“They’re catching up,” Zella observed at the distant sounds. “Should we find passage from this world, we must take it.”
“What of the others?”
“Flynn intended us to flee,” she replied. “We don’t know if they escaped as we did. It may not have been his intention to.”
Chari was doubtful. Flynn would risk considerable harm for his allies, but she’d not yet seen proof that he would casually lay down his life. She recalled the confrontation on the train.
“You don’t really believe that,” she told Zella.
Before her companion could reply, both were hushed by the sound of footsteps. Chari beckoned, and they retreated into deeper shadow. For several long minutes they waited, until a lone soldier happened by. Chari carefully raised her rifle, finding the girl in her sights.
There was yet a chance she might pass, failing to notice them.
“Aw, man…” she moaned. “I can’t believe I lost them! Veda’s gonna kill me!”
Chari had practiced more on stationary objects than anything else; one abrupt move and she would lose her mark. But her target spun in place, lost in the maze.
“She’s not an evil person,” Zella whispered in Chari’s ear. “She doesn’t deserve to die for this.”
Chari steeled herself, gritted her teeth. A miss would alert the soldier, who might alert her companions in turn. However little she deserved death, she had come down here knowing what might befall her. Only an idiot would have thought otherwise.
“She’s a soldier in a holy war.”
There was a burst of electricity, like a tiny crash of lightning, as each bullet was propelled from her rifle, only a small pause between them. One shot would have been enough, but Chari fired three, and the girl crumbled with a spray of blood.
A wave of sickness took Chari, but she quickly buried it, blaming the rank wetness of these dungeon-like tunnels. The girl did not stir as Chari and Zella left the shadows to approach her, and there was no noise indicating her comrades were about to bear down on them.
“She’s gone,” Zella observed in disappointment.
“It was necessary,” Chari replied. She knelt to feed some scrap metal from her pouch to the device affixed to the underside of the rifle. It warmed, issued some cryptic utterance, and melted the scrap to ammunition, replacing what she’d spent.
“Was it?” Zella asked as they set off down the passage once more. “You weren’t always a killer, were you?”
“I’ve yet to do such harm that I would call myself one now.” Chari didn’t want to argue the semantics of murder and self-defense. “Before Flynn, I had never taken another life, though I cannot claim for never having the want.”
They’d come to another crossroad, and Chari looked around. She had begun intuiting the logic in this labyrinth’s design, and suspected she might know which way to go.
“I ask you, Chariska Jerhas,” Zella posed. “Are you this way now because you chose it, or because it’s what someone else wishes you to be?”
Chari took offense at the question, but swallowed her retort. She did not like being vilified for having free will just because someone else didn’t approve of how she expressed it. On TseTsu, the church of the Goddess Hapané had nurtured this bitterness within her. She would not be shamed here for favoring her own survival.
“I’ve made my own decisions,” was all Chari said in response.
*
Leria felt like an idiot, hurrying through the tunnels. The chase had devolved into a scramble, with everyone around her dividing at every new juncture in hopes of finding the escapees. The frustration on everyone’s face assured Leria that she wasn’t alone in feeling stupid, and her sole relief was that she hadn’t been part of the few dozen who had managed to corner Mack and his friends. Word had traveled of a slaughter, and if she were fortunate enough to catch up, the last thing she wanted was a fight.
Now she found herself hurrying down a tunnel, on the trail of a Reahv’li who was more synth than skin. She had noticed others like him among their ranks, likely injured in some previous sortie and brought to Breth for recovery. He moved with perfect rhythm, his breathing so controlled that she had no doubt that nothing natural remained below his neck. As for Leria, her right leg burned with pain, and her left arm was only treating her a little better. Her breath was far less controlled, and her beating heart was ready to pound a hole through her chest.
She hadn’t learned her companion’s name, barely remembered his face. It made it easier when she stabbed him in the back, lunging to bury her spear and drive him to the ground. Flynn and Mack, who were now just ahead, turned at the sound to see her wrestling the pole loose, anticipating a tangle of circuits that would leave the man crippled until he was repaired.
