Bare minutes had passed since the order to open fire came. The bodies of their foes littered the ground all around, and attackers pressed in, closer with each moment. Out of the corner of her eye, Cass noticed Isaac raising a flare pistol, and her mind recalled the notion of having to do something.
Running, right?
Her legs - no, her whole body - trembled, but running seemed possible. Running from the damnable chanting and these horrid, insane people.
Running, yes... she thought, tensing.
A mistake occurred on the opposite end of the circle to their intended flight path. Four individuals allowed their clips to run dry at the same time. As they scrambled to reload, unscathed assailants crashed into them, weapons flashing.
Cass began to scream, finally squeezing the trigger on her rifle. One individual, bashing repeatedly with a claw hammer, toppled off of a dead soldier the same instant as the signal flare shot into the sky.
The circle completely dissolved, weapons firing in every direction. Cass ducked under the bodies of the maniacs hurling themselves into battle, heedless of the dozens upon dozens who fell before them. She caught a glimpse of Rick and Kaylee just ahead, firing and cutting through the wall.
A leering woman with a hatchet jumped in front, and Cass let out a scream. Some part of her instinct survived, and the butt of her rifle snapped forward, smashing the woman's jaw and sending her sprawling.
Nothing remained of the circle, all was complete chaos, but Cass could see the entrance. A few people were near it, fighting off attackers and beckoning frantically for any who could break through and make it.
Cass clambered over bodies, ducked, and tried to ignore the occasional image of four individuals on one soldier, hacking and stabbing away.
Tiny flashes of pain arrived as a knife drew across her back, and she let out a cry and tripped, falling. Unable to stop it, her head rebounded off of the hard concrete, knocking her senseless.
******
"Is she dead?" Michaels asked, gawking at the young girl in Rick's arms as they ran. "Dear God, is she dead?"
No part of him could conceive of why a child had been brought along on this idiotic errand. I can hardly understand why they wanted me along, for that matter, he thought.
The sounds of gunfire behind them in the square outside had ceased entirely. Now only the din of bloodlusted shouting resumed as their foes pounded against the barricade, desperate to resume the hunt.
Under half of the OHU hunting party remained, the rest scattered within the whirling madness of their attackers. Aside from the more enthusiastic runners like Michaels and a few of the more panicky soldiers, Rick, Isaac, and several more of the soldiers had made it inside of Heavenly Bodies. Of the volunteers from the school, only Cass remained.
Sustained fire had created enough of a lull to barricade some of the doors, but defense with so few seemed folly. Isaac shouted something about hidden and protected areas, sprinting off with the remaining soldiers plus Rick, who carried the unconscious or dead Cass.
Michaels followed along, gripping a weapon he had hardly fired during the brief skirmish, too frightened to assist in any meaningful way. Trying to keep from panicking, he counted those left and formed a rough casualty number.
With just under twenty soldiers left out of the initial fifty plus, Michaels didn't feel much better. Worse, specific individuals like Kaylee and Sergei were missing.
"Dammit, man; is she dead?!" he shouted, not only referring to the girl in Rick's arms.
"Shut. The hell. Up," Rick spoke in a harsh whisper. "We're trying to get away, and it's easy enough for them to track us already without you screaming out our position."
"But what happened to-"
"I don't know!" Rick raised his voice and glanced over his shoulder, obvious distress in his eyes.
"Quiet, both of you," Isaac cut in.
Flashlights swept through the area they entered: a raked lounge with numerous booths. The front of the large room held a stage containing silver poles extending to the ceiling. Isaac motioned everyone toward the curtain at the back of the stage. "We have to keep moving; they're right behind-"
Isaac jumped up onto the stage, and a man carrying a butcher's cleaver leapt out from behind the curtain.
One of the accompanying soldiers knocked Isaac out of the path of the weapon, cutting loose a scream of pain as the cleaver bit deep into his shoulder.
