by Mason Dakota
We made it maybe twelve paces outside the doorway before a heat flared up in my gut, rising upward through my chest and neck until it settled in my head.
The lights flashed brighter than seemingly possible, searing my eyes with a radiating pain. Something foul and sick and vaguely the taste of breakfast filled my mouth. I smelled blood and salt and iron.
Strength evaporated from my body. I collapsed, falling against the wall. Evelyn dove to catch me, sliding beneath my arm and hoisting me back up. I wished she had let me fall instead of moving my broken arm and touching my injured ribs.
“Griffon!”
“I’m…all right. Just feeling a bit under the weather,” I moaned.
“You’re bleeding again. This is getting worse. We’ve got to find your father.”
“No argument here,” I whispered, trying to hide my pain. I pushed off Evelyn, an act of excruciating pain in of itself, and limped a step forward as I said, “Don’t worry about me. I can walk on my own.”
Mine was not the most convincing act, and certainly didn’t fool Evelyn. But she spared me any embarrassment and didn’t argue.
“So how do we find your father?” she asked as we resumed our slow limp down the hallway.
“We’ve got an inside man on that,” I said, pointing to my ear. Evelyn smiled and put her own in her ear. “All right Chamberlain, walk us through this,” I said.
“Glad to hear you’re safe Evelyn,” said Chamberlain, “Here’s what we know. They’ve restored power to most of this building, but some areas are still not operational. We figure that Richard intends to release his virus through an airborne toxin to maximize spread.”
“So you’re thinking the ventilation room?” Evelyn asked.
“Correct. The ventilation room is in the basement and the basement is off limits to all personnel except for the soldiers down there. There are a number of guards in the basement by the elevators that would stop you in a heartbeat. It would be a blood bath. Avoid the elevator. Take the stairs east of your location instead. There’s fewer guards on that route. Be careful.”
“Got it. Thanks Chamberlain. Keep us posted,” I whispered.
I turned my attention toward Evelyn and said drearily, my legs already feeling week, “Stairs. Why does it have to be stairs?”
“Come on. We’ll take them one step at a time,” she said. She steered me east down a side tunnel. I reluctantly followed her lead.
“What I don’t understand, though, is that if the basement is locked down and access is restricted, how would your father even be down there? That is if he is even down there in the first place.” said Alison over the line.
“He’s got some sort of connection with the Emperor that’s giving him freedom to operate here. I’m not sure if he’s got a deal made or if he’s got some sort of blackmail on the Emperor,” I said.
“Adam Rythe helping your father commit genocide of the Nobles? That doesn’t make sense? There’s got to be something else going on that we aren’t aware of,” said Michael.
“Or the Emperor doesn’t know what’s going on,” said Alison.
“Or he doesn’t care, “ I added.
“A warlord over the Outcast Legion pretending to work for the Empire while really planning genocide. Some father figure,” said Evelyn.
“Yes. It took Nebula destroying the infrastructure of Chicago to bring that father figure out of hiding,” said Chamberlain.
“Allegedly destroyed,” added Erikson.
Evelyn suppressed a giggle at seeing my snarl.
Everyone’s a critic.
Seventy-Eight
We came to a doorway that led to a large kitchen. With every step to the door flashes of excruciating pain lanced my leg as blood trickled into my socks. Suddenly the alarm went off.
Someone had found the unconscious soldiers.
We barged through the door and into the kitchen, invisible to the many chefs and servers busy cooking. The vast number of intoxicating smells, many I had never experienced, swirling visibly through the air caused my stomach to growl like a wildebeest.
Chefs in white coats ran about the kitchen, some using large knives to chop up various foods, others hopping from one cooking pot to the next. They barked orders like generals and an army of servers carrying trays piled high with plates raced in and out swinging doors. The scene was a chaotically beautiful choreograph.
“They must be cooking for the Emperor and his guests,” Evelyn whispered.
I nodded and said, “Certainly smells that way.”
