Gunfire spilled forth from the defenders, and dozens, hundreds of attackers fell. Grenades tumbled out, blasting apart scores of the cultists.
It made little difference.
On the second floor, Kaylee cursed as the weapon she carried ran dry after only a few minutes of careful targeting and sparse fire. Next to her, Quinton continued snapping off shots with his ancient bolt-action rifle. The stack of ammunition beside him remained healthy, but only one or two guns firing when the rest fell empty wouldn't hold off the attackers.
The deafening noise of gunfire spilled out of the Institute, hot lead pouring into the charging people below. Already the noise abated; Kaylee knew she wasn't the only one out of ammunition.
Leaning out of the window, Kaylee hurled random objects, mostly chunks of brick and stone, down at the attackers. They advanced closer and closer to the Institute with each passing second, and fewer were cut down. In certain locations, several drew near enough to pound on the doors and windows, to tear their fingernails in attempts to climb to higher floors.
Jesus, Kaylee thought. We really can't stop them.
******
The noise of shouting and gunfire filled the hallways of the Institute. Death and suffering reigned all around, and Michaels ignored it.
No fear, not even annoyance at the horrid racket of the battle entered his thoughts. Instead, excitement vibrated in his body. I never realized reckless, half-baked experimentation could create such a thrill, he thought.
He carried a small kit with two syringes. One contained a heavy sedative, to relax Claudia into a deep sleep. The other held a filtered sample of Malcolm's blood, swimming with thousands of the infamous organisms.
The building shook from an unseen explosion as he and Cass opened the door to Claudia's room. Not sleeping, Claudia remained in the huddled, fearful position she'd been in on Michaels' previous visit.
"It's all right Claudia," he said softly, moving over to her side. At his approach, she cringed, hugging her knees closer. Little wonder she's afraid; there's quite a bit of activity outside.
Cass poked her head into the room, stepping inside and closing the door. Only watching, she didn't say anything. Michaels considered it a great kindness.
Accustomed to injections and blood draws, the half-minded version of Claudia seldom struggled against Michaels. This instance was no exception, though she did try to push him away a few times before allowing the first injection.
Within minutes, her eyes glazed, and she curled up into a deep sleep.
Michaels gently rolled her over, wiping clean a spot on her arm. Another detonation rumbled nearby, and a twinge wondered if they'd have any time to speak of at all. They won't get her. I won't let them, he promised.
Taking a deep breath, muttering a short prayer to a God he seldom believed in or considered, Michaels plunged the needle into Claudia's arm.
******
When Rick had asked why Elijah refused to help, the old man had merely waved a hand at the monitors. He hadn't spoken since in spite of continuous questions and prodding.
At first, Rick stood by the corpse of the ancient man, Franklin Lange. He stared at the console on and in front of the chair, hoping to figure out how to turn off the field by himself. Numerous controls spread about the area, none labeled or hinting at particular functions.
Without intending to, he quickly became distracted by the images on the monitors. Different sectors of upper-Haven featured dark and empty streets, but cameras displaying the exterior and interior of the Institute painted quite a struggle.
Rick thought he felt vibrations, but none of the apocalyptic noise bled through. "This room must have some powerful sound-proofing..." he muttered.
From what he could see, the battle was going decently well. Interior cameras didn't reveal psychotic cultists running amok inside the Institute, so it appeared the attackers hadn't broken through the outer line of defense. Yet.
A pang of irritation struck as one monitor switched over to Michaels' lab. The doc nowhere in sight, only Malcolm remained in the room, stretched out and unconscious on the table. The feed boasted no significant detail or resolution, but Malcolm seemed a bit less mangled than before.
Maybe he can help out when he wakes up, Rick thought. Maybe I should get down there.
As well as the defenders were doing, and though many bodies piled up outside, the intensity of the assault held intact. Nigel's people pounded at the building entrances, and many were trying to scale the walls, to reach the second floor windows. No one came close to breaching yet, but the cultists maintained a high level of tenacity. Rick frowned, wondering if anything would do any good at this point.
"Ah, you see it now," Elijah broke the silence. "Good."
Rick raised an eyebrow.
"Hell's army pounds at the walls of your castle. Shall I release this evil from its prison? Shall I send it forth to pillage other kingdoms?"
"For God's sake, Elijah, this isn't Hell, or... a medieval countryside for that matter." Rick pointed at the monitors. "Those aren't imps, demons, evil knights, or whatever; they're people. Crazy, violent people, but still just people."
Elijah crossed his hands behind his back, much more lucid than he had been prior. "My greatest sin in life was the selfish desire for revenge. Undying soldiers or demons, Hell or reality, am I to reverse my actions now? Or is it wiser to stay the course, to keep this foul city contained?"
Balling fists, Rick spoke between clenched teeth. "You're just going to condemn everyone, again?"
"You see the monitors. Nothing can be done. The demons will soon break through. None worth saving will remain. You test me with false reality, but I will hold true. I will not fail again."
"God dammit, Elijah. There's always something. Always a way." Rick desperately wanted to believe it himself, but a not-small part of him understood and agreed with his former leader. His words echoed hollow; he knew there were no hidden tunnels or magical escape routes. It's too late. What good would turning off the field do, now, besides letting the crazies out after they kill us?