Heart frozen, Michaels watched the madman withdraw the weapon and prepare to strike again. Blood gleamed off the edge of the cleaver. The former Citizen's hand clenched, and recoil jolted through him.
Wounds blossomed on the attacker's body, and the man was cast backward before able to hack a lethal strike into the friendly soldier. Blinking in surprise, Michaels looked downward to see the submachine in his hands, barrel smoking. He had no conscious recollection of aiming before his finger squeezed the trigger.
I don't even remember switching off the safety, he thought, swallowing.
Gripping one hand against the deep cut, the soldier gave Michaels a nod. "Thanks," he whispered, pale.
Isaac scrambled to his feet and cast aside the curtain, sweeping a weapon and flashlight through an empty backstage area. He didn't acknowledge the injured soldier and only kicked aside the dead man. "Move," he whispered.
The group passed into an area behind the stage, garment racks and make-up stalls scattered throughout. Darkness enveloped the space, but further sweeps of their flashlights revealed no further attackers or anything save for discarded clutter.
Isaac turned, fumbling at the edge of the curtain. A metallic screech filled the air as he hauled some manner of thick, sliding door. With a loud clang, it settled into place, blocking off the stage and room. The few individuals present watched as Isaac set in place a few latches as well as a chain with large lock.
Finished, he turned back. "Miguel had a number of escape routes planned out in case some of kind of attack came anywhere near him. This," he pointed at the heavy door, "should hold off anyone coming after us. I don't know how many of 'em are lurking around the guts of this building, so we still have to be careful."
He stepped toward the back door to the dressing room.
Michaels reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "What about everyone else? We can't simply leave-"
Isaac shook his head. "There's nothing we can do for them. If they got stuck outside, they're already dead. If not..." he sighed, "we can't help them."
"But Kaylee and Sergei! Surely-"
"Shut up, doc..." Rick spoke through clenched teeth, his face haggard and pale. "Just shut up."
Michaels swallowed hard and held his silence as Isaac began moving and leading them through the bowels of the building. More and more he regretted his presence as well as blindly following the schemes of fools.
******
Whatever plan the psychotic cult of Nigel's had which involved not mutilating and sucking out Kaylee's blood created plenty of terror with just the anticipation.
Indeed, when what felt like a tidal wave of bodies crashed into her, she expected a very brief amount of intense pain and despair before they tore her to pieces. Her life truly did flash before her eyes.
One moment, Kaylee had been gripping Rick's shoulder, following close behind and trying to avoid getting stabbed or bludgeoned. The next, she was facedown on the steps leading to The Dungeon.
She gently probed places on her flesh, terrified she would discover some hideous laceration, but she found nothing. Not a wound or even much more than a bruise or two decorated her body. Neither, she discovered with heavy regret, did she retain the gun she'd carried.
Her ears brought the sounds of combat and frenzy. A large amount of pounding on something across the street echoed with urgency, and many of Nigel's followers continued the screeching and howling.
Animals, she thought, wondering why they left her alive and not wishing to pick herself up off the stairs to find out.
Gradually, she rose upward, shocked to
see a breathless and red-faced Sergei next to her on the concrete steps. Like Kaylee, he appeared injury-free but also no longer held his firearm.
They stared at each other for a moment in confusion. Kaylee didn't know Sergei all that well, but she could practically see the gears grinding in his head and hear his thoughts. After all, they were identical to her own.
Shouldn't we be dead? she thought, asking the question silently to him. He responded with a slight nod, and they broke eye contact to look around.
Kaylee gave a start to see a wall of men and women, wide-eyed followers of Nigel, standing at the base of the steps. Those in the immediate vicinity weren't doing anything at all, just grinning, leering, or staring without expression. Besides the few dozen crowded around, she could see bodies scattered throughout the square, some with other individuals hunched over, still stabbing and abusing or engaged in other activities.
A large group of the cultists crowded around Heavenly Bodies, pounding at the entrance. A tiny flutter of hope blossomed in Kaylee's chest. Maybe some of our people made it inside...
