by Lizzy Ford
Armed and ready to face every kind of threat, I struck off at a jog towards the battle. I chose a quiet area to enter the contested street and slinked through the shadows, close to buildings, in the direction where the phone had been located. The closer I got, the more concerned I became. What had Tommy meant by underground? According to the map, he was south of the junction of the Beltway and Colesville Road, a major vein leading from Maryland into northern DC. The road was above ground at every point.
A firefight erupted in front of me between two factions stationed across the street from one another. Both were hidden in multi-story business buildings, and I waited for the exchange to end. More weapons began firing, and I slid back the way I had come to circle the building.
Chink. Cement from the wall beside my torso exploded into dust. My gaze snapped upward in the direction of the rooftop across the street. Someone had thought to place a sniper there, one who seemed to think I was his enemy.
Backpedaling, I dived for cover behind a car. Two more bullets pierced through the car and slammed into the cement of the building nearby. I scrambled up and darted for the alley, picking up speed as I bolted down its long, dark length. Irritated, I bolted to the next street over, where no battles were raging, and ran parallel, determined to reach Tommy’s position the fastest way possible.
I stopped once to gauge how close I was and checked the phone before tucking it away and breaking perpendicular towards the contested street. The fighting here was worse, and I cautiously moved down another dark alley, unwilling to alert those in the buildings across the street to my presence. When I neared the end of the alley, I saw what Tommy meant. Part of Colesville Road had collapsed beneath a massive sinkhole, too dark and deep for me to see into. Debris from the crash littered the area around the hole, and I studied my best route of approach, uncertain how anyone survived when the chopper’s engine was in pieces. The amount of force and speed required to shatter an engine meant it had plummeted to the ground from a high elevation or at full speed or both.
I counted fourteen active shooters, most with semi-automatic assault rifles, one sniper, and two with machine guns, on the other side of the street, capable of taking me down before I reached the hole. If there were additional men present, they were lying low.
Bodies littered the ground, all of them armed, all of them close to the hole. It hit me then that maybe those fighting were also trying to get to, or protect, whoever or whatever had fallen into the hole. If I had time, I could determine if one of these factions was protecting the hole and negotiate with them.
But I couldn’t think of anything except reaching Tommy before someone else did.
Easing back, I listened to the sounds of gunshots and mentally reviewed where the various shooters were located. Of everything I was prepared to handle, rappelling was not one of them, which left me with one alternative: jumping.
I grabbed two shrapnel hand grenades and a smoke grenade from the strap across my chest and balanced on my feet. A lull in the firefight indicated at least one side was reloading. Pulling the pin on the smoke grenade, I launched forward and flung it to the edge of the hole.
I pulled a second pin and flung the grenade into the bottom floor of the building nearest me, then threw the third across the street onto the main floor. Before either went off, I was firing with my handgun, hoping to confuse my opponents long enough for me to make it to the hole. The smoke grenade went off before the sniper found me. His bullet grazed my torso and threw me off balance. I wobbled and then threw myself straight toward the hole, dropping into it just as a second bullet whizzed by my temple.
I didn’t fall far and executed a perfect roll when I did hit the ground, bounding to my feet with weapons drawn and senses straining. A blue glow came from one direction, and I started towards it. Glass crunched beneath my boots, and I carefully stepped over chunks of metal and what remained of the helicopter. I expected to be in the sewers running beneath the street, but the area I was in was much larger, an underground chamber fifty feet wide with at least two tunnels leading into the darkness. It was too long for me to tell how far it extended beneath the streets.
The glow came from forty feet away, from behind a mass of either debris or partition six feet high and several feet wide. I crept towards it, listening for any sounds indicating the battle aboveground had found its way here.
I halted at the sudden, subtle scrape of metal against leather from behind me. Holding my breath, I heard the crunch of glass across the dark space to my right. If reading people was my sixth sense, my seventh was an otherworldly knack for survival. Killing was a highly effective tool to someone like me, one requiring unerring precision, solid instincts, foresight, resolve and lack of inhibition. Within the course of seconds, I was able to determine a dangerous foe from a harmless bystander, the distance and size of an attacker, how well he or she was armed, and the amount of force it would require to subdue or kill my target.
The dark required me to listen more diligently to my instincts, but I soon pinpointed the threat closing in around me as well as the danger ahead. I slid a knife silently from its sheath, double checked the locations of the men around me, and acted.
I threw the knife into the throat of the attacker across the expanse from me then whirled and dropped to one knee, firing my handgun at the man behind me. Both dropped where they stood before either could react. But firing my weapon caused a secondary problem. It alerted those ahead of me that someone was coming for them.
I was on my feet a second after I heard a cry from the direction of the glow. I circled the obstacle blocking me from seeing what was going on and immediately threw myself down to avoid someone’s kick. Three men, all armed. I let my instincts guide me and tore through two of them, putting a bullet in the head of one, the neck of another and smashing the third in the knee. When he dropped, I snatched his head, twisted and snapped his neck.
Releasing him, I looked around for any other attacker, my senses trained on my surroundings. When certain it was safe, I straightened.
