The gunfire outside echoed. Rick watched through a small gap in the barricade, not able to see much.
Isaac grabbed his shoulder. "Then what?"
Rick didn't turn away from the slaughter in the street. "If they come our way and still appear hale and hardy, we'll head back and use your little escape route. Sound good?"
Some response came out of Isaac, but Rick didn't pay attention. He'd listened and dealt with enough of the OHU's stupidity.
******
As an individual living in difficult circumstances for most of her life, Kaylee had been told many things about the concept of death.
Popular culture and entertainment media, what little of it she absorbed before such luxuries and even bare necessities became scarce, had always dramatized death.
Big speeches, she thought. Last words, epic struggles…
She remembered one occasion where she snuck out of her bedroom, turned the TV on whisper-volume, and watched a late-night, violent action film. Sergei's bloodied, unmoving body reminded her of this film, names and other details long forgotten. She remembered the main character, wounded repeatedly and horribly yet still fighting to the bitter end.
She couldn't recall whether or not the hard-case cop, detective, or whatever he'd been survived the ordeal. All she could remember was his toughness through so much punishment.
And here's Sergei… she thought, down after one little poke. No speeches, no last words. He didn't even get the chance to curse Rick out one more time or say goodbye to his imaginary friend. He's just dead, nothing else.
Kaylee hadn't experienced a heavy emotional reaction to anyone's death or disappearance in many years. Though shocked by the quickness of his departure, she almost regretted that Sergei's passing didn't change the trend. She didn't even feel guilty for her part in it.
I didn't like him, she thought, staring down and contemplating the removal of the knife from Sergei's chest. He was pushy, arrogant, and kind of dumb. It's mostly his fault that we continued this stupid little war against the Citizens, and he was an idiot for turning on Rick. Plus, he practically killed himself by letting Nigel up.
A tiny bit of guilt resonated as she wondered if the situation might improve with Sergei's departure. Certainly Isaac would be more attuned to reason, maybe just more gullible or a follower by nature. If Rick can get the OHU grinding on an escape plan… she tried not to hope too much for positive results. Rick might already be dead, and who knows if anything can be done for us anyway. Maybe none of us deserve to get out of here. Maybe Nigel's working on the right thing in killing us all off…
She glanced down at the other corpse in the room, experiencing not even the tiniest trace of guilt. No last words or epic struggles for you either, asshole, she thought, bloodied hands clenching at the thought of her kill.
In truth, Nigel's face held only a moment of surprise at the ferocity of her attack. It remained brief not because he then settled into a drawn out battle to the death. No, Nigel's expression and everything else vanished when Kaylee plunged the knife into his body, over and over.
The crazed man, the prophet, visionary, cult leader, or whatever Nigel professed to be, was gone. Miguel's mad experiment, followed by unintended consequences of horrible deaths for many individuals, had ended. Kaylee wondered how the Silver Fox would have felt about the results.
He'd probably would've thought it to be a "fascinating" study or whatever of human behavior. She sighed and stood. A deep bruise protested on her back at the site of her collision with the board and chains, but she ignored it. The two unmoving forms, one featuring a somewhat mangled front, had it much worse.
Not that I feel sorry for you, prick, she stared at one of her hands, Nigel's blood smeared across it and much more on her arms and front.
Kaylee paused for a moment, thinking about what she should do next. Notions of bringing the bodies along disappeared quickly when she realized her inability to carry one very far, much less both. Escape seemed the smartest option, but how to do so left her wondering.
Consideration vanished as a chill flooded across her body. She shivered under the sensation, the feeling of someone unheard yet present, watching.
She smiled, forgetting for a moment about the death in the room. "You always come. You always know." She turned, and her smile widened.
Malcolm stood in the doorway.
Chapter 10: Reunion Tour
Gottfried hadn't been sure of what to make of the ragged-looking individuals populating the center of the square outside Heavenly Bodies. They had been carrying weapons and seemed to be trying to charge the source of gunfire at the building, but most had the appearance of desperate refugees.