He stared up at the monitors, feeling more than a little hopeless.
Chapter 17: Despair
Half an hour of melee-based defense held after the last bullet was fired from the Institute. With an attitude between cornered-animal terror and will-to-live zeal, the united Citizens and Old Havenites smashed, stabbed, clawed, and in various ways fought tooth and nail to keep Nigel's horde from breaking through.
Cultists climbed the walls; they fell back to the ground. They pressed in, bashing against the entrance with sledgehammers procured from deceased Inquisitors, but robust doors and a heavy barricade slowed their progress. They shoved themselves towards the windows, but the defenders held.
The first breach occurred on the eastern wing. The hole in the wall from Davidson's earlier sabotage provided access to Claudia's lab, and even screwdrivers, bricks, and small hammers bashed against the walls for long enough could break through to areas beyond.
Given entry, Nigel's people swarmed in. Though countless lay dead and awaited rebirth from the damnable immortality plague, more than enough remained active to bring the fight inside.
Another breach resulted in the Natural Philosophy wing, and a few attackers knocked aside defenders and crawled into second floor windows. The continued hammering at the front entrance started to break through.
Nigel watched, satisfied by the progress of his loyal people. All would be concluded in short order.
******
With the task underway, Michaels became concerned about the increasing noise of shouting and fighting in the hallways.
"I think we might have company, doc," Cass said nervously. "Should we stay and hide here? Barricade the door?"
He frowned. Suddenly the principle of ignoring the attackers and going about his work seemed folly. Even if Claudia regains her mind, the monsters here will tear her apart. Why did I focus on such foolish obsession when... His thoughts trailed off as he behe
ld the peaceful, sleeping woman he cared so much for. It all felt justified from a simple glance, but it didn't change the peril they faced.
Michaels stared at Claudia. "Maybe there's something..."
"Huh?" Cass asked, confused.
Straightening his posture, feeling a resolve harden within him, Michaels said, "Yes. You stay here. Turn the lights out, and shove anything you can in front of the door. Make no sounds, and don't allow anyone inside."
Cass paled, swallowing hard. "For how long?"
"Until I return."
"What if you don't?"
Michaels paused at the doorway. "Then I presume they'll find you eventually. Do your best."
He closed the door behind him.
Already the sounds of shouting and struggle nearby seemed much louder and more threatening. A few friendly soldiers rushed by, carrying assorted makeshift weaponry. Michaels followed them, hoping to get to his lab unscathed.
Furious, brutal fighting filled the hallways, dozens of individuals locked in close combat. Michaels ducked in, around, and through the fracas. He avoided attention, pushing allied individuals toward foes who noticed him.
With the help of two hastily recruited friendlies, Michaels slipped through the brawl. Aside from a few minor bumps and scrapes, he sustained no injury.
Once inside his lab, he had the troops bar the doors with IV stands, rolling tables, and anything else handy. Pounding sounded from the outside on the heavily boarded windows near the ceiling of the lab, but there seemed to be no immediate danger of the cultists breaking through.
His eyes lit upon his goal and intention. Malcolm laid motionless, unconscious on the table. Staring at the odd creature who was once a former colleague, he murmured, "You're needed, Marcus. It's time to wake up."
Ransacking through the cabinets, Michaels withdrew a package containing a long syringe. He tore it open, moving over to Malcolm's side. "I don't know how he'll react, but I doubt it will be pleasant, so prepare yourselves," he said to the pair of soldiers.
Without further hesitation, Michaels lined up the proper entry location and jammed the long needle into the creature's chest. Depressing the plunger, the clear liquid poured into Malcolm's body: into his heart.
The creature's eyes flew wide open, and he burst out with a deafening bellow.
******
"You're welcome to stay here if you wish," Elijah said. "You'll share in the cycle of my punishment, but you'll be safe from the demons. They cannot reach us here."
Fat chance, Rick thought, watching the losing fight inside the halls of the Institute. There's no way they won't get up here eventually. "You can't think this has happened before. This isn't part of your cycle," he said.
Elijah sadly shook his head. "I have trouble remembering, these days. It's been so long, who is to say what has and has not happened during my time of punishment?"
"For God's sake, it's not even been half a year!" Rick shouted, pounding his fist on the console.
With a small shrug, Elijah replied, "As you say."
God dammit, there's gotta be a way out of this. Maybe... Rick sighed in frustration, flipping through the cameras. "What about Victor?" He tossed a gesture to the other body. "Is killing him over and over part of your punishment?"
Elijah drew in a sharp breath, his expression horrified. "No, of course not!"
"Then why is he here with you in Hell?" Rick didn't attempt to hide the scorn and mockery in his voice.
"Wha- well, he's here, of course-" Elijah stammered. "His body is here as a constant reminder of how my greatest... my greatest friend and ally sacrificed himself to my selfish ends. He embodies more than anything the consequences of my betrayal...
Elijah's tone deepened, filled with anger and remorse. "He is here to torture my memory, to prove that no matter how many times I choke the life from my bastard father..." he thrust a gesture at the corpse in the chair, "...I cannot bring him or anyone lost during the many years back."
