by Brian Fuller
“Got ’em,” Faramir said after a few moments. “Looks like some guy and a girl on the Whirl-a-World ride or something. They’re just sitting in one of those circular cars on the platform.”
“Dreads?” Helo asked, doubting it.
“Can’t tell through optics,” Faramir said. “But I doubt it. They’re . . . um . . . having fun. You know, making out.”
Melody elbowed him. “Sounds like someone knows what they’re doing.”
“Can we get around them?” Helo asked.
“They’re pretty distracted,” Faramir said. “So, yeah, especially if you head north. But I’ll have to keep an eye on . . . wait. Someone’s approaching the pair. Security guard, maybe?”
“I didn’t think there were any,” Helo said.
“None have been seen since recon began,” Faramir said. “Okay, he’s approaching the two. Looks like the newcomer is ordering the two out. Can’t tell if he’s armed.”
Helo could barely make out the sound of a man talking, tone firm, like someone giving orders. As close as they were on a dead-quiet night, it seemed like he should be able to hear it better. It was like this guard was trying to be quiet.
“The pair is kneeling, hands over their heads,” Faramir said. “Guard’s walking around them. Whoa. WHOA!”
Helo stiffened. “What? What is it?”
“Killed ’em both,” Sparks cut in. “Bastard killed them both. Looks like he stabbed them.”
“No,” Melody said.
Helo’s shoulders tensed. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Sparks said. “Right through the heart from the back.”
“Going in,” Helo said. It had to be Dreads. Had to be. “Where’s the guard?”
“He’s . . . um . . . he’s . . .” Faramir said, sounding dazed.
“Where!”
“He’s walking away,” Faramir said.
Helo jogged out of the alley. “Guide us in behind him, Faramir.”
The ground seemed more splashy than when they’d entered, air that had been so still now alive with creaking and groaning, like the park itself was commenting on the murder.
Faramir guided them south and then east through the empty avenues between inert rides and empty buildings. Ring Toss. Guess My Weight. Haunted Mansion. After passing through a circular plaza, the Whirl a World was to their left.
“Any chance they’re alive?” Helo asked. He could heal them, even from the point of death.
“Negative,” Sparks said. “No movement.”
They got their first look at the “guard” just after the entrance to a roller coaster called the Anaconda. Not a Dread. A Ghostpacker. Damn. A Dread they could grease. A Ghostpacker, even a murderous one, they had to leave alive. Helo called it in.
“He is a murderer,” Shujaa said in a rare contribution to mission communications. “He deserves no mercy.”
“The ROEs don’t change for murderers,” Helo said. “We’re following. I don’t think he’s going to leave the bodies out in the open. We’re going to get concealed. Track him with the drone and keep us updated on his position.”
“Over here,” Melody whispered.
She led him down a short jog to the entrance of an attraction called Spindly Spider Legs, a kiddie ride surrounded by a low concrete wall. They hopped the turnstile and sat on the ground, backs to the wall. Had they miscalculated? Maybe the park wasn’t as shut down as recon had suggested.
“You okay?” Helo asked Melody.
“Yeah,” she said, voice sad. “This how all dates with you are going to go?”
“Probably,” he said. “This is an ugly war with ugly people.”
“He’s gone into some sort of maintenance building,” Faramir narrated. A few minutes later he added, “Now he’s on a four-wheeler with a trailer. He should be passing to your north shortly.”
A few moments later, the hum of the four-wheeler came and went, headlights sharp against the pooled water and wet branches. Helo waited until the motor cut out.
He tugged on Melody’s coat and motioned her after him with a nod of his head. They left the Spindly Spider Legs behind, following the four wheeler’s tracks on the drier parts of the concrete back to a fenced garage with an Employees Only sign hanging on the gate. The guard hadn’t bothered to close it or the garage door he had driven out of, a yellowy light spilling out onto the asphalt. Helo drew his BBG, Melody following suit, and they marched inside. Another four-wheeler with a trailer sat in a bay to their left, the trailer bed littered with a few muddy articles of clothing. Clown clothing. Discarded clown suits, orange-and-red wigs, red noses.