Still, caution seldom disappeared from Gottfried's mind. Keeping to the shadows and under the cover of alleyways, his forces risked spoiling the possibility of ambush by ensuring they didn't attack non-hostiles.
The caution was for naught. The instant one of the tattered people caught a glimpse of Gottfried's black-clad men, they spared no time in shouting threats and charging.
Not many remained to begin with, but Gottfried's small group had no trouble or qualms about cutting them down. During the brief amount of fighting, he noted the disappearance of the firing line outside of the Heavenly Bodies club.
Fallen individuals littered the ground, and he presumed the unknown group had seen his Inquisitors' approach and had fallen back to safer territory. He assumed them to be friendly, considering they fought a common enemy. However, in spite of having a more fresh and well-equipped force, Gottfried felt reluctant to risk his men across the corpse-filled, wide-open square to find out for sure.
Still, something instinctual told him the other group didn't contain any foes. Rather, he thought it certain that these were the people he had come to assist at Malcolm's behest. He cursed the strange creature for running off without facilitating a non-bloodied meeting, but it didn't alter his confidence.
"Give me a flare," he spoke to a man next to him.
The man objected. "Sir, we can't be exposed here. We don't know-"
"I will be going alone. If they are not hostile, I'll be fine. Either way, I will likely be recognized."
Other individuals voiced concern, a small chorus of, "Too much risk, let me go instead, they might kill you," filling the silence.
Gottfried's normally passive expression curled into a barely visible smile, but he held out a hand. "The flare," he said, and with reluctance the man dug into a pouch on his hip.
"Move out of sight, back to the alley. Unless I am fired upon, do nothing until I call you forward. I trust you recall each contingency signal?" the High Inquisitor asked. His people replied with quiet affirmation. They remained on edge, ready to object, but they obeyed his order and melted into the shadows.
He drew a slow breath, not relishing the risk any more than his people did, but strong confidence settled in his mind. Stepping out, he struck the flare and held it high. Flickering red light illuminated the immediate area, smoke rising.
Gottfried tensed as he took stock of the countless bodies upon the ground. Many were dressed in the same shambles and clutching small melee weapons, but he saw a few in military garb.
He progressed slowly, careful to not disturb any of the fallen: no simple task. He held the flare high but close enough to ensure his face remained fully revealed. With the exception of quick glances to keep him from tripping or falling, he kept his gaze fixed upon the shadowed doorway of Heavenly Bodies.
Roughly at the center of the square, he stood. Moments dripped by, and he wondered if they were even watching him. He waited, time passing. Corpses all around, a few perhaps unconscious or even playing dead, the red light flickered above.
Just as he considered having his people move forward and more properly secure the area, a clatter of noise issued from the front entrance to the club. Shortly after, a surprised but familiar voice came out of the darkness followed by an emerging figure.
"Sweet mother of merciful crap. You've go
t to be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. How in the bloody blue blazes are you actually here, Gottfried?"
Rick stepped into the edge of the flickering red light, expression awestruck. Gottfried kept his face even, only allowing the tiniest of smiles to quirk the corner of his mouth.
Continuing forward, Rick reached out, and the two shook hands. The enthralled expression stayed on the other man's face, his appearance ragged but refreshed in comparison to their last encounter.
"God, I can't believe it. Here you are!" Rick's face broke in a wide smile, and he laughed.
Even with the obvious relief and the cheerful reception, the High Inquisitor noted something else in the man. Not exhaustion or the adrenaline lows of post-combat, not demoralization for losses... something else. Gottfried felt uncertain toward what it was, but he knew Rick hid some variety of troubled emotion beneath the surface.
The High Inquisitor gave a nod. "The creature: Marcus," he frowned, "Malcolm, I suppose. He informed me of the grave situation."
Rick blew out a sigh. "Grave... yeah, that's a good way of putting it." He turned back toward the club, sweeping his arm towards the square and calling, "C'mon out, guys, it's safe. By God, break out some champagne."