Instead, there was more blood than there should have been. Though there were synthetic organs inside, his skin and so many original parts remained that Leria lost her grip and clasped her hand over her mouth, stifling the scream about to erupt.
“Ler?” A distant voice called.
When her senses returned, Leria was unsure how long she’d sat there, transfixed by the horror of what she’d done. Mack hunched over her, a sympathetic look on his face and a hand extended to help her up. Through her bleary eyes, Leria saw Flynn approaching from behind him.
“You’ve gotten yourself into a mess,” he commented.
“Come on,” Mack offered. “Let’s get’cha out of here.”
Leria’s hand trembled fiercely as she reached for Mack. As he clasped it, she felt his touch through her synthetic skin, detected his distinct warmth in those cold passages. She still trembled, but calmed a little. Flynn, meanwhile, picked up her spear.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she whispered, still in shock. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did! I just wanted a place I could finally belong.”
Flynn nodded in understanding, but it was Mack who smiled kindly and told her, “We all do.” They beckoned Leria to follow, and she did.
They hadn’t even rounded the next corner when the entire tower shook.
*
Jean’s flesh was inflamed with cuts and bruises, and they burned more fiercely as her temper subsided. It had been like falling down a skyscraper, one floor at a time. She had
reached the bottom, landing in a shallow pool of stale salt water. There was no light, save for a flickering lamp several stories above. She reached out until she felt the lip of a step and crawled over to it, rolling out and tumbling onto her back. Her clothes stuck to her skin, made worse by the coldness of the depths.
“Fuuuuuck…” she groaned.
As she lay there, she lost track of time. She knew she needed to find her friends. Without Flynn, she’d be stuck on Breth. But she also knew they wouldn’t leave without her—even if Flynn was ready to give up and go, Mack wouldn’t leave her trailing in the wind. Funny business, she thought with a chuckle. The two guys I’m most pissed at right now.
The sound of a metal pipe being struck somewhere above shook Jean from her stupor. She had forgotten about Arronel, having lost track of him in the scuffle. As she sat up, all she could conclude was that they’d fallen apart somewhere along the way.
Jean stumbled back into the pool and fished around until she found her mace, summarily holstering it. She zipped her jacket up tight, hoping trapped body heat would dry her clothes faster, or at least warm her up a bit. She had to walk with slow, careful steps, to avoid tripping on any pipes running underfoot. She kept a hand close to the wall, sliding along it with every step.
“You shrew,” Arronel’s voice came from somewhere above. Jean looked up, before remembering how dark it was. There was a distant light, flickering. “Drawing me into your vendetta, separating me from my soldiers.”
“What’cha doin’ up there, fuck-head?” Jean asked. “Can ya see in the dark now?”
“For the moment,” Arronel confirmed.
Jean had no clue what that meant. So she gave warning that Arronel
should keep his distance; the tower shook.
“Don’t think I won’t drown us, asshole,” she warned.
“I have no intention of dying here. You are not my prey, merely an obstacle to it.”
Jean walked. Arronel, for the most part, remained silent above her. She kept one hand to the wall at all times, until she reached a juncture that would guide her away from the outer wall. It was lighter now, and she looked up to see Arronel in the shadows, his eyes possessing some animalistic sheen they hadn’t before. In the past, Arronel had transmuted cloven hands and bone-plated forearms; this didn’t seem beyond him.
“Go on,” he goaded. “Run.”
Jean looked down the hall, as far as she could. Her palm unconsciously drifted for a moment before slamming back against the wall. Nothing shook, just the sound of flesh slapping stone. There were figures in the distance; they might be her friends, and for the first time she was regretting the rashness of picking the fight that she had. The scar on her forearm seemed to matter less now.
“Do it…”
Her leg bent forward in preparation. It was tempting to find out if she could outmaneuver Arronel, who seemed ready to drop and impale her. Yet the idea lingered of him missing his mark, and that worry turned to irritation. Jean sent a pulse through her hand and Arronel had to adjust his footing as the tower shifted subtly.