Her gaze returned to Sergei, still the same levels of confusion toward their survival and much more as to why they remained for the most part unscathed. She saw his knife strapped to the outside of his clothing. Patting herself down, she noticed the same thing: her own knife, a small one in an ankle-sheath, hadn't been taken away.
"Why...?" Kaylee whispered, and Sergei cut her off with a shake of his head. She understood. No immediate answer existed to the question, and they were probably better off not discussing thoughts or strategy in front of known enemies.
She didn't want to move, feeling very much like a rabbit cornered by jackals. Chewing her lower lip, Kaylee glanced about the area again, trying to gain some measure of understanding.
Sergei stood, a simple motion which startled Kaylee. I guess they're already looking at us, so he can't call more attention, but... She grit her teeth and did the same, again noting no injury to her legs or body. She was in the same condition: ready to fight, ready to run.
Except there's nowhere to go, she thought, and we can't take on all of these guys... what the hell are they doing, anyway?
A low murmur swept across the group of Nigel's followers engaged in watching them. Another chant? she wondered. Part of her tried to remember that these people, these psychotics were supposedly human, but her mind kept blurting animals over and over. She wanted to beg, to plead and find out what they wanted and what made them so goddamn crazy, but...
Maybe they all caught some kind of brain disease from Nigel. Parasites or something from drinking blood... she thought. Staring into their eyes, she wondered at the possibility. She didn't see intelligence, only frenzy.
The chanting resolved somewhat, and through straining, she made out their words:
"Inside. Inside. Inside. Inside."
Kaylee shuddered, catching a sidelong glimpse of Sergei's own troubled expression. The doorway to The Dungeon was behind them, closed but assumed to be unlocked. Or maybe not. Would these guys know the difference or even care if we couldn't get inside? Maybe they'd just tear us apart instead of... whatever else is supposed to happen in there.
She swallowed hard, catching Sergei's eye and giving her head a slight tilt toward the entrance. His eyes narrowed, a hint of reluctance. She made a point of twitching her glance back toward Nigel's followers, as if to say, Do we have a choice?
Sergei's jaw tightened, response enough, and they both turned to the entrance.
"Inside. Inside. Inside. Inside."
The chanting swelled at their movement, and it grew louder when they climbed the stairs and stepped up to the doorway. They exchanged a quick glance, and Sergei withdrew the knife from its sheath.
He reached out and pulled the door open, and the intonation rose to a crescendo.
******
"Holy shit," Kaylee spoke as the door clicked shut behind them, but Sergei hardly noticed it.
Wild cheering ensued from the spectators, muffled yet clear. Obviously, the pair had done something anticipated and desired, but Sergei focused only on what was spread out inside the entrance.
What lay before them held no violent, grim, or macabre presentation. Unlike anything Sergei would expect to see from people like Nigel and his followers, it had a beautiful, haunting quality.
The very implications, the thought of the sheer effort and dedication required for this bizarre spectacle...
Sergei, a man hardened from many battles, shuddered at the sight, speechless. A shrine... the description fluttered into his thoughts. Yes... a shrine.
A simple lobby area contained a desk and a few chairs, most likely for check-ins to the facility. Beyond it, The Dungeon's namesake and aesthetic became clear, with faux cobblestone walls and electronic torches.
Set up in the lobby area were a number of real candles. Wax pooled beneath and dripped down onto the desk and floor, and their flames cast a flickering light against a display on the wall:
Dozens of pictures. Not photographs, but drawings and sketches. A wall of faces familiar and not, names etched beneath each one. Sergei stared at his own sketched image, detailed down to the scars and average growth of stubble.
Isaac. Rick. The Citizen researcher, Michaels. Several of his high-ranking lieutenants, including both Tanya and Eugene. More sketches on the wall, of people outside the OHU in different groupings. Citizens, maybe? he wondered, blinking and absorbing more faces yet.
