Mentally kicking and screaming, she was dragged back into reality. She remembered fragments of herself, of existence and life in the world, of language, and of an appropriate response to pain.
"Shiiiiiiit..." she said, barely parting her cracked lips.
Clouded with tears from the pounding agony in her head, Cass opened her eyes.
Even without the head-injury induced haze of her vision, not a whole lot could be seen. Uninteresting ceiling blurred by in rapid fashion, and the only thing beside it was an awkward angle of a man's face: the person carrying her.
Rick? the thought crawled by, and she blinked. Memories dragged along, tiny snippets of recent days. Rick, her mind confirmed.
He appeared preoccupied and didn't yet notice any of her stirring. The same rapid movement with jarring bumps continued, every jostle shaking a sensation of molten metal in her head. Something bad had happened, but her brain couldn't pull out the memory.
"Whazz goin' on?" she tried speaking again, her voice weak.
Rick spared a quick downward glance, resulting in a wide-eyed double-take. "Cass?" Relief spread across his features. "Holy mother of... thank God... thank God..." The jostling run dropped to a halt, and Rick knelt and gently laid her upon some manner of rough carpet.
"She's awake? She's all right?" another voice came forth, one she didn't recognize. A moment later, a bespectacled and balding, middle-aged man thrust his head into her view. "Hm. Concussion, looks like."
"We need to keep moving." Another distinct and unidentified voice spoke up. "Can she walk?"
"You still haven't said where we're going," she heard Rick respond.
The concept of movement and any but the most basic activity seemed rather foreign, but she gave it a shot anyway. Her sore muscles began to stir, and before long they recalled enough to roll her over.
Concerned voices spoke at her back, but she didn't catch any of the words. Every thud of her heart sent a toll of pain and nausea resonating from her skull to every other inch of her being. Determined, she bit her cheeks and pushed herself away from the floor.
Hands grabbed and hauled her upward, interrupting the slow progress. Her sight and senses blinked out for moment in the rapid motion, and she found herself wavering on unsteady feet, Rick's hand on her shoulder.
He peered into her face. "I can carry you if necessary, but we apparently need to keep moving."
Bit by bit, pieces of the situation came back to her. Not enough to form a perfect picture, she felt a strong instinct to run and hide for whatever reason. Something bad is happening...
At her lack of response, Rick reached forward as if to scoop her up again, but she pushed his hands away. "No, I'm..." she said, wincing at the vibration speaking caused in her head. "I'll be fine. Lead."
Sparing one last moment to regard her with concern, Rick nodded and motioned for the group to continue. Without further talk, the party moved through rooms and hallways, keeping a quick pace.
No one said anything, but consciousness and the blood pumping through her veins started to mitigate some of the dizziness. She remembered flashes of the journey, the crazed people, and then...
More came forth as they progressed. Eventually, the person in the lead, whose name she remembered as Isaac, ducked into a decent-sized closet and motioned for everyone to follow.
"What happened?" she asked, breathing hard. "Where are we?"
"In trouble," the older, balding man - Michaels, she remembered - spoke. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Outnumbered and hounded. We'll be damned lucky to-"
"Cram it, doc," Rick interrupted. "No point in scaring the poor girl." He turned to Isaac. "What now?"
A scowl formed on Cass' face at being referred to as 'poor girl,' but something about Rick's tone made her keep silent. A flash of memory rushed forward, hundreds of murderous men and women shouting.
"Fear in their hearts..." Cass whispered, shuddering. No wonder he's worried about me being scared, she thought.
She returned her attention to the musty storeroom that she, the doctor, Rick, Isaac, and about twenty or so other soldiers crammed themselves into. Isaac crouched on the ground, using a small knife to pry up a section of loose carpet.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Underground escape route," he said, pulling up the fabric square and tossing it to the side. True to his word, a small hatch lay underneath. Biting his lower lip, Isaac reached out and gripped the handle, pulling.
"Shit," he said as the hatch lifted without trouble.
