairn. The entire envelope shifted with it. Andeal set his feet firmly against the basket’s side, his knuckles whitened as he held tight. The propellers’ deadly blade spun inches under his friend’s soles. He pulled harder. Henry’s legs threatened to give under him. He swallowed hard, wished he could help, but if he let go of the levers, they lost the flames, their only real source of lift.
Instead he stood frozen as their balloon angled out of the landslide’s path, slowly at first. As their fall slowed to a crawl then stopped, however, the horizontal shift became more important. They floated still for a seemingly endless moment, leaning to the side, then the aircraft rose. A stifled sob escaped Henry’s lips. The tumbling rocks swooped under them, smaller stones clipping the propeller and bouncing away. Andeal released the helium pouch, climbed back into the basket and collapsed on the floor. Their vertical lift returned to maximum and they gained in speed.
Flying. They were flying!
Andeal remained on the ground, shaking with hysterical laughter as their balloon ascended. Henry fought to urge to cheer loud and high, to tell the whole world he now roamed the sky. They’d brushed with death, survived a suicidal take-off. People needed to know of their exploit.
Then they passed their launch ramp. A thick cloud of dust emerged from the tunnel and large boulders had destroyed the wooden railing. He squinted to see through. Demolished planks remained scattered across the stone ledge, but the original structure was unidentifiable. The bombs had ruined weeks of hard work.
He released the burner’s levers and closed the propane valve, his blustering enthusiasm doused by the scene. The bomber blimp hovered above Mount Kairn, tiny lights lining its form. That aircraft was hundreds of feet long, far more imposing than their measly balloon. Henry held his breath. They’d never hear him above the engines, but he refused to take chances. Andeal’s fit of laughter died and he rose in silence.
Four consecutive explosions lit the sky and thundered through the empty air. The force blew away entire sections of Mount Kairn, sending huge rocks flying, tumbling down. Henry wondered how much would be left. Would the Races’ trail remain? He could no longer hear the roaring waterfall, couldn’t distinguish anything but destruction in the darkness. He scanned the landscape, his heart beating fast, but they entered the lowest layer of clouds and everything disappeared.
Andeal slumped to the ground and held his head. Henry had a sudden urge to hit himself. How selfish could he be? While he thought of dead races and aesthetics, his friend’s world collapsed on itself. Gone was his only refuge for the past years, gone were—perhaps—his wife and friends. Henry sat beside him and patted his shoulder, awkward.
“They’ll be fine. The captain will have warned them in time.”
He wasn’t sure he believed it himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY
When Vermen returned, only three rebels were left in the mess hall. Maniel paced from one table to another, her thick ponytail bouncing behind her, frizzy hair escaping the hair band. The two others—a teenager with a tuft of brown hair and the Burgian he’d wacked on the head during his escape attempt—sat on a long bench and whispered together. A single lamp provided illumination, bathing them in pale white light. Sometimes Maniel melded into the shadows, only to reappear a few seconds later. He noticed the rubble behind her and guessed part of the ceiling looming in the darkness had collapsed. More bombs would come. They had no time to waste. Vermen mustered his courage with a long deep breath and started across the room, his ankles burning with every step. As he got closer, he called out to the three rebels.
Maniel stopped mid-step then hurried to the lamp. She grabbed the handle and crossed the hall with urgent strides, plunging her two companions into darkness. When she got closer, she lifted the lamp. Worried surprise flitted across her expression before she schooled it into a mask of calm.
“What happened, Captain?”
Vermen shook his head. He remembered the first time he’d accompanied an officer to tell a young woman that war had made her a widow—how he could barely breathe becaus
e of the lump in his throat, let alone talk. He had let his superior handle everything. He couldn’t pass this task along today. Vermen wiped the grime from his face and tried to push the words past his knotted throat. A coughing fit overtook him and he bent forward, unable to speak. He’d inhaled so much dust he expected it to cake the inside of his lungs.
Maniel took his arm and led him to the table. She forced him to sit next to the others. As soon as his weight no longer rested on his feet, the pain in his ankles alleviated. Vermen heaved a sigh, surprised at his own intense relief. He gathered his thoughts once more.
“The tunnel collapsed before I could reach him.”
Next to him, the Burgian snickered. “Convenient.”
Vermen slammed his fist on the table. He did not have the patience for petty accusations. “I almost died under a ton of rock. If you don’t believe me, you can go check for yourself.”
“No.” Maniel interrupted their argument with a snapping, stop-being-children tone. “We’re leaving. Joshua, get Andeal’s bag for Hans, will you?”
Joshua slid along the wooden bench until he reached a large backpack then pushed it toward Vermen. The captain swallowed hard, uneasy at the thought of taking Andeal’s place. He pulled himself together, grabbed the pack, and waited. He wanted to delay the moment he had to stand as much as possible. Maniel explained their general heading—down in the network of caves under Mount Kairn—in a soft but calm voice. While her long nose cast a deep shadow across her face, obscuring part of her expression, she showed no signs of grief in what he could see. Vermen recalled how well she had handled herself when he had arrived with a bloodied and dying Andeal in his arms. Maniel dealt with pressure better than many fellow soldiers he’d known.
“I tried,” he said. “I swear.”
“I know.” A distant rumbling interrupted Maniel—another collapsed cave. She frowned and held her hand out to help him up. “Will your feet be all right?”
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