Each section seemed to be set up as a pyramid, reflecting the power structure of important individuals. The schoolteachers Desmond and Olivia, some of their people, and the old man Quinton had a small section of their own, a slight branch away from that of the OHU.
Sergei marveled at the skill of the artist while sickened by the strange and terrible nature of the shrine. Whoever crafted the likenesses of so many important individuals had done so with impressive talent; the portraits he viewed held the spirit and life of the person they represented.
Other faces were drawn but crossed out, representing individuals killed during the recent months. Even Elijah and Victor, though Sergei never quite understood which person was which, held places on the wall. Those images and a few others contained fewer details, as though the artist had been only able to draw through description and not sight or memory.
He winced to see a section of individuals fully crossed out. Matthias and his people, a small and paranoid group dedicated to hiding from everything and everyone, seemed to have fallen. Sergei wasn't surprised, but he felt sorry for the former ally.
"Oh my... holy God..." Kaylee continued to mutter expressions of shock. Her eyes took in each picture. He followed her gaze to the very peak, the highest point. Three portraits shared the pinnacle.
One held the face of the long-deceased Miguel, called the Silver Fox. Across the image was a large amount of the dusky brown smearing of dried blood, a few haphazard letters spelling out Die! in a varied places.
Next to Miguel's was an indistinct face, wrapped in scarves and a wearing tattered, wide-brimmed hat. White space in the drawing radiated the glowing eyes, and this effect managed to cut through Sergei's surprise for a tiny moment. Impressive, he thought.
A few more words were scrawled on the creature's portrait. Demon and Blood, sometimes together, seemed to form the description, and Sergei wondered with a chill what the artist meant.
The final image, he noted with a sharp intake of breath, was of Kaylee. It was clean and well-presented. No errant smudges or any marring to be seen, the image seemed somehow pure, idealized.
Kaylee's breath sucked in and out as she stared. Sergei turned to watch her, trying to find some words of comfort but unable to convince himself to calm down. Her face dissolved into a mask of despair, and she pointed.
Above the series of pictures, two words were etched in the wall with thick letters:
THEIR BLOOD
No other description present, having a place of honor in such a bizarre construction seemed too m
uch for Kaylee.
"Oh God..." she covered her mouth. "Oh God, ohgod..." She backed away, bumping into the closed door.
Sergei reached out, but she screamed, "No!" and struck his hand away. Whirling around, she yanked at the exit, but the doors wouldn't move, locked or sealed by those outside. "No, no, no!" she screamed, pounding against the wood. "Not like this! Not like this!"
Kaylee hurled herself in futility against the door, tears streaming down her face, and Sergei simply watched with mouth agape. His mind, wrapped in the strangeness of everything, tried to contemplate the meaning behind the shrine, but no notions arrived.
One step at a time, he thought, anchoring into that idea. Survive, think, act. He gripped the knife in his hand and put his back to the wall, watching the cobblestone hallways for signs of movement.
Survive first. Exits covered. No attackers in sight. No immediate threats. His mind churned, straining to think clearly with the sounds of Kaylee's panic right next to him. Ignore the shrine. Think.
He remembered getting dumped upon the steps. Only minutes ago but somehow so far distant. Why did they not kill us? Why put us here? Why us to begin with?
Sergei's mind traced further back, more eternities long gone. The man, the obvious one of importance. The leader. Nigel.
Whoever he was, Nigel had ducked into the building before and presumably lurked in its dark hallways. For whatever reason, Sergei and Kaylee had been spared, brought to be... in his presence?
Why?
******
Cass awoke, but what she experienced couldn't quite be described as true consciousness.
A thudding, flaring, nauseating pain greeted her thick and muddled mind, which seemed to be bouncing up and down, rocking back and forth. For a while, she hovered near the edge of darkness, clawing back toward the numbness of oblivion, but every twitch of her limp and ragdoll body sent jolts into her system.
Exodus (The Fall of Haven) Page 17