Rick's mind still balked at the concept of Elijah killing Lange over and over. It makes sense with the resurrection thing, but why is it Victor hasn't come back?
"I'm so sorry, old friend." Elijah knelt at the large man's side. "I wish somehow... somehow I could make it right."
"Elijah," Rick asked. "How did Victor die?"
"Saving me," the older man replied. "My pride, my arrogance killed him."
Rick bit back a retort. "What killed him?"
Elijah sighed, gesturing to the walls. "Hidden projectors created a flood of the sterilization field's particles. A final effort by my father to thwart any who dared venture this far. Victor pushed me out of the way, but his entire body..."
Remembering Malcolm's arm, damaged much more deeply and for longer than any other injury he'd seen on the creature, Rick felt a surge of adrenaline course into his body. "Elijah... is this device still working... and can it be moved or positioned?"
The other man cocked his head. "No, I'm afraid not. I destroyed the projectors before I killed him, before I died myself. Either way, they wouldn't be able to be moved."
Rick's heart fell, a wave of heavy despair squeezing breath from his lungs. This can't be it, he stared at the futile, losing battle on the monitors. There must be...
One of the camera displays caught his eye. On screen, Rick saw Michaels shove a large syringe into Malcolm, and the creature appeared to release a horrific shriek. Rick imagined he could almost hear the agonized bellow.
Peering into the screen, the doc didn't look scared. Far from it, determination was etched across his features.
What's he up to? Rick wondered.
******
Malcolm's ear-splitting scream lasted for several seconds. Before Michaels could ponder whether or not pumping the creature full of adrenaline had been a less-than stellar idea, Malcolm reached out and grasped his throat.
Stars exploded in the researcher's eyes, breath squeezed off in an instant. Michaels never imagined such pain. Gagging for air, he struggled against the impossible, crushing grasp of the creature.
Blackness engulfed his vision. Sounds dulled, bleeding through the haze of his dying mind. He whispered apologies to Claudia and everyone else in his thoughts...
It took several seconds for Michaels to realize Malcolm no longer held him. Painful, wretched breaths dragged down his windpipe, and he opened his eyes.
Glaring down at him, featuring an expression of wild, psychotic rage, was Malcolm. The creature plucked the long syringe out of his chest, a rumbling growl escaping from his throat.
Why did I do this again? Michaels wondered, rubbing his throat.
"Malcolm," Michael's spoke in a strained half-whisper. "I'm... I'm sorry."
The creature released a snarl, causing the researcher to cringe backward. He clenched a fist, bearing down on the cowering man.
"Listen, listen!" Michaels threw up his hands to ward off attack. "It had to be done. Nigel- his people have breached the Institute. They'll kill everyone!"
Malcolm stiffened, tilting his head.
"You have to help us..." Michaels coughed, producing a sensation of broken glass sliding down his throat. "There are too many. We can't- we couldn't stop them."
Breath hissing in and out, Malcolm's body rippled with unspent fury. Energy boiled beneath his alien flesh, but he stared down at Michaels. "Howw?" His voice came out in a half-snarl.
Michaels cleared his throat, trying to ignore the wretched pain and the frightening creature looming over him. "I don't know how. They seem," he ran both hands across his thinning hair, "zealous to a fault. Perhaps Nigel himself is the key. Perhaps you can," he swallowed, wincing, "perhaps you can capture him, use him to negotiate or to draw them away. Anything to give us more time!"
A scowl developed on the creature's face, and he provided a single nod. Tensing, he leapt to the upper window of the lab, well-boarded and secured from enemy entry. Barely hindered, Malcolm smashed through it with ease and moved out of sight.
******
Quinton and a dozen others at her side, Kaylee punched, kicked, bashed, and fought with wild passion. She used anything and everything she could to stave off the attackers.
There are too many! her mind cried out as her body continued fighting. Whether pure adrenaline or enhancements from Malcolm's infection, she fought with strength and speed beyond anything she'd known before.
It made no difference.
One by one, her allies fell around her, unconscious or dying. Quinton grunted as knives slashed into his chest and abdomen. Fighting on, weakening with each passing second, two of the cultists leapt upon him, pounding and stabbing.
She lunged, smashing a shard of brick into one attacker's head. The man toppled off. Bellowing a battle cry, Kaylee turned to the other one.
Something hard struck her in the back of the head, and she lost all conscious thought in an instant.
******
The battle drew toward a close, and many of the weak and fearful prey surrendered, hoping for mercy.
Nigel spared their lives, for the moment, and he even ordered his people to leave them intact. There would be plenty of time to see to the unborn, once the entirety of the Institute was quelled.
As much as he enjoyed the frenzy and the feel of life crushed between his own hands, he allowed his followers to handle the assault. Though nothing could harm or stop him - not for very long, anyway - his people needed his wisdom, his guidance.
In spite of the formidable barricade, the front entrance smashed inward, and his followers swarmed inside. A few minutes of intense brawling later, the area became secure, and larger groups of his people moved to assist in other places.
Exodus (The Fall of Haven) Page 37