Then Evelyn tapped my arm and pointed across the sea of chefs. “Look. That staircase leads down to the basement.”
“Guarded by another soldier.”
She squinted her eyes at me. “Any ideas in that big brain of yours of how we can get past him?”
I glanced at the blaster pistol in my hand. The effects of it in that location would be disastrous. I might very well miss and hit one of the chefs. I grumbled and stuffed the pistol out of sight in the belt loop behind my back. I looked around the busy kitchen and asked, “Do you know what one of the biggest dangers in a kitchen is?”
Evelyn shrugged and said, “Salmonella?”
With a smile and a shake of my head, I said, “Nope, grease fires.” I took Evelyn’s hand and headed off to the right side of the kitchen. I carefully moved to a spot out of sight of the soldier by the stairwell door. The kitchen set up had several…what I would call aisles or alleyways between massive metal tables and even larger stove tops spaced around the large room. We made our way around until we found a couple of vacant stoves and grills.
I quickly snatched up a greasy pan and a bottle of cooking oil from the counter. I put the pan on the stove, emptied the bottle of cooking oil all over the pan and stove, quickly turned the stove onto max heat, rested a wet rag across the surface, and then scuttled away with Evelyn.
We moved back toward the central aisle trying to disappear into the workers. Everyone was too busy to pay us any attention—even me as hideous as I was in my ill condition. Moments later a cloud of black smoke clouded the kitchen and a smoke alarm went off. Chefs rushed to the scene.
“Fire! Fire! Someone grab the extinguisher! Quick! Before it burns the kitchen down!” someone shouted.
Chefs and servers darted about. Some helped. Some watched the fire, drawn by a primal fascination to the sight of fire. The guard by the staircase felt the pull and his curiosity drew him away from the door to investigate. We slipped past him like shadows upon the wall out of the kitchen and into the stairwell.
“Clever,” whispered Evelyn.
I shrugged. “I have my moments.”
“Try not to let it all go to your head.”
“No promises.”
I looked up to see a camera pointed at us and waved and winked to Chamberlain and Michael on the other end.
“Nicely done, but you’re not in the clear yet. You’ve set off the alarm. They’ll shoot before asking any questions now.”
“I can erase footage. Nothing will trace back to you two,” said Michael.
I glanced at Evelyn. She wore a sober dark expression. Michael was essentially giving us his permission to take out anyone we ran into.
Permission to kill.
Alison immediately picked up on it. “Michael, you can’t seriously be suggesting—”
“They don’t really have much choice, Alison. Either a few soldiers die or an entire species,” said Michael. Something was changing in Michael. He was growing darker by the day.
“I would much prefer them kill a few of the Emperor’s men to getting what Griffon has,” said Erikson.
I heard Chamberlain grumble his displeasure. But he was silent and I agreed with Michael. I drew my pistol, looked at Evelyn and asked, “You ready for this?”
She nodded. It was the only gesture of assurance she gave. Evelyn might not miss the opportunity to say something sarcastic, but back her into a corner with something so serious and so bleak as murder and the sarcasm vanished.
> That’s what we will be doing, right? Or at least that’s how the world will spin the story. They’ll call us murderers—assassins! Even if we save the Noble race, the media will tell of homicidal Outcasts on the loose and the violence against our people will grow worse. There will be no reward or medals if we make it through this. Both of us were facing the hangman’s noose, its rope was already tied about our necks. There was no escaping what we had to do.
Evelyn knew this. I saw her mind process it as she stared at my pistol. Slowly she pulled out her asp baton, clicked it open and let the sparks on the tip light up.
She winked like a devil, and fled down the stairs.
You sure know how to pick them, Griffon.
Seventy-Nine
It turns out few things are as excruciating as going downstairs with one injured leg and some damaged ribs. Some divine grace kept me from falling all the way down the stairs.
