by S T Branton
“For what it’s worth,” Veronica chimed in, “I think Deacon’s right, but it’s complete and utter bullshit. I guarantee they’d follow you if you were a man. Hell, they’d follow Deacon sooner.” She huffed and rolled her eyes.
“I’m not the boss here,” the agent said quickly. “Vic’s run this circus since day one.”
Veronica smirked. “Good answer.”
I snorted. “You’re right, Veronica, and when I have time to think about it, I’ll be pissed. But right now, we have to find out what’s what. And if my fears are confirmed, we need proof. Enough to convince the others that the danger inside these walls is greater than the danger outside.”
“That’s a tall order.” She watched me with her sage-green eyes, running her fingers through her hair. “If you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears.”
It was my turn to smirk. “Actually, I think I know exactly where to start.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
After breakfast, what seemed like every civilian in the fort was herded into the common rooms and divided into groups to help prepare for the feast. Assigned to decoration duty, I marched back to the feast hall with a chatty gaggle of mostly women. If anyone has seen my old loft in Brooklyn, they wouldn’t have trusted me to decorate a damn thing.
Our first major task involved cleaning up the meal that had just finished, which was fine by me. It gave me a chance to scope out more of the fort’s less-accessible areas.
Very quickly, I learned that the general really wasn’t kidding when he said they had everything they needed at Fort Sigel. From what I could see as I stacked dishes at the serving window, the kitchen stretched far back into the bowels of the building. The door to a storage room stood open beyond the industrial ovens, its interior shelves lined with non-perishable items. Refrigerator and freezer units hummed steadily in the background while I worked.
My natural desire to pursue any and all intel about a given location urged me to find a way to sneak off and scope things out, but I couldn’t. Not only was the place teeming with people who could see me without even trying, but we already had a plan in motion.
Actually, the mess hall was the perfect place for me. It enabled me to keep an eye out for the others and watch things in general. Thus far, it looked like everyone was so busy following instructions that we might not have needed our grand distraction after all.
A smiling middle-aged woman walked up to me as I turned away from the kitchen window and dumped rolls of streamers into my arms. “Do me a favor and hang these up, will you, sweetie? Make it like bunting if you could. Nice and festive. There’s a stepladder over in the corner there.” She fished out some double-sided tape from the pocket of her apron. “Here you go, dear. Have fun. Don’t be afraid to get creative.”
I didn’t know the first fucking thing about bunting, but I smiled and accepted the task. The last birthday party I’d been to with streamers had been like ten years ago, and I hadn’t been involved in the decorations. I was only there for the cake and ice cream.
Determined to remain inconspicuous, I headed for the wall, grabbed the stepladder, and got to work taping crepe paper to the sterile white paint of the hall. My streamers hung like saggy old-man balls—wrinkled, uneven, and flopping around every which way. Whatever. I was a god-killer, not a fucking interior decorator.
Nearby, a bunch of families had been roped into making centerpieces at a long table, and as I got closer, I recognized a few of the couples.
“Hey,” I called from my stepladder perch as I secured more shitty-looking streamers. “Nice to see you guys. How are you doing?”
When they realized who I was, they all smiled broadly. The general air of happiness and relief was catching on like fire. I hadn’t seen so many people this relaxed since before the Forgotten showed up in force. Their contentment was as heartbreaking as my decorations. They had no idea how much danger they were in. It only intensified my resolve to get to the bottom of things.
“Isn’t this place awesome?” one of the men asked. His grin, sheathed in a shaggy woodsman’s beard, stretched from ear to ear. “I’m glad as hell we found it. Not sure I could have taken another week of sleeping on mud and rocks.” He nudged his wife. “Right, Mandy? Those nights were getting pretty nippy.”