He turned a wary eye to Gottfried. "Your spooks are hiding in the shadows here, I assume. You won't shoot these allies of mine, yes?"
Gottfried tightened his jaw, remembering Davidson's strike, in progress or even finished by now for better or worse. He gave a quick shake of his head and responded, "Yes, my people are near, and no, they will not attack."
Rick grinned again, and the High Inquisitor narrowed his eyes. Yes, he thought. There is something hollow behind it. Sadness, despair perhaps.
Though using more of an interrogator's gaze than one of empathy, Gottfried noted a tugging wilt at the corners of Rick's eyes, his broad smile not touching them.
"I'm glad you came by when you did. I think we finally had it turned around, but let's just say we're not going to complain."
Gottfried made no comment about it, allowing Rick to summarize the situation without interrupting or calling attention to whatever sorrow he hid. Even if a band of weary individuals hadn't begun to trudge out of the building shortly after Rick's call, he wouldn't have commented. Not trying to pry information out of the poor man, Gottfried also knew whatever attempt at sympathy he could muster would likely be far beyond inadequate.
Thus, the High Inquisitor filed it away in some corner of his mind, turning his attention to the individuals moving toward them. Unlike Rick, they most definitely featured levels of weariness and morale-loss. Noting the colors they wore, Gottfried understood why. More than a few of the dead surrounding them featured similar clothing.
The survivors regarded Gottfried, perhaps Rick as well, with wary and even hateful expressions. They undoubtedly recognized the Inquisitor black. After a brief thought, he decided against calling his people forward. The situation appears delicate. I have to be cautious about what I say.
He spotted one of the two OHU leaders, a face memorized from sketches. Isaac, last name unknown, locked eyes with Gottfried. His expression was even and calm, but subtle weariness dragged at his expression, slumping his shoulders.
Gottfried expected greater discernment from one of the OHU leaders, but Isaac barely provided a second glance. The other is missing. Sergei. Perhaps he's been killed. Assuming Isaac is less dominant in the power structure, Sergei's loss would prove difficult for him.
The handful of soldiers formed a ragged line behind Rick, who during Gottfried's contemplation, highlighted the thrills and horrors of the evening.
Rick finished the summary, and silence fell on the square, an eerie stillness in the fading glow of the flare and the strewn-about corpses surrounding them.
"You have encountered difficulty," Gottfried spoke carefully. "We understand this. We also understand you may see us as enemies. I assure you this is not the case."
He drew in a shallow breath. "I have been working with Rick in recent months, a former foe who I could easily blame for much of the current hardship. He represents a figure of betrayal for some and a fierce adversary for others."
"Regardless, I'm afraid we don't possess any luxury of time," he said. "The incidents involving these," he frowned at the bodies, "individuals have been occurring all over the city. It has resulted in a serious-"
Rick's expression abruptly changed from the curiosity during Gottfried's speech to pure surprise. "Oh my God..." he whispered, staring at something past the High Inquisitor.
Gottfried turned. He drew in a sharp breath at the sight and tensed, unsure if the approaching figure represented a threat and whether he should draw his weapon or not.
"Oh my God..." Rick spoke again. "How... is she... is she...?"
The High Inquisitor decided against his weapon, spotting the hulking, still shirtless brute of Malcolm trailing behind the unsettling figure.
It was a woman, one he didn't recognize offhand, but that may have been because her entire front was smeared with blood. The woman held a distant expression, seeming almost unaware of anyone in the square, living or dead, or even that she appeared a frightful mess.
The blood isn't hers, he thought. She may be in shock.
"Kaylee..." he heard Rick's voice, strained and half-croaking. "You're... you're..."
She looked toward Rick, who Gottfried noticed had fallen to his knees. Tears bled down his cheeks, and his expression featured terrible disbelief mixed with unbridled joy.