A boy with Dosy’s dark skin and my bright green eyes was staring up at me from several feet away. He was crouched beside a wall, holding his phone, which was set to a blue flashlight. I had seen pictures of him before, whenever Dosy would send them, but he had never appeared like this: with dirt on his features, bloody clothing and an expression of fear on his face.
A strange feeling slid though me, accompanied by a memory from my childhood. Raised by drug addicts on a farm, I learned to fear adults when I was Tommy’s age and how to kill a few years later, after my father used me to bait his fighting dogs. I had no good memories of my childhood, and my first few years were nothing but a blur of confusion, fear and honing instincts that somehow kept me alive until I was old enough to fight back.
Tommy was staring at me the way I used to stare at the adults who beat and tortured me. I had given him up for the sole reason that I feared becoming what my parents had been and transmitting our mental illness to him.
Seeing the scared look on his face, I realized, on some small level, I was not like my parents and never would be. I couldn’t witness my son’s fear and continue to hurt him or ignore whatever was scaring him. Everything I’d ever done with regards to Tommy had been to protect him from people like me, to prevent him from understanding or fearing the world as he did now. I wanted him to have a chance at a good life. In this, I was aware of how my influence might taint him, unlike my parents, who hadn’t cared about the boy they didn’t want.
I sucked in a deep breath and reigned in the indescribable, sudden fury coursing through my veins. Was I angry with my parents? Or with myself, for failing to protect Tommy from the nightmares of the real world?
Replacing my weapons where they belonged, I crossed to Tommy.
He cowered away, against the wall, his eyes wide.
“Hi, Tommy,” I said and slowed my approach. I knelt in front of him. “You called me, remember?”
He gave a half-hearted nod. His ha
nds were shaking.
“Are you hurt?” I asked again, eyeing the fresh blood on his shirt.
He shook his head.
“Where’s your mother?”
He pointed towards the darkness, and I made out the mouth of a dark hallway nearby.
“Show me.”
Tommy stood. He was trembling, but he didn’t move as if he were in pain. After seeing what remained of the helicopter, I didn’t know how it was possible for him to have survived.
I stood and followed him. Oblivious to the danger tracking us, he made more noise walking ten feet than I did my entire journey to find him. My senses indicated no one else was present, but I wasn’t about to draw anyone’s attention needlessly, either. I picked up Tommy and shifted him to one hip while I walked with disciplined silence towards the hallway.
I didn’t have to ask him where we were going; another glowing phone lit up a room ahead, its light spilling into the hallway.
“I told you to stay by your mother, didn’t I?” I asked him, irritated he had unknowingly placed himself in danger.
“I was waiting for you.”
I glanced at him in the dark. “Next time, do what I tell you.”
“But what if you got lost?”
“I’m a lot older than you, an adult, which means I won’t get lost.”
“But mommy gets lost, and she’s old, too.”
So she hasn’t changed. I snorted. Theodocia was one of those book smart types who was often on some other intellectual planet and never fully integrated to the real world.
I walked into the small room, taking in the bodies stretched out on the floor. Theodocia, a teen girl, a pilot with his headset in place, and another man, armed and wearing an earpiece, were all unconscious and neatly lined up beside one another.
“How did they get here from the crash site?” I asked Tommy. Setting him down, I crossed to Theodocia first. She hadn’t aged in seven years, and I checked her pulse. She was alive. Mild relief trickled through me, and I gently scoured her body for any injuries. She sustained minor scrapes and bruises but no other damage.
Tommy wasn’t answering.
Twisting from my position crouching between Theodocia and the girl, I saw him standing in front of the doorway, clutching the phone.
“You’re safe, Tommy,” I told him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I can handle anything that comes near us.”
He didn’t move. Sensing his distress, I pulled my smallest knife free and rose, crossing to him. I knew nothing about comforting kids and wasn’t interested in coddling anyone, even my own son.
“Take this,” I said.
He looked up at me then down at the knife.
“It’s up to you and me to protect these people, including your mommy,” I said gruffly. “Your job is to stand guard over there. This knife is magic. It protects you and anyone you’re close to, so stay close to your mom. Understand?”
Tommy nodded and studied the knife. “It can kill people.”
“Yeah. So be careful. Don’t drop it.”
Tommy obediently went to stand close to his mother.
I checked the pilot next. He, too, was alive, with no sign of major injury and out cold. How had any of these people survived?
“How did they get in here?” I asked Tommy, puzzled by the way the four were lined up. None of them awoke when I jostled them to check for serious injuries, which led me to believe they’d been unresponsive for some time.
“It’s complicated.”
“You’re six. What do you know about complicated?” I looked up, amused.
Tommy was gazing at his mother, worried.
“She’s okay, Tommy,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment, watching me, and then spoke hesitantly. “Are you my daddy?”
Kneeling beside the teen girl, I felt for her pulse. My kid seemed smarter than I thought a six year old should be. Then again, his mother was brilliant, and I knew nothing about kids.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Thanatos said you would come.”
“Thanatos?” I bristled. “That your mommy’s boyfriend or something?”
Tommy giggled but didn’t answer.