"What's wrong?" Rick asked, crouching down.
"This should've been locked."
Michaels leaned in. "Isn't that a good thing? Certainly you don't still carry the key."
Isaac shook his head. "Never did."
"Then why-"
"It means they might know about the passage."
Silence held for a moment, each person contemplating the dark hole at their feet.
"Not necessarily," Michaels spoke up again. "Someone else may have..."
"I don't get what it was you planned on doing, Isaac," Rick spoke up, interrupting. Cass' head and thoughts remained murky, but Rick's voice seemed harsh and more than a little annoyed.
Isaac raised an eyebrow. "We were in retreat, I didn't-"
"What, you didn't think this far ahead? Christ, did Sergei plan every action for the OHU?" Teeth clenched, cords stood out on Rick's neck. He appeared miles from backing down.
"No, we worked together on most things." A troubled frown developed on Isaac's face. "None of this matters right now, and I don't see why you're-"
Anger lit in Rick's eyes. "You don't see how thinking and planning for something as simple as a retreat could be important? Good God, how have you OHU idiots survived this long?"
Awkward tension sifted through the room. Isaac's soldiers wore frowns and scowls, appearing ready to defend their leader, but no one moved. Cass just wished the room would stop spinning. Can't say I want to get in the middle of it either. Rick sounds pretty pissed.
The researcher, doctor, or whatever he claimed to be, braved the silence to interject, getting as far as, "Now gentlemen..." before being silenced by angry glares.
"C'mon Isaac," Rick continued to press the issue, "was there ever any plan? Did you just expect to win this, that, and everything?"
Isaac bared his teeth in anger, and Cass thought she detected the slightest hesitation, the slightest mote of shame, in his expression. "The hell do you want from me? Yeah, I know it's been a shitting disaster, but this is hardly the time or place to be discussing it."
A crash resounded from somewhere nearby, cementing the final point in the argument. Clenching a fist, Rick remained tensed. "Fine. Let's figure this out, but I'm not done with this conversation."
"If we manage to live through this, you can say whatever the heck you want."
Rick shook his head. "Let's not just talk about 'making it through this,' let's figure out how we can turn it around."
Isaac cocked his head at Rick. Biting his lip, he tossed a glance downward. "Are you sure about that? We're not doing so hot here."
"Yeah, you're absolutely right, but your shit-planning is what got us here. I dunno about anyone else, but I sure don't want to head down into more unknown."
Frowns spread throughout the remaining soldiers, and Cass herself felt a chill at the prospect of not running.
"Think about it. They act like animals, and now they're in pursuit of what they see as terrified, fleeing prey."
Cass saw an expression on Michaels' face, feeling what she assumed to be a similar thought rise to the surface. Isn't that exactly what we are?
Rick licked his lips. "They'll be reckless. Stupid, careless. Kind of like how we were coming here, kind of like how they might be expecting us down there."
Rubbing his chin, Isaac said, "Yeah... maybe."
"We still have the weapons advantage, and now we're not in a situation where we could be surrounded," Rick continued. "I'd bet my bottom dollar tha
t most of these freaks don't know much more than how to swing wildly with their weapons. Your guys at least know hand-to-hand, right?"
Isaac titled his head and scowled.
"Hey, I had to ask. If we manage decently for a while, we might not have the full weight of whatever they have left bearing down on us."
"That's quite an important detail," Michaels interrupted. "How long do you intend to be scurrying about like rats in this place? Surely this can't be the best idea-"
Rick held up a hand. "It's a risk, but I think we did some serious damage to their numbers before they busted up the line." He raised an eyebrow to Isaac, who frowned and gave a slow nod in response. "Their only advantage was in the initial ambush, and now it's been popped. So what's it going to be, glorious leader?" Heavy sarcasm permeated his tone. "A known quantity back there, or you gonna lead these people into another slaughter?"
Cass and the others jumped at a resounding crash and indistinct shouting somewhere nearby. "Let's not go back. Please?"