Bad memories.
“Found a bunch of clown suits,” Helo reported quietly. “Heading inside.”
The door into the garage was unlocked, and he pushed it open, the smell of chili wafting through the interior. Maybe the entrance to Avadan’s lair was here somewhere. They passed through a short hall lined with gray lockers and passed a bathroom with the fan still running—and for good reason. The chili hadn’t been kind to whatever pour soul had given his body over to an evil spirit. Helo decided not to breathe for a while.
At the end of the hallway, a break room opened up, sink overflowing with dishes. A single chair was pushed away from the table, an empty bowl of chili surrounded by a halo of cracker crumbs. On the right, a door opened up into a storage room and another into an office. He pointed to Melody and then to the office. She nodded and headed that way. He had to admit she looked legit, focused, and comfortable with the weapon she was holding, her face resolute. He still liked her singing songs better.
The light to the storage room was on, revealing four rows of metal shelves filled with gallon jugs of chemicals—everything you would need to clean up puke, blood, and pee. Mops and wide brooms hung on the walls, a washbasin, a floor drain, and a hose just inside. He rifled around through the room looking for a switch or trapdoor but came up empty. Melody joined him.
“Nothing in there,” she said. “No sign he had a security camera feed. Either he got lucky patrolling or someone else is watching.”
Helo nodded. “We got nothing here,” he reported in. “What’s our guard up to?”
“Still cleaning up,” Faramir said, voice disgusted. “And there’s another guard out there too, on the north side. Looks like we were wrong about the surveillance.”
“Probably started it after the retreat got here,” Helo said. Avadan had to figure the Ash Angels would try to tail the retreating army. “We’ve got to keep looking for the entrance. Is there another maintenance shed like this one on the north side?”
“Yes,” Faramir said.
“That’s where we’ll go next,” Helo said. “You’ll have to keep us away from the guards.”
“Roger that.”
Helo stowed his gun, taking one last look around the storage room.
“Wait, Helo,” Melody said, face thoughtful.
“What is it?”
“Everything I’ve been told about Avadan points to a real drama-king, attention-whore kind of guy, you know? Well, Dolorem used to take me to these amusement parks all the time when we were on the road. All the big ones had shows during the summer—musicals, comedies, concerts. I loved them. That’s how I knew I wanted to be a performer. I get the feeling Avadan wants to be a performer too. I think—”
He knew what she was thinking. It was brilliant. “You’re right. Faramir, is there a performance hall here? An auditorium or theater or something?”
“One sec,” he said. “Yeah. Website says there’s, like, three of them. They’ve got an outdoor auditorium called the Coliseum, a theater called the Laugh Express—looks like kiddie kind of shows—and then there’s the Rising Star Theater, for bigger productions.”
Melody nodded at the last one.
“Take us to the Rising Star,” Helo said. “Keep us away from the guards.”
They hurried out to the garage, and Helo stopped dead. “We’ve got a problem. We’ve left tracks. Boot prints in the garage. Unle
ss he’s the most unobservant idiot in the world, he’s going to know someone’s been here. How far to the theater?”
“Two hundred yards,” Faramir said.
“You go,” Sparks said. “If it looks like he’s headed back, we’ll see if we can create a distraction up here to keep him north.”
“Copy,” Helo said.
They darted out of the garage and through the gate, leaving behind the warmth of the light and threading back through the empty park. They followed Faramir’s instructions, which led them down an incline on a path curving around a wall of thin trees, their branches bending over a train track. They found the Rising Star Theater’s front entrance near a cluster of food booths. The double doors were chained shut, but Helo knew that wasn’t where they needed to go.
They continued through the food court until they found another gate wide enough to drive a truck through with an Employees Only sign hanging crookedly on it. The gate was made of vertical vinyl slats and chained from the inside. A nine-foot block wall separated them from where they wanted to go.
“Boost me up,” he said. “No Bestowals.”