She looked up at him and grinned. She couldn’t see his face, and had no clue if it was indifference or worry or speculation that had crossed it, but in a moment, it wouldn’t matter. Jean had an idea. She took a deep breath.
The first pulse burst through her right hand. Cracks raced through the wall, and Jean knew she only had a moment to make things work. She lunged from the wall, but neither as far nor as fast as her hunter likely anticipated. Both her palms struck the ground, and the entire structure shook.
And then Jean ran, her boots echoing through the corridor. Arronel stumbled and crashed to the ground behind her, and she was sorely tempted to look back as he screamed, “You duplicitous bitch!”
He began racing after her, though no longer as her stalker. The wall had ruptured, chunks of concrete crashed to the ground, and seawater began leaking through the cracks.
*
In the lowest depths of the submerged tower, where ocean sands rose against the tall windows, Flynn had never felt so relieved to find a rift to another world. Mack and Leria followed him down one of a pair of L-shaped staircases into the basin of a massive chamber: the way station’s absolute bottom. Panes of tempered glass walled the stairs and upper pathways, reflecting light from the dim lamps installed above.
“This is it,” Leria declared. “Dead end.”
Flynn shook his head. “It’s not.” He walked to a service tunnel, hardly taller than any of them, and halted. “It’s just down there, the way from Breth and our pursuers.”
“I don’t see anything.”
Leria was clearly vexed, so Mack patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ler, it’s there—waitin’ just for us!” And then, Mack turned to Flynn, “Speakin’ of us…”
“I know.” Flynn handed back Leria’s makeshift spear, its cheap, silvery surface stained with bloody fingerprints. Some were his, most were hers. She reluctantly accepted. “We need to hold the fort.”
Leria understood enough to nod. At first, Flynn and Mack wandered the room, while Leria took position at one of the staircases. “Guys?” Mack would sometimes yell. “Jeannie! Zajers! Charsy? Poesy?” Luring their friends was as likely as alerting their enemies. It was a matter of who got there first.
Luck was not on their side. Several Reahv’li appeared above, and immediately retreated upon being seen. “Mack!” Flynn yelled, and the two raced up the stairs. Yet when they found themselves once more on the upper level, the witnesses had been dispatched. Zaja and Poe looked at them in surprise.
“You made it,” Flynn said with relief.
“It seems we did,” Poe nodded.
“More or less,” Zaja agreed.
Poe spied Leria as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Her.” She scrambled back, falling against the stairway she was meant to be watching. Flynn stepped between her and Poe’s outstretched Dark Sword.
“She’s not our enemy anymore,” Flynn stated. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” Zaja asked in disbelief.
“You should understand the kinds of misunderstandings people like us can have,” he reminded her.
“When I was thinking about changing sides, I didn’t try and stab you!” Zaja said defensively. She pointed an accusatory finger at Leria. “She did! She stabbed you!”
Leria gulped. Flynn looked back at her, then turned to Zaja.
“I got better.” He winced, wanting to drop the discussion. “We’ll sort this later. The gate from Breth is that way. Wait there. The others haven’t caught up.”
“Chariska and Zella?” Poe asked.
“And Jeannie,” Mack firmly added.
Poe looked as if he wanted to say something on that, but a sudden tremor running through the tower put a stop to anything he might have offered. He turned, his cloak sweeping behind him, and led Zaja down the tunnel. It wasn’t long after when Chari and Zella arrived. Flynn pointed the way, stopping Zella long enough to tell her, “Open the way, get on through. I’ll catch up with you once Jean has arrived.”
Zella nodded, and hurried with Chari to join Poe and Zaja, when Mack declared, “Mack ain’t goin’ ‘til Jeannie’s here to be goin’ with.”
Although eager to witness the miracle that could spirit her away from all this, Leria hesitated at his words. Then, a distant sound tore her attention away, something uncertain.
