Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  “Thank me again when we make it out of here.” She jimmied open the window and climbed out. Attempting not to juggle the contents, he deposited the bags into her proffered arms.

  As an added precaution, he grabbed the extra chair and jammed it against the doorknob. Then he climbed out and took hold of the canvas bags.

  Paniess lurked through a labyrinth of shrubbery and rounded the cornerstone of the Mansion to a fleet of standing vehicles. She popped the trunk of a car and Doogan placed the sacks inside. Indicating the trunk, she whispered, “Get in.”

  “In there?” He eyed the cramped compartment.

  “Stark won’t open the gate if he see’s you.”

  His vocal chords grumbled with a soft growl, then crammed his tall frame into the trunk. She shut the hatch without slamming it, and pressed on it until she heard it lock.

  She turned the key in the ignition but the motor didn’t catch. Paniess ground her teeth. Praying not to be heard, she was betting on Clive’s penchant of sating his appetite. Pilfering leftovers was normal for Mediators guarding the Mansion. And there’d be plenty after tonight’s mandatory celebration.

  The car started on the second attempt, and piloting the sedan to the gate, Paniess noticed Stark was nowhere in sight. Leaving the driver’s seat to unlock the gate, she was taken by surprise when the bleary eyed Mediator walked from the opposite side of the fencing.

  “Where you going at this hour, Miss Addler?” Stark asked, his voice filled with sleep.

  “The nurse woke me and said my mom needs more intravenous pain meds.” She’d calibrated a premeditated explanation. “She’s having a bad night.”

  Stark seemed to accept her account, but inquired, “Why didn’t you just phone over to the Infirmary to have some brought over?”

  Camouflaging her nervousness, she cast him a stern look. “Stark, if someone came driving up and said they were bringing medicine for my mom, would you let them in?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “No, you’d probably wake the whole house to see if it was legit. Since my father felt it was unnecessary for such a disturbance, I volunteered to go. But if you don’t believe me, then call him and check. He’s with my mother. Either way, he’ll be pissed. Oh, and make sure you stay awake. I’ll be back soon.”

  Paniess knew she’d hit a nerve. Stark would be severely reprimanded if her father discovered he’d been sleeping on the job.

  Stark unbolted the gate, and opened it wide enough for the sedan to pass through. As Paniess drove by, Stark was straining to peer into the rear seat, making sure she didn’t have a passenger. When she glanced in the rearview mirror, he was scratching his head and reclosing the gate.

  She sped toward the village as smoggy daylight crept over the horizon.

  Chapter 30

  Fabal wanted to cry for help, but despite his efforts to remain silent in his struggle, a whimper leaked through his lips. He’d been cocky, thinking he’d made it, when all along it was a prelude to his death. His fingers groped for the sickle as his body continued to be sucked underground, to his grave.

  The constricting roots had numbed his feet, and his panicking did nothing to mitigate the feeling of doom. Frantically clawing the ground, his fingers touched the sickle, but he couldn’t quite reach the handle. Gradually submerging, his chin, his nose, his eyes, then his whole head scraping downward into the black pit. His fingers continued to claw the soil, but it was fruitless.

  An unseen pressure manacled Fabal’s wrists. The pressure chased up to his elbows. Someone was heaving on his arms, he thought for sure they were being torn from their sockets. He tried spreading his numb legs in an attempt to foil the burgeoning roots. His face mashed into the mucky soil, body languishing, caught in the middle.

  The fettered tautness disbanded from his legs, he didn’t understand why, but was thankful. When the forceful plunge stopped, his body flew from the hole like a cannonball. Granulated dirt covered his face, he couldn’t see or talk, and gazillion pins and needles stabbed his legs as the numbness subsided. Lying on his back, he sputtered and spit the offensive gunk from his mouth, and someone was wiping his face.

  “Fabal? Are you all right?”

  Fabal squinted, afraid he might be dreaming. “Dad? Dad!” And launched himself into his father’s arms.

  Doogan embraced him, and kissed the top of his head.

  “Sh-h, quiet down,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  Fabal didn’t want to let go, but his father pulled him away to look at him. He smiled, showing all his teeth, and Fabal breathed an ecstatic sigh. His father cupped his cheeks and kissed him on the forehead. Then he roughed his hair, flinging specks of dirt.