More than once, a number of times too embarrassing to count, I was forced to stop and rest against the wall. I used the metal railing to hold me upright. Evelyn looked at me with a child’s fascination before lurching back to my side.
“Sorry, old man. I guess I got carried away and forgot you,” she apologized, that hint of sarcasm tinting her voice again, as she slid under my arm and helped me down the stairs. She continued making mocking statements, reminding me of how many stairs were left, how Erikson would be laughing at the sight of me, and how I seemed to be the saddest looking boogieman in existence. I think she aimed to encourage me, but it wasn’t working.
Maybe the virus made me delirious, but I found her efforts rather cute.
At the bottom of the stairs, struggling between breaths, I said, “All right Chamberlain, what awaits us on the other side of this door?”
“Three armored soldiers, one five feet to the left smoking, another about ten yards straight ahead sitting behind a desk on the opposite wall, and the last approaching from the hallway to the right of the door. He’s about twenty yards out,” replied Chamberlain.
“Three! I thought you said there weren’t as many at the stairwell compared to the elevator.” I said. Once again my mind flashed back to the fight with just one of the Emperor’s soldiers. Taking on three seemed impossible. Even with Evelyn the odds didn’t seem fair.
“They would have heard you coming down the elevator. You wouldn’t have survived.” he replied.
“Thanks for the confidence. Let me know when our walker starts to pass the door. We’ll move then,” I said.
“Griffon, just giving you a head’s up that the Emperor’s meeting is starting now,” said Alison.
“What meeting?” I asked.
“The convention meeting—the whole reason Emperor Rythe came to Chicago with his army,” said Erikson.
“Oh, yes, that meeting. Keep us posted…Alison,” I said. Erikson didn’t miss the jab.
“Target closing in. Ten yards…five yards…five feet…NOW!” shouted Chamberlain.
Evelyn kicked the door and it flew open like a cannon. The door smashed directly into the unsuspecting soldier. The loud blow knocked the soldier flat off his feet. There was just the slightest hesitation on everyone’s part before things went to Hell.
I fired the first shots of red electrical streaks into the room. Each shot sounded like firecrackers exploding and did just as much damage as a cannon would as it tore into concrete walls and Imperial battle armor.
Ignoring the smoking guard to my left, I slipped past Evelyn and shot four times at the soldier behind the desk. Firing single-handedly with my shaky off hand, breathing roughly and battling nausea, I put two glancing shots into the soldier before he could react. The red blaster streaks fried his armor and tiny flames licked at the fringes.
He spun away and squeezed the trigger to his blaster rifle. Blaster bolts pumped into the ceiling. Concrete rained down upon us. I stumbled into a dive and slid across the space and into the desk with my broken arm. I cried out in pain and saw a streak of blood across the floor. I dodged the rubble…and felt I had probably broken another bone in my arm again.
I rolled over to see the soldier who’d been whacked by the door stumble to his feet and lunge around the door. His gun was raised and he was deciding whether to shoot Evelyn or me. Evelyn lunged into a vicious flurry of baton strikes to the smoking guard by the door, striking him across the neck line. I heard the zap and buzz just before the guard collapsed as his gun rattled away from him on the floor.
Unfortunately, Evelyn had her back to the approaching soldier and right then he picked his target. He raised his weapon to vaporize Evelyn and she never saw it coming. I was already moving, leaning upon my broken arm in painful agony, lifting my blaster pistol up and firing. I’m not the best shot, especially compared to Thomas. But I didn’t need to hit the soldier. I merely needed to scare him, and with a weapon that powerful, that close up, scaring him was easy.
The blaster pistol tore a hot red streak through the stairwell door, burning a softball-sized hole through its metal plating and almost hitting the soldier’s rifle barrel. The soldier hesitated and ducked for cover. It was exactly what Evelyn needed. She spun around what remained of the door and brought her weapon down upon the soldier’s collarbone.