Isaac stared into the dark hole. "Rick is right. The largest chance for another ambush is down this passage. We can thin the numbers by eliminating those chasing us."
"You can't possibly know how many are following." Michaels jabbed a finger down the passage. "They might have found the tunnel, but there's no reason to suggest they're guarding it-"
"Except they know we've been running this way," Rick interrupted. "They'd be idiots not to."
"Would it be more difficult to overwhelm whoever is guarding the exit than to prolong this moronic fight?" Michaels replied.
A thought, memories of individuals came back into Cass' mind, shoving aside her awareness of the conversation. Without thinking, without connecting any of the current situation, she asked, "What happened to all of the others? Where's Kaylee?"
Rick developed an expression suggesting she'd slapped him instead of asking a simple question. His jaw tightened, and Cass felt the blood draining from her face. "No... it can't..."
"They're coming," someone else spoke up, watching from the door. The shouting intensified, numbers indeterminate.
Isaac released the hatch and stood. "Back into the hallway; we fight."
Michaels grabbed his arm. "I will not be a part of your suicidal last stand."
"Very well." Isaac brushed him off, seeming unconcerned. He locked eyes with Rick. "The girl should never have been brought along. Go with the doctor; see them both out safely."
Cass was surprised to find herself not at all offended by Isaac's words. In truth, relief flooded through her, adults taking charge and responsibility for her safety. As much as Cass preferred self-reliance... This is all so far out of my experience, she thought with a shudder. Rick can call me 'girl' all he wants if he can get me outta here.
"No." Rick shook his head. "You'll screw up again without me." Isaac frowned in response, but Rick had already turned to Michaels and Cass. "The two of you should find a place to hide. Assuming we survive this, we'll come back and find you. If not, try and slip out later on. You should be able to move without drawing attention, hopefully."
Something clenched inside Cass, and she tried to fight the trickle of fear which slipped through her attempts to feel brave. Truth be told, she was simply terrified of every option. Turning back and facing the madmen, being left alone... neither choice held much appeal.
The researcher rolled his eyes. "Idiots. All of you." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Let's find somewhere safe."
Cass hesitated. Being left alone with the noncombatant doctor seemed hardly a better prospect, but it provided a slight advantage over more fighting. She nodded. Rick smiled and clapped her on the shoulder, an attempt at comfort, but it seemed hollow.
Isaac made a sharp gesture. "Let's move."
A shiver rolled down Cass' spine, and she wondered at the wisdom of running and hiding.
I guess there are worse ideas, right?
Chapter 9: Fighting Back
Kaylee gave up on pounding against the door after a time, her thoughts clouded by the fear and uncertainty of the situation. Slumped against the door, she flitted her gaze back and forth between the macabre wall of pictures and the only source of current comfort in her leader Sergei.
Nothing she could remember in her lifetime, not the disappearance of the sun, not being captured and held by Miguel, not any part of the uprising, had affected her this much.
The sketched, eerily life-like image of her face stared out, featuring an expression of equal parts confidence and defiance. She wondered, clenching a fist, how the artist decided upon such a thing. In her present state of despair, she couldn't begin to imagine a time of such certainty, such...
Her eyes slid over to the defaced picture of Miguel, the Silver Fox. Even behind the angered marring of the portrait, his piercing gaze, the curled smirk, the titled chin all radiated the man's arrogance. A sliver of smug triumph trickled into Kaylee's thoughts, and she remembered, with pristine clarity, standing over his dying form. Not a shred of pity, no remorse for ending a life, Kaylee had succeeded back then.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself to a standing position. She met her own eyes on the wall, and a sense of something like courage arose, perhaps nothing more than a flicker of anger bright enough to pierce through her fear.
Kaylee drew in a deep breath and walked over to the wall. With a sidelong glance to Sergei, who watched without speaking, she reached up.
Bits of paper fluttered to the ground as Kaylee tore the pictures from the wall. Driven by impulse, she continued to grab at every piece, ripping and tearing until the entire wall of pictures lay in a half-shredded heap.