  “C’mon, we’ve got to go,” the female voice urged.

  Go where? He was sent into Tallas for a purpose, which hadn’t been completed yet.

  “Paniess, we’ve got to hurry and get Knox,” his father said to the woman.

  It was as though his father was reading his thoughts. “That’s my job,” Fabal blurted, and two pair of eyes gawked at him. “I was sent to get Knox.”

  “Let’s go then,” Doogan said, his arm still resting on his shoulder.

  “Wait,” Paniess hissed. “If the Mediators see you, they’ll definitely know something’s amiss.”

  “We’ll give them some cock an’ bull story like you told Stark,” Doogan suggested.

  “Stark might’ve called the Mediator who’s on duty at the Infirmary, informing him of my arrival.”

  While the lady and his father discussed tactics, Fabal had a chance to figure out where Fulvio’s tunnel had ended up—hardly three feet past the new fence. The tunnel was concealed in a network of bushes, ash and maple trees. As he gazed toward the village, he perceived the backside of the Infirmary in plain sight. His grandfather was a genius.

  “Dad,” Fabal said, cutting in, “did Fulvio call you?”

  “Me? I don’t have a cell.”

  “He contacted someone to meet me here.” Fabal tapped a finger to his lips like he was thinking.

  Doogan glanced at Paniess.

  She shook her head.

  “After I let you out of the trunk, I heard someone cry out,” she explained. “That’s why I ran back here.”

  Not wavering a minute longer, Doogan said, “Let’s get going.” He grabbed Fabal’s hand and they ducked from tree to tree, nearing the Infirmary. “The Mediators are short-handed,” he said. “Basta sent out a salvaging party before daybreak. That’ll leave fewer guards.”

  They slipped along the side of the Infirmary, searching for signs of Mediators.

  “Okay,” Paniess said, “they’re expecting me, so I go in first to scout things out. Next, comes Fabal.” She turned to him. “If someone stops you, just say you’re looking for your mother or something like that.”

  Fabal’s eyes grew wide and nodded.

  “Doogan, you wait here for us.”

  “No way,” he breathed. “How do you expect Fabal to get Knox’s door unlocked?”

  Smirking, Paniess dipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a key.

  “How’d you get that?”

  “I work here, remember?”

  “It doesn’t change things. I’m still going in after Fabal. Give him the key, Paniess.”

  She reluctantly lowered the cold metal into the middle of Fabal’s palm. Then they scampered through weedy grass to the front of the building. Paniess straightened her shoulders, smoothed her clothes, and, with grace and decorum, strolled to the doors.

  Fabal scanned the darkened roadway leading into the village. Deserted. It looked exactly as it had the day they embarked on their adventure of a lifetime.

  Stealing a look around the corner, they noticed Paniess’s curt hand gesture. His father squeezed his hand for confidence. “That’s your cue, little man. Good Luck.”

  When Fabal snuck through the Infirmary’s doorway, he heard Paniess talking gaily to a Mediator in one of the examination rooms.

  At this time of the day the power was c
ut in half, and peering into the dimness, Fabal gauged his surroundings. Since visiting his father at work, or pestering as he says, he was acquainted with the examination rooms. Although, it was the elevators he needed to hunt for, or possibly a stairwell leading below.

  He veered left and tiptoed to the end of the corridor, only to come up short. Wheeling around, he smacked into a woman visibly not in her right mind. She gazed at him with oblivious eyes. Bony arms circled him, forcing Fabal to her chest. In a giddy tone, she said, “I knew you’d come back, Peto. My Peto. My Peto.”

  Fabal heard the tramping of boots.

  “What’s going on here?” A Mediator stared at the woman—who was scantily clad in a hospital gown, and then at the filthy boy she was clinging to.

  “My son, Peto, has come back.” She sounded delirious petting the boy’s hair, and peppering soil on the floor.

  Fabal attempted to disengage himself from the woman’s bosom. The Mediator cringed, his lips formed in an odd angle. Then his eyes rolled up in their sockets and he slumped to the floor like a dead man.