Flynn’s ears pricked up. “Sounds like…”
“…running water?” Mack suggested, finishing his thought.
Seconds later, a trickle ran down the stairs on the right side of the room. As Flynn approached to investigate the oddity, the trickle became a stream and pounding footsteps swelled from the opposite side, a storm of Reahv’li flooding in.
“Don’t let them get through!” Flynn ordered, and Mack and Leria scrambled to the stairs, fighting them off. Reluctant to spill any more blood, Leria used her weapon as a broad pole to hold them back. Between the angle and the crowd that was trying to force their way down, it was difficult for the Reahv’li at the fore to do anything to fight back. Mack used a free hand to snatch and toss their weapons away while leaning in to help Leria. Even so, there were too many pushing against them. Flynn was about to join them when a single set of footsteps running through the water halted him in place.
The sound of the rushing river swelled, and with it came Jean, who collided into the glass wall before turning and tumbling down the stairs, grunting in pain as she twisted her ankle in landing.
“Jean!”
Sea water poured down the stairs, flooding the basin, and Flynn rushed to Jean’s side, helping her stand. She staggered forward with his support, too weary and dazed to notice her surroundings. Leria and Mack were being driven back, and Flynn hurried past them, guiding Jean into the tunnel.
“We all here?” she asked.
“All of us,” he confirmed. “We need to leave, now!”
By this time, the water was up to their ankles. Neither Leria nor Mack had joined them, but the Reahv’li had not yet broken through, either. At Flynn’s last glance, Mack had taken up an abandoned sledgehammer, and both he and Leria fought aggressively to keep their assailants at bay.
Flynn and Jean were halfway down the tunnel with water up to their knees by the time the rift opened—he would get Jean through, then fall back for the others. He had worked it out. There was still time.
Two sets of footsteps thrashed behind them. Hopeful, Flynn turned, keeping Jean supported as he did. Mack and Leria were still holding the line, but two Reahv’li had slipped through. Just as the claws inched through his fingers, he realized he had made one fatal miscalculation.
Ya know what I’m
gonna do.
Jean didn’t need to say it. Two Reahv’li were running for them, and all she needed to do was reach out, touch the wall. Cracks burst through the tunnel like veins, sprouting and wrapping around large chunks of stone that fell to create a barrier between them and their pursuers. Air and water alike were choked with dust, and through the dirt that clung to her face, Jean wore a self-satisfied smile. She hadn’t yet realized what she had done.
The flooding would grow worse on the other side. All Flynn could do now was finish what he’d started. He walked Jean the rest of the way—there was no longer any reason to hurry. After helping her through, he followed. There was no point in looking back.
CHAPTER FIVE: Innocent Things
Salt water poured through the rift like a stout waterfall, washing away the moss and mixing with the fetid water of a sunlit swamp. Flynn had nearly drowned on arrival and, upon forcing himself above the water line, gasped for air as he tried to take in his surroundings. Jean surfaced nearby, rising up and whipping her head back, the moss clinging to her hair, her face. Flynn suddenly, violently choked, coughing up some of the rank water he’d swallowed.
“Ha ha! What a fuckin’ landing! Like to see ’em follow us now!”
The conduit to Breth remained open behind Flynn, and he glanced slowly back at it. Part of him hoped that, despite all odds, their missing comrades would yet emerge. He swiftly abandoned that hope, and instead looked ahead. Old blocks of concrete, Brethian in origin, littered the swamp. It was as though something had blasted them through centuries prior, moss and fungus overwhelming their every side, hanging off the rusted rebar that jutted menacingly outward. Seawater continued to flow through the rift until Flynn gained enough distance that it closed.
The others were waiting, perched across the old stones and the trunk of an ancient tree that had long since fallen. All eyes were on them.
“You both made it.” Chari spoke reluctantly. “It … it had been a spell, and we began to fear the worst.”
“I see Jean caught up,” Poe commented. “I welcome your return.”
Killers, Traitors, & Runaways: Outcasts of the Worlds, Book II Page 11