Snatching one of the nearby candles, Kaylee lit the corner of a brittle page. She dropped it, and moments later a small flaming mass threw black smoke into the room. Kaylee suppressed the urge to cough while immense satisfaction flooded through her. The dry paper dissolved in mere instants, and Kaylee stamped out the flame shortly after.
When she finished, Sergei cleared his throat, frowning at the haze of smoke. "Why?" he asked.
Kaylee kicked at the smoldering remains, scattering the ashes of what must have been no small amount of artistic effort. "Because it means nothing," she replied, "it's just some weird-ass cult stuff. Creepy, but who gives a shit?"
Sergei's frowned deepened.
"All right, think of it this way." Kaylee withdrew her small knife. "They locked us in here for what? To be sacrificed to their leader? The way I see it, there's two of us and only one of him, and he's just some crazy Citizen prick who eats people and likes to drink blood."
Squinting at Kaylee, Sergei stepped away from the wall. "What makes you think we're alone?"
"So what if we aren't?" Kaylee gestured down the hallway with her knife. "They're expecting scared little rabbits." She bared her teeth in a wide grin. "Besides, if we're gonna die here, might as well make it something worth remembering, right?"
Sergei folded his arms, tapping his own knife against his arm. "Very well, we shall see what can be done." He cracked a grim smile. "Perhaps we will find salvation, or at least may we endure a worthy death."
Kaylee clapped him on the shoulder. Flipping the knife to underhand fashion and giving the remaining ashes one last scattering kick, she crouched low and considered the dim corridor.
It's probably just a hunch, she thought, but I think I know where Nigel will be waiting for us.
With a quick thumbs-up to Sergei behind her, the pair began moving down the hallway.
They kept progress gradual, neither having any desire to be surprised by any lunging fanatics in spite of Kaylee's confident assertion that they were alone. Kaylee stayed low and moved in front, while Sergei kept an eye on hallway behind. All of the "dungeon" doors were closed, including viewing slots. The fake torches flickered, but all remained quiet.
"Up or down?" Sergei whispered when they reached the staircase.
Wincing, Kaylee motioned. "Down."
Even on the spiral staircase, where no one coul
d ambush unless from out of stone walls, the pair kept their movement slow. Kaylee knew it wasn't about stealth; the metal stairway creaked and groaned with each shift of their weight. No, a lingering sense of dread settled over them. Even with her boost of confidence, a part of her wished she could find a way to avoid any confrontation.
Nigel made no attempt to be subtle. Both Kaylee and Sergei spotted him the moment they hit the correct floor. Down the hallway, in the accursed room Kaylee recalled from nightmares, Nigel knelt. He faced away from them.
She knew it to be him. Aside from a simple, deep-set certainty in her heart, she recognized the wild, shaggy hair and the clothing she had caught a glimpse of above, before his crazed followers attacked. He must know we're here, Kaylee thought as they continued the slow approach. What's his game?
She exchanged a quick glance with Sergei, whose expression suggested he held a similar level of apprehension. Kaylee gave a shrug and mimed a quick stab with her knife. She jerked her head toward the kneeling leader, and Sergei nodded in response. Mercifully, she detected none of the hideous stench of filth and decay which had marked Nigel's room on her last visit, many months before. Not that it would have changed her plan.
Drawing in a short breath, Kaylee leapt into a full sprint, eyes locked on the target ahead. Torches, fake stone, and closed doors blurred by, her feet pounding against the floor. The figure didn't move. Nearing the doorway, Kaylee raised the knife.
"Stop," Nigel's voice resounded crisp and clean, easily heard.
She ignored him, closing the gap and thrusting the knife toward his unprotected back.
In a motion she thought impossibly fast, he twisted to the side and gripped her wrist, transferring the force of her rapid approach into a throw. Unable to slow any of her momentum, Kaylee was hurled backwards into an upright wooden platform.
Exodus (The Fall of Haven) Page 18