  Behind the Mediator, stood Dr. Riggley, a syringe in hand. “This is good juju.” He smirked. “He’ll be out for a while. When he wakes up, I’ll tell him he had a convulsion.” Rooney noticed the boy’s comical struggle with his patient. “Pradda,” he said to the loopy woman, and pried her arms from him. “Come with me. This way.” The doctor guided his patient into one of the rooms, then hastily returned. Handcuffing the Mediator’s hands, Dr. Riggley dragged him into the same room and shut the door.

  “Maybe Chrone will think he was dreaming when he comes to.” Rooney brushed his hands together like after a job well done. “Fabal, so glad to see you’re all right. But I doubt you’re here alone.” He stared at him waiting for clarification.

  “We’re trying to rescue Knox,” he told him. The doctor looked confounded, he might be clueless of Knox’s imprisonment. Should I explain further?

  As though sensing his reluctance, Dr. Riggley said, “I told your father I’d like to help—in any way.”

  Fabal didn’t know if he should trust him, but he was running out of options. “Those doctors are going to kill Knox if we don’t get him out of here tonight.”

  “Doogan informed me of the experiments.” His brow gathered over disconcerted eyes.

  “My father’s outside,” he said, thinking it was silly not to trust his father’s best friend.

  “What can I do to help you?” Dr. Riggley didn’t seem stunned by his statement.

  “I have to get downstairs. My father said there is an elevator somewhere.”

  “Go back to the vestibule and make a right. Go to the end of the hall and make another right. You’ll see a wall partition, go around it. I’ll see what I can do to keep the Mediators busy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Good luck.”

  Fabal scurried back to the entrance. Rounding the corner, he spotted his impetuous father lurking at the far wall, motioning for him to follow.

  ***

  Doogan unerringly trekked to the silver metal doors. He pressed a button and the doors opened. Since his own confinement, he’d observed the Mediator’s keying in the code. After tapping the key pad the doors sealed shut. He draped his arms over his son’s shoulders backing him into his chest. Even in the confines of the cubicle, they kept their silence. Doogan grinned thinking of Fabal’s valor and tousled his hair, freeing more encrusted dirt.

  The elevator shuttered to a stop. The metal doors opened to a Mediator, he was just as shocked to see them, as they were to see him. The Mediator reached for his gun while Doogan pitched an elbow into the man’s the kisser, knocking him unconscious. Mooring him under the armpits, he towed the Mediator to the nearest closet and stuffed him inside.

  “Awesome, Dad,” Fabal whispered, giving his father a thumbs-up.

  “We better hurry before he comes to.” They ran as quietly as possible to Knox’s prison cell. “This is it. You have the key, right?” While Fabal thrust the key into the lock, Doogan glanced to the door that led to Headquarters. He walked the few yards and tried turning the handle. The door was unlocked.

  It all seemed too simple.

  Why did they have a skeleton crew patrolling the floor?

  When he turned, Fabal was standing next to a disheveled Knox. It was unspeakable to think that within hours the boy would be cut into pieces. With a stiff upper lip Doogan said, “Let’s go.”

  Sneaking to the elevator, they heard the adverse squeal of doors. Either someone had just gotten off, or, had just gotten on.

  Not taking any chances, Doogan and the boys ducked into the nearest room. They listened to booted footfalls. The heavy steps halted then retreated back toward the elevators.

  “Reese? Are you down here?” the man called. Scuffing boots continued down the corridor.

  Doogan suspected the Mediator was checking Knox’s room. They needed to make a break for it. He cracked the door and peeked to see the Mediator peering through the window into Knox’s room. Instead of all hell breaking loose, he was astonished when the Mediator veered to the exit that led to Headquarters.

  It took him less than a second to scoot the boys into a fast pace down the corridor, and into the elevator. “I wonder why the Mediator didn’t sound the alarm when he saw Knox wasn’t in his bed.”

  The boys snickered behind their hands, looking mischievous. “We fluffed up the blanket and pillow to make it look like Knox was still there,” Fabal said. “Cool, huh? We didn’t know if it’d work, but it did.”