She laughed as if the whole thing was comparable to a bad vacation. “Oh, my gosh, I thought my toes would fall off. I can’t believe that was only two days ago, and now we’re preparing for a banquet.” She beamed at me. “It’s all so exciting. Things have turned around for us so much in such a short time. I feel like we’ve been blessed.” She attached a neatly folded paper flower to a stem and stuck it into the empty vase on the table beside her.
Her husband raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be happy as long as we’re not waking up to bodies in the camp,” he said bluntly.
Mandy swatted his arm, her expression disapproving. “Theo, don’t talk like that.”
He shrugged. “What? The situation’s changed. We’re obviously not in danger anymore. I might as well say what I think.”
She rolled her large dark eyes. “Please excuse him. He likes to play the pessimist.”
“Oh, come on.” Theo’s flower was not as delicate as his wife’s, but he gave it to her to put in the vase anyway. She took one look at it and began to fuss over the folds. He glanced at me. “All I’m saying is that I’m glad to be out of range of whatever killed people back in the forest.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.” Neither of us mentioned how the murders were never solved—that elephant was still in the room—but things were so comparatively good at Fort Sigel that nobody seemed to care. The hardships were fading rapidly into memories.
Maybe too rapidly. I went back to hanging streamers with a churning in my gut. I was itching to move on more than usual, and I wished I had some way to communicate with my team. “Marcus,” I whispered. “Can you call the crew?”
To rectify the hideous display you have adhered to the walls? I believe there is no hope for that.
I rolled my eyes. “Real fucking funny, old man. I’d like to see you do a better job. Oh, wait. You no longer have a body.”
Even without hands, I believe I could do a superior job.
I laughed. “Okay, I deserved that, but can you please focus? I need to talk to my friends, and I can’t leave. Can you, like, psychically call them?”
The only one with whom I have practiced such communication is Maya, and she remains on an auxiliary assignment. I doubt that the call would be detectable in an area as energy-dense as this to the untrained mind.
“Damn,” I muttered. “It was worth a shot.”
I applaud the evolution in your thinking, he said. Unlike your depressing attempts at creating a festive atmosphere.
“Goddammit, Marcus, I’m trying,” I said.
And failing.
I chuckled at his ball-breaking comments as I made my way along the wall, taping streamers as delicately as I could. I wanted to hang one nice-looking streamer so I could throw it in my centurion friend’s face, but the task was infinitely more difficult since I kept glancing around the mess hall. I hoped to catch a glimpse of Steph or Veronica signaling that our plan was moving forward. Then, all I had to do was open a certain door.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. At the fifteen-minute mark, jitters kicked up in my chest, and a dozen worst-case scenarios ran through my head. The general must have been onto us from the beginning. He’d intercepted them while they were setting up our little scheme, and now, he would come for me. On instinct, I put my hand to my belt. The Gladius Solis was still not there.
I cringed, remembering that the officer, my current Public Enemy Number One, had duped me out of it before I’d even set foot inside the fort. If the whole operation went south from there, I had no one to blame but myself.
Eyes up, Victoria. Our allies are entering.
My roll of streamers was about to run out. “Perfect timing,” I said, taping the end haphazardly and hopping down off the
ladder.
Veronica’s intense head of hair stood out, bobbing in my general direction. I angled myself so we would “just happen” to cross paths on my way to return the stepladder to its corner.
She smiled and winked when she saw me. “Ready to get this show on the road?” she asked.
“Understatement of the year,” I told her.
She glanced at the wall behind me and wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, what’s going on with these decorations?”
“Shut it, Big Red,” I said through gritted teeth. “Where’s Frank?”
She brought her focus back to the task at hand. “In position with the double payload. We briefed him on everything. He’s very excited.”
I snorted. “All right. I’m gonna go pull the pin.”
We separated. I weaved my way toward the door on the right and saw that Steph had beaten me there. She gave me a look of subtle inquiry, and I nodded.
In one quick motion, so fast I almost didn’t see it, she flashed her hand out and pulled the door ajar. Instantly, the air filled with wild bleating as the blurred shape of a baby goat rocketed into the hall.