Agitated by the whole situation, I checked the remaining unconscious man and then stood back. I had two options: searching the dark halls for a way out and risking someone finding Tommy before I could return for him, or staying here until daylight, when finding a route to escape would be easier. I didn’t care about anyone else here, except for Tommy’s mom, who I didn’t want to leave behind but would if the choice was between saving Tommy’s life and putting him in danger.
One of the four unconscious survivors groaned, and Tommy darted to the side of the teen girl. “Phoibe!” he exclaimed. He scrambled on hands and knees towards a wall and then grabbed the handles of a gym bag. Dragging it back, he reached the blonde girl just as she sat up. “Look, Phoibe!” Tommy pulled something from the bag.
I stared at the golden crown laden with jewels.
“I saved it!” Tommy said.
The girl didn’t respond. Her eyes were glazed, and she appeared disoriented.
Tommy placed the crown beside her and then wrapped his arms around her. Phoibe grunted but instinctively tugged him into her lap.
My eyes remained on the treasure worth enough to support me for ten lifetimes.
The creak of leather boots yanked my focus outside the room.
“Tommy! Turn off your flashlight!” I ordered him quietly. I snatched the phone left beside Theodocia and tapped the light app alerting others to our presence.
Tommy obeyed, and I crept into the dark hallway, senses trained on the noise coming from the main chamber. I stopped where the corridor met the large room.
Five men, possibly six. Drawing my weapons, I went still, listening. Whoever it was, they were well trained, their movements nothing louder than whispers almost too soft for me to locate who was where.
The sound of Tommy’s sneakers slapping cement as he ran after me was jarring compared to the relative quiet of those sneaking up on us. Whirling, I grabbed him and hurried back to the room where his mother was, depositing him on the ground.
“Stay here!” I snapped.
“But –”
“Shut up, kid. Don’t move from this spot!”
Before he could argue, I returned to the hallway.
My attackers were waiting, tipped off by Tommy. Before I reached the end of the corridor, I was ducking a punch. I launched into action. Close quarter fighting was my forte. Before I had been forced to sell my services as a mercenary, I had been accepted into the Gladiator Guild, an elite organization for skilled single combat fighters where violence was cheered on by millions of viewers watching on television.
With a knife in one hand and handgun in another, I tore through four of the men, leaving none of them alive to threaten Tommy, before I crept into the main chamber. Another four or five were waiting for me. I snatched the first, preparing to drive a knife through his eye into his brain, when someone spoke.
“Niko!”
I paused.
“Gods, man, are you trying to finish off the rest of my detail?” Cleon snapped in indignation.
I slowly released my grip on the man I’d pinned between my body and the wall. Easing away, I checked with my senses to ensure no one else was ready to attack or headed towards the corridor where Tommy was.
“You couldn’t announce yourself?” I snapped in return.
“I texted you.”
I rolled my eyes and sheathed my weapons.
“We don’t have much time. Do you know how to get out of here?” Cleon asked, approaching me.
“Not a clue.”
He barked orders for two of the remaining members of his security team to find an exit before addressing me again. “I find it interesting you knew to come here, the destination I was trying to reach.”
“And?” I challenged.
“Did you find any survivo
rs?” By the note in his voice, Cleon didn’t expect anyone to have lived through the crash.
“Why do you care about a helicopter crashing?” I asked warily.
“When the gods made you, they replaced your brain with muscle,” he said in rare anger. “I was tracking the Queen of Greece’s escape from New York when I heard through secure channels that the military shot her down. The only reason I am here is to determine if she survived.”
The pieces fell into place. Theodocia was the High Priestess of Artemis entrusted with the duty of raising and guiding the Queen of Greece. I had only been thinking of Tommy from the first time I heard his voice.
“She’s alive,” I said.
Cleon’s silence was one of surprise.
“C’mon.” I led him back towards the small room with the survivors. Turning on the flashlight of the cell phone, I shone it towards the five. Tommy was back in the lap of the girl I assumed to be the Queen of Greece.
Cleon stepped into the room, his eyes widening. “How is this possible?” he asked.
I shifted weight between my feet, uncertain why I tensed when he entered. My gaze was on Tommy. I didn’t care at all about the girl, and I shouldn’t have cared about Tommy.
“Daddy, who is that?” Tommy asked.
Gods dammit, kid, I thought.
“Daddy?” Cleon’s focus shifted to me then back to the unconscious men and woman. “Of course. You knew to come because your ex called you. You never mentioned she was in the service of the Queen.”
Cleon had been using Tommy and Theodocia against me for several years. Whenever I was reluctant to take a job he sent me, he threatened to cut off my ex and son financially. Tommy’s trust was maintained by Cleon’s financial management team, and he dumped all my earnings from the contracts he hired me for into it. Cleon had always known about the existence of Theodocia and Tommy, but something about the three of them being in the same room together rubbed me the wrong way.
The teen girl looked up at us. Her eyes were sky blue, her slender frame borderline frail. She nudged Tommy from her lap and climbed to her feet, wobbled, and then straightened fully.
“Phoibe would like to thank you for finding us,” Tommy said.