When the woman, evidently Kaylee, of whom Gottfried had heard a little, saw Rick, the shock and distance in her eyes faded away.
The High Inquisitor was keenly aware of his general lack of expertise in issues of interpersonal relationships. Indeed, the closest individuals to him were Inquisitors, and none of them could be deemed friends.
Still, with the very few shreds of practical experience on that front, Gottfried could see, plain as day, the woman's expression change from whatever distressed state she'd been in to one of relief, happiness, and...
Love? he wondered. Yes, I suppose it is that precisely. To his complete lack of shame, the High Inquisitor filed it away as an aspect which could be used against Rick if it became necessary.
Silence held as the two individuals stared at each other, neither seeming capable of believing the other alive. Gottfried frowned, impatient.
However, part of him, some long distant, half-dead emotional vestige didn't wish to disturb the reunion. He frowned at the thought, wondering if by some means he was turning terribly soft.
In reality, only a few moments passed before the woman burst into tears. The two sped toward each other and embraced. Soft whispering and near-palpable relief radiated from them, and the rest stood by, watching and uncertain.
******
"If she is alive..." Isaac spoke first, implying the obvious question.
Heart hammering within his chest, light-headedness clouding his vision, Rick tried to regain his composure. "Yeah," he took a deep breath, breaking away and holding her by the shoulders. He searched her up and down, looking for any sign of injury.
Ignoring the scrutiny, Kaylee passed a forlorn look to Isaac and shook her head. "I'm sorry... Sergei, he didn't... Nigel..." She downcast her eyes.
Rick pulled her into an embrace again, trying as much to comfort himself as her. His emotional state remained deeply engaged in spastic flailing. Good lord, you better not pass out, a stray thought piped up. That'd be a helluva way to impress the troops.
His relief held startling potency. Seeing Kaylee alive, unharmed... it was too much. No amount of calculation, thoughts of escape, or the dangerous situation still ongoing in upper-Haven could have stopped the emotional freight train.
"What happened?" Isaac insisted.
Kaylee pulled free of Rick's hug and stepped forward. Trying to be supportive, trying to keep himself stable so as not to fall down or faint, he set a hand on her shoulder. She took a deep breath, composing herself.
"When we were separated, Sergei and I were dragged over to the front and forced inside." She gestured toward the bondage club. "There was a..." she paused, frowning. "Well, I guess a shrine, or something like that."
Kaylee closed her eyes and continued, "It was so weird, like... It was us, all of the... leaders I guess, but I was there too. Pictures, drawings."
Unsettled expressions developed in the surrounding individuals. Rick frowned, wondering what it could have meant. She continued explaining the portraits, and further unease crept into those listening.
"I burned them." Kaylee opened her eyes and shrugged. "I wasn't really thinking about it. It was too creepy, and we were..." She shuddered. "We were both scared."
Murmurs broke out amongst the OHU soldiers, and a few glared at Kaylee as if she'd uttered a horrendous lie. They probably think she did, Rick thought. A "scared" Sergei to them seems an unlikely prospect.
Kaylee scowled. "Whatever, maybe scared isn't right. Stunned, shocked, uncertain, not knowing why we were left breathing. It didn't matter long then and doesn't matter now." She clenched her teeth. "We got over it and went looking for Nigel. We found him. We fought him. Sergei didn't make it."
Another ripple of murmuring passed through the ranks, "How do we know you didn't kill him?" a random individual spoke up.
"Whoever said that can go eat shit!" Kaylee shouted, her temper flaring. Rick kept a firm grip on her shoulder, not knowing if in her current state she'd attack someone for a such a slight.
Isaac stared at the ground, brow furrowed and yet to respond to Kaylee's claim. Rick's emotional state began calming in spite of tears welling up each time he looked at Kaylee. Examining the silent man, Rick thought, Sergei's gone; is he already feeling the weight of responsibility? Ah jeez, he came to a slight realization. I sure hope he doesn't blame us.
Exodus (The Fall of Haven) Page 20