For about a second, the intrusion went more or less unnoticed. Then a gruff voice bellowed out, “Hey! Get back here, you ugly little devil. Jeezum Crow!”
Frank barreled in, his jowly face bright red from exertion, wheezing like a freight train. He was hot on the heels of a second goat that took to its new freedom with unrestrained joy, tearing through the busy throng.
“Ah, shit.” The mobster stumbled forward, catching the edge of his hat as it tumbled off his head. Laughter and screams of surprise and delight pierced the general hubbub.
“Excuse me,” he said, wading into the crowd. “Excuse me. Pardon me, ma’am. I’m sorry, sir. Goat problems. You understand.” He made a grab for the first goat as it streaked past his knees, but he missed and toppled over. Frank lay sprawled on his ample stomach on the floor, and his face turned even redder. “Damn it to hell. Don’t make me chase you.”
The goats disobeyed gleefully and slalomed between table legs, their hooves clattering on the tile. A crowd formed inside the crowd. The large man pushed himself to his feet and lunged after his fleeing livestock. He was neither aerodynamic nor graceful, and the limited space didn’t allow him much freedom of movement. Tables and benches flew across the floor with surprising force. I could hear him shouting like a freight train, swearing up a storm. For the moment, the thought of children’s innocent ears had slipped the mobster’s mind.
“Why’d it have to be fuckin’ goats? You smelly little shits. I’d shoot ya if I had my gun.”
The kids, of course, found this whole scene utterly hilarious. I watched until he knocked a whole table over with his lurching super strength, then I slipped away unnoticed through the exit. Someone else waited for me outside in the hall.
“Sounds like Frank got a real party started in there,” Deacon remarked. “I’m kind of sorry we have to miss it.”
“With any luck, we’ll be back before he catches them,” I said. “Let’s get out of here. That old war room won’t break and enter itself.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Still no sign of Dan or his boys?” I asked on the way. Since the whole fort had been commissioned to help with the feast, the halls were mercifully empty. Still, we stuck as much to the shadows as we could, just in case.
“Not one.” Deacon frowned. “I have a real bad feeling about all this shit, Vic.”
“That’s why we’re on our way to figure it out,” I said. We picked the pace up a little, and in a matter of minutes, we slipped out the side door near the garden. “Keep an eye out for guards. They can really sneak up on you.”
The watchtowers were also a concern, but there wasn’t anything we could do about those. We made ourselves as small as possible and darted across the vacant yard. The close-cropped grass made practically no sound beneath our feet.
“How is this going down?” Deacon asked softly once we were within a few yards of the abandoned building’s wall. He looked closely at the chained front door. “That’s a pretty serious lock. Too bad you—” He stopped short and pressed his lips together.
“Too bad I what?” I demanded under my breath, side-eyeing the shit out of him. “Too bad I willingly surrendered my magic sword that would’ve cut through this in a second?”
“Those are your words, not mine,” he answered.
I huffed. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty, jackass.” He chuckled and stopped when I said, “Bet you I don’t even need the sword anyway.”
“Oh, so you’re the Hulk now, too? Well, Hulk-smash this fucker already.” He followed me toward the door.
“Watch your back,” I warned. “They got me right around here last time. The towers are manned.”
Deacon glanced over his shoulder, his brows knitted. “How much personnel does this bastard have?” he muttered.
I tuned him out and shook my hands to loosen them up, rolling my wrists in anticipation. The chain was old and rusty, oxidizing in places from constant exposure to the elements. The coarse surface grated on my palms. I took a deep breath, drew all my strength inward, and channeled it down my arms.
May the nectar of Carcerum guide you, Marcus intoned sagely.
“If this doesn’t work,” I replied, “I’ll look stupid as hell. And I’m gonna be pissed.”
At my back, Deacon said, “Whoa, wait, are you for real?”