Melody formed a stirrup with her hands and lifted him up, a grunt escaping her lips. He scrambled to the top, ledge about a foot wide, and lay flat, reaching his arm down. Melody got a toehold in the mortar and pushed herself up. Helo grabbed her wrist and pulled until she could get her arms and hands over the ledge.
“Guard’s heading back,” Faramir reported. “He’s got the bodies on the four-wheeler’s trailer. We’re going to make a little noise up here and see if we can keep him away from the shed.”
“Keep me posted,” Helo said. “We’re heading in.”
He and Melody jumped down together, their Ash Angel bodies easily absorbing the long drop to the pavement. A dumpster sat against the back wall of the theater next to a tall garage door. Next to it was a metal service door with yet another Employees Only sign affixed to it. It was dead bolted.
He would have to risk using Strength. His aura flared as he yanked, pulling the handle clean off. He handed it to Melody, reached into the circular hole in the door, and yanked again. The lock snapped apart with a sound like a gunshot. Helo winced, and the two of them waited on the outside of the opening, guns drawn, for a full minute. But only darkness and silence greeted them.
After a peek around the edge, Helo pulled his tactical flashlight out of his coat pocket and ignited it, darting inside. It was a small office connected to a loading bay. They passed through another door and into a cement hallway lined with doors, some numbered, some restrooms. Farther on, the hallway turned right, and halfway down they found a door labeled Wardrobe.
Helo stopped. Wardrobe was Avadan’s favorite thing. He stepped back and signaled for Melody to open it. She tested the knob and then twisted it, pushing the door inward and stepping back. Helo eased inside, flashlight beam darting around the room. Clear. The room was about the size of a school classroom and had thin chrome hangers dangling from racks and strewn on the floor. Their flashlights danced on the walls, and Helo’s heart jumped into his throat when Melody banged into a rack and sent the hangers dancing noisily.
“Sorry,” she said.
A few clothes were left on the racks, but strewn all over the floor were more clown jumpsuits, all bearing the mud stains, rips, and bullet holes of the Foundry battle. Oversized clown shoes were piled into a huge bin on the far wall, a few noses along the bottom of another. They were in the right place, for sure. But where would the entrance to the lair be? He searched left, and Melody searched right. Nothing seemed out of place on his side.
“Helo,” Melody said. “What about this?”
He joined her near the far wall, trying to keep from kicking the hangers strewn everywhere. Melody shined her light on a black pipe sticking out of the floor about waist-high. It was about the diameter of a softball, maybe a little wider, and capped on the top. A lock held it shut. It was like a vent pipe for a furnace or something but clearly not intended for ventilation—not with a cap that would prevent airflow.
“I’ve been in a few dressing rooms,” Melody said, “but none of them have anything like this. Is it mechanical?”
“One way to find out,” he said. Flaring his Strength, he twisted the lock off and pulled open the lid. He nearly hit Melody’s head as she leaned over at the same time to get a look. It was a long way down, but there was a light on the other end. He knew what it was, and it was a problem.
“What is it?” Melody asked.
Helo looked her in the green eyes. “You know what a skin mission is?”
Chapter 23
Convergence
“Skin mission?” she said, head cocked to the side.
“Yeah, it’s when you have to heart travel to your destination without any clothes or equipment. Doesn’t happen much, but it’s happening today.”
Avadan had taken a cue from Deep 7, creating an entry to his lair that could only be entered by heart travel. They could try to blow the thing open, but it would be a lot of guesswork and ruin the surprise. And the police and fire departments would probably show up in a jiffy. Of course, there might be another entrance. Shujaa told him that the Red Angel Theater lair emptied out underneath an apartment complex. If they could find an alternate entrance before dawn, they could avoid running naked through one of Avadan’s strongholds.
“Sparks,” Helo said through comms. “We got an opening down to the lair, but it’s heart travel only—just a pipe. Start a search for anywhere there might be another way in. If not, it’s skin-mission time.”
“We call ’em birthday parties across the pond,” Sparks said.
“Look,” Helo said. “If recon can’t find us another entrance, get down here before dawn. We can drop blades, Stingers, and explosives down the hole along with our hearts.” He pulled his BBG out. It barely fit. “BBGs, too.”