It would seem the battle armor these soldiers wore could stop bullets from small arms fire and even some heavier weapons, but it didn’t prevent electricity coursing through the armor and searing the man within. The armor actually acted more like a conduit that intensified the electric current. The way the man gurgled a cry of pain as Evelyn’s baton struck him first in the collarbone and then behind the knee was convincing. Evelyn closed the space between them, preventing the soldier from using the large rifle on her. But his hands weren’t trying to line up the shot.
He was going for the shifter at his hip.
I panicked and squeezed off another shot as sudden force struck my face like a hammer so hard I thought I had shot myself. White light and pain flashed across my cheek. I heard my blaster go off and hit concrete. Suddenly the floor was rising up to meet me and my face smacked painfully into hard surface. I coughed up blood. Something grabbed me by the collar of my ugly sweater, lifted me, and delivered another ringing blow across my face.
I hit the ground again. Blood covered my face and filled my mouth. The hands grabbed me and lifted me until I was face to face with a soldier—the soldier I had put two glancing shots into. His armor was singed black on his shoulder and hip, but it appeared like the exposed flesh beneath suffered only minor burns.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said.
“I shouldn’t have done a lot of things,” I mumbled. There was too much blood in my mouth to make that sentence sound as snarky as I wanted. The soldier raised his fist and punched me. It hurt…a lot. I think it even broke my nose!
Through the pain and agony, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The soldier hesitated with his fist cocked. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I’m a thief,” I said. He cocked his head to the side, puzzled as to the significance of what I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I smiled. “It means I’ve got subtle hands.”
With that I activated his shifter I had slipped off his belt.
A red hot streak of electricity in the form of a sword flew out of the hilt. It cut through the soldier’s battle armor, through his gut, and exploded out his back. The soldier gasped, stumbled, and collapsed. I fell with him, pain and heat lancing up my wounded leg. The shifter dropped from my hands. The strange weapon deactivated and bounced on the ground. I fell in a boneless heap of pain and blood. I cried out, stifling a scream, bumping up against the dead soldier with my broken arm.
Swift and soft hands fell upon me and Evelyn slipped herself up under my good arm. We stumbled to our feet a complete mess. The world spun as the lights changed colors in my vision. I gasped for air, feeling as though I had only one functioning lung. Evelyn didn’t wait. She quickly led me away from the skirmish a
nd the soldiers who lay on the ground. I pleaded for rest, more mentally than verbally. She sense my begging but refused, saying over and over again that we had to hurry, that we had to be gone before more soldiers arrived, that we had to find my father and get the cure from him before it was too late.
But I could barely hear her anymore.
Eighty
My mother’s voice sung in my ears, calling me home.
I’m dying.
I limped along in pain with the voice of my mother crowding out everything else. With each step I rested more and more of my weight upon Evelyn as my body fell into a state of boneless frailty.
Evelyn, struggling with her own injuries and exhaustion, fought to hold me up as I dragged my wounded leg and scraped my body along the wall for support. All I registered was the singing growing louder and louder in my ears like an orchestra, the lights growing brighter with each heartbeat, and the blood I left in the trail behind us.
A muffled sound invaded my mother’s singing. I strained to make it out as the singing in my head grew louder. It was as though the singing in my head was fighting against the muffled sound of someone saying my name. The song stayed the same, a sweet nursery rhyme my mother used to sing to me, but the tone turned harsh, violent until the words were lost to me and all that remained was the battle between the hallucination and the calling of my name. It felt like cold water splashed upon me tearing away the growing light and ripping past the voice of my mother.
“Griffon…Griffon…!”
“I’m here Alison,” I whispered, pressing a finger to my ear piece to transmit my words. It took all the effort a dying man could muster.
“Griffon, you will never believe what the topic of the conference is.” She sounded afraid.
“What?” I asked. Had I been in better physical state, I might have said something snarky. Instead, that singular word came out in a raspy voice. It was all I could manage.
There was silence on the other end until I heard Chamberlain take up the cause, “Alison, honey, what is it?”