Instead of answering him, I clenched my teeth and pulled with all my might. At first, the natural response to the limit of my human strength was pain. Undaunted, I tightened my grip and squeezed my eyes shut. Then I felt the nectar kick in like a car’s turbo engine, and raw energy hummed through my veins. The thick chain scraped against the door. It began to strain in my grasp. I stifled the urge to emit an earth-shattering war cry or to howl at the moon.
“Damn,” Deacon whispered.
Another breath poured into my lungs. Images of the overturned bus in New York City splashed across the inside of my eyelids. I had lifted the whole side of that thing, so breaking this chain ought to be a piece of cake. The links creaked and groaned. Heat seemed to sizzle off my skin. Each second went on forever until I finally heard it—the thunderous, telltale snap of victory.
“Yes!” The chain went slack in my hands, and I dropped it to the grass. As I opened my eyes, I noticed a faint, radiant glow fading from my arms. The giddy rush of dopamine into my brain made me want to kick a car in half. I was pumped. I turned around and grinned at my companion. “Now who’s the fucking Hulk?”
“Holy shit.” He eyed the broken lengths of chain at my feet. “Remind me not to make you angry. God damn.”
“I knew you’d like it. Let’s go.” Placing one hand on the newly unburdened door, I pushed it open gently, peering around into the room. A faint smell of must invaded my nose.
“Hey, you got a light?” I asked. The whole swordless excursion made me realize how much I’d come to rely on the Gladius Solis. Weapon, all-purpose demolisher, ambient torch—it was basically Kronin’s Swiss army knife.
My friend stepped up beside me and pressed the button on his Maglite, flooding the chamber with a bright white cone. “See? You need me for something after all.”
“Duh, I need someone to be impressed by my feats of strength,” I retorted. It was sort of fun to be one-on-one with Deacon again, just the two of us, like co-stars in a buddy-cop movie. Not that I would ever have admitted it to him.
That brief feeling of levity quickly evaporated when I looked around the inside of the building. I’d expected something official—a long table emblazoned with a crest and screens and maps covering the walls. There was none of that. All we saw were cobwebs and piles of boxes.
“This is a warehouse,” I said out loud. “What the hell?” We moved deeper into the room in sync, Deacon sweeping his light into the corners. “Why did he tell me it was top brass only?”
“Let’s check the boxes,” he suggested. “It could have more to
do with what’s inside them.”
I shook my head. “No, I knew it. That old prick was lying out his ass the whole time.” The creeping suspicion that something was fishy exploded into full-blown certainty. “No way would there be a war room separate from the actual fortress in a place like this.”
Agreed, said Marcus. He must have assumed that your lack of military experience would lead you to believe whatever he said. The title of general does imbue his words with a certain weight. His tone grew dismissive. It does not, however, transform this act of fraud into truth.
“Why would he lie about it, though? He could have simply said it was extra storage.” I walked to one of the boxes and folded back the top flaps. Dry rations were stacked inside. Other containers had water, linen sets, batteries. “Yeah, these are all more supplies. That’s, like, the least weird thing for him to have in here.”
“I don’t know about that,” Deacon countered. “Strange that they’d be out here, so far away from the rest of the fort. If there were an emergency and people were trapped in the main building, all of these would be out of reach.” He studied the boxes. “There’s enough room in the main complex to store these in a more accessible location, even if they’re in a corner somewhere. That seems like the most logical thing to do.”
“Maybe this is a contingency plan?” I suggested. “In case the opposite scenario happened and everyone had to leave the fort?”
“I doubt it.” The agent shook his head. “The guy seems to think you could drop an atom bomb on this place and it’d be fine. He doesn’t have any contingencies. I don’t think he’s a general, either.”
“True, but he could have been saying all that to try to make us feel safe,” I said, rifling through more boxes as I talked. The fourth one I opened had a host of glass tubes in it, each one labeled with the word “ricin” on the side. They were filled with a fine white powder.