  “Good thinking,” Doogan said, giving them a fist bump, and grateful for a unhindered ascent to the main floor.

  As the doors shimmied open an uproar of commotion ensued.

  “Wait here,” Doogan said, tiptoeing along the corridor to the vestibule.

  “No, Dad. They’ll see you.” Fabal swooped around the corner before Doogan could grab him.

  Fabal returned and waved like he was shooing away chickens. “Dr. Riggley’s creating a diversion for us in one of the rooms.”

  “Take it slow, boys,” Doogan said. “Stay behind me.”

  A length of chain bolted the main entrance that wasn’t there earlier. The Infirmary was never locked. The Mediators had been forewarned. It was a trap. His heart pumping in overdrive, he scanned the vestibule. He spotted Paniess’s ankle boots standing in front of the side exit. Follow the breadcrumbs, eh?

  “Hold ’em down, boys,” Rooney instructed. The upheaval came from the examination room. “Watch out for that scalpel. Oops, that doesn’t look good. Grab his other arm.”

  Doogan motioned for the boys to follow. As they crept along the wall, he peeked into the room and locked eyes with Rooney.

  “Look at me—!” Rooney shouted averting the three Mediators. “Keep him still. We need to stop the bleeding. All eyes on that leg. Hold him tighter.”

  Crouching low, they sprinted across the vestibule to the side exit. The door was unlocked, probably thanks to Paniess. Attempting to be covert by meshing with the trees and shrubbery, they made it to the rear of the building. Doogan wouldn’t feel relief until the boys were on their way to Fulvio.

  Slipping past the junction of the Infirmary, into the open, they were mere yards from the tunnel. Doogan abruptly paused, peering into the barrel of an AR15, and then into the swollen face of Ennis.

  Chapter 31

  Fulvio’s arm sheltered his brow, safeguarding his eyes from the blare of the heliocraft’s spotlight. “Now that you have me,” he retorted, “what are you going to do with me?” He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. “I’m honored with such a turnout of Mediators. I must be quite a dangerous criminal.”

  Counting the number of men peddling AR15’s and M16’s, Fulvio figured a skeleton crew remained in Tallas. Less of them for Fabal to deal with.

  “Do you think I’m ignorant?” Basta’s grating snicker made his skin crawl. “As soon as we captured Doogan, we’ve been monitoring the airwaves day
and night—just waiting for you to make a mistake.”

  “May I offer a suggestion?” Fulvio said.

  “Me?” Basta’s voice was ripe with ego. “You want to make a suggestion—to me?”

  “It would be in your best interest to turn off the spotlight.”

  “Why?” Basta retreated into the light, dissolving into a black silhouette. “So you can slip away?”

  “Do I look like the type of person who could slip away?” He held his arms off to his side in a horizontal position. “That light’s broadcasting the presence of scrumptious meat to prowling creatures. I certainly don’t want to contend with those beasts, but perhaps your men might like a go at it?” The Mediator’s turned in circles checking the region. As if Fulvio had orchestrated the sound, and on cue, a spine-tingling howl rolled over the plain.

  “It’s those damn wolves,” one man cried.

  “Cut the lights!” Basta yelled. “Cut the damn lights!” Briefly, blinded by the darkness until their eyes adapted to the gloom. “I’m done pussy-footing around. Get your fat ass in the helio.”

  ***

  “No!” Keeyla cried. “We’ve got to go look for Fulvio and Mortmiller. They might be hurt.” She wasn’t exactly eager to go traipsing in the wilderness, but Fulvio would be the first to lay his life on the line for them. Hadn’t he already saved them more than once?

  “Are you nuts, lady?” Smelt gawped at her like she’d grown an extra head, his face gnarled in an unsightly expression. “Let’s git inside and talk ’bout this, before you’s go and git yourself eaten.”

  “You’re not going to see what happened? They could be bleeding to death,” she said incensed as neither Smelt nor Tanya seemed keen on the idea. Fueling her courage, she tossed her head. “Fine, then I’ll go myself.”

  The crackling of straggling roots began to renovate the fracture in Three Rocks. Keeyla darted and zigzagged between the creeping root system initiating a pinging ache to radiate from her shoulder and across her chest.