“Got it,” Sparks said. “Hang tight.”
“What about the guards?” Melody asked.
“Don’t worry about them,” Sparks said. “We sort of lured them to a little fire we set, and Shujaa conked them on the head kinda hard. Got ’em tied up. Both have walkies and phones we’ll keep an eye on.”
The balance of the night passed slowly while the Ash Angels searched for another entrance into the complex but without any luck. Helo and Melody took up a defensive position in the wardrobe room, going dark and silent to keep from attracting the attention of any other guards or surveillance Avadan might have. About ninety minutes before dawn, while the sky was still good and dark, the rest of Sicarius Nox joined them in the wardrobe room along with one other Michael Team of six.
Helo circled them around. “About a minute to dawn, we cram as much stuff down that hole as we can as fast as we can. Hearts go down first, equipment second. Understood? Hearts out, everyone.” Shujaa had brought his and Melody’s katanas, and Helo remembered a little trick from Dolorem.
“Melody, come here,” he said. “Let me touch the hilt.”
She extended it, her sea-green eyes curious. Dolorem had the Bestowal called Bless, and Helo used it now, infusing the blade with Virtus. He took his own hilt and did the same.
“What is it?” Melody asked.
“It will make the sword sharper and cause the Dreads pain on impact,” he explained. He drew his knife. “Lift your shirt, and I’ll take your heart.”
“So forward,” she said with a teasing grin. She lifted her shirt, and he placed the blade against her skin below her sternum. It felt odd to take a knife to Melody, more than it had for Aclima, more violent somehow.
He sliced as small a hole as possible and reached into her chest and tore out her heart. Then he lifted his own shirt and turned the knife on himself.
“Wait,” Melody said. “Fair is fair.”
She cut into him and pulled his heart out, taking a moment to examine it. “I thought it would be bigger.” She winked, and together they placed the hearts on a pile next to the pipe. “Now that is just gross.”
Faramir walked over and threw his on the pile. “You get used to it. Did you know male hearts weigh two ounces more than female hearts?”
“You don’t say,” Melody replied, eyes still glued to the grotesque pile on the floor.
“Faramir,” Helo said, “I want you and Melody to stay toward the back and keep an eye on any normals he might have down there. Every lair we’ve raided has been a prison. We don’t want them getting caught in the crossfire if they’re there. Sparks, Shujaa, and I will take point. I want Andromeda and Finny to lead the rest of the soldiers. And remember, we just clip the Ghostpackers. Now, let’s make piles of Stingers, explosives, and BBGs. Don’t forget holsters and belts.”
Once they had piled everything up, the clock was down to five minutes. That’s when he felt it, a sickening twist in his gut. He glanced over at Melody, who looked almost pale. She glanced up at him. No one else seemed to have noticed. As an Angel Born, he was used to sensing the presence of Shedim far sooner than everyone else, but this wasn’t the taint he’d long been immune to. It was hard to put into words. It was the feeling you might get walking down a hallway and seeing blood run under a door or the horror you might feel after you realize you’ve run over a child in a crosswalk. Somewhere, a line had been crossed.
Melody came over to him and leaned in close, hand across her belly. “What is that? I’ve never . . .”
“You two okay?” Sparks said.
Helo nodded. “Fine. Listen up, everyone. I think they know we’re coming.”
“Sheid?” Shujaa said.
“I don’t know,” Helo said. “Something bad. I . . . I can’t describe it. Be sharp.”
The sensation roiled his stomach, a dagger of fear jabbing his gut. He rubbed his jaw and swallowed. Melody stared at the pipe like it was a sewer grate someone was forcing her to jump into.
He put his lips close to her ear. “You want to sit this out?”
Her eyes flashed. “No. And you’d better not order me to do it.”
At a minute, he flipped up the pipe covering and shoveled hearts down the hole, a distant squishy impact filtering back up the pipe. Then came the BBGs, extra ammo, explosives, and Stingers. All with four seconds to spare.