by T. M. Catron
But she wasn’t stupid, and she would have begun searching this side of the ship. Doyle felt around for the latch, found it, and paused. If Calla were there, and he fought her, their struggle would attract attention.
He’d never get a chance to go back and get the others.
With a frustrated sigh, Doyle jogged back down the long corridor, again listening for sounds of being followed. By the time he reached the portal, he was winded. The methane gas was getting to him. If he were honest with himself, he wouldn’t last much longer without a mask.
When he toppled into the tunnel, he stood more slowly, feeling bruised and beaten.
“All clear,” he said to their questioning looks. “Mina, you’ll go with me. We’ll be ready to help with Alice. Alice, it’s critical you’re quiet during this. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Doyle thought her voice sounded a bit stronger.
“Let me walk,” she said. Morse put her down, careful to make sure she was capable of supporting herself before he let go. She found her balance, then nodded.
“Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?” Mina asked her.
“I figure I’ll find out soon enough. If you’ve taken care of me this far, you’ll help me later, right?”
Doyle laughed. He couldn’t help it. The contrast between Mina, who had struggled with trust issues ever since he met her, and Alice, who showed signs of complete trust, was startling.
“What’s funny?” Mina asked.
Doyle decided not to say anything.
As soon as the news about the Glyph had sunk in, Grace had ushered the humans out of the training room. The hybrids had abandoned their posts and rushed out of the room, too. Grace had said the safest place for the humans would be the hospital wing where they could lock solid doors. Although the Glyphs that Lincoln had seen looked more than capable of crashing through stone doors.
He ran down the hall with the others. Well, hobbled. Because of his leg, Lincoln couldn’t do more than limp along, using the wall for support. He clutched the flashlight Doyle had given him. Hybrids ran past, some carrying weapons. Guns, knives, one even had a spear. Another had a rocket launcher. Lincoln’s money was on him.
“Where is the Glyph?” Alvarez asked Grace.
“We don’t know. It left the detention center and disappeared.”
“It’s twelve feet tall, how can it disappear?”
“We don’t know that, either.”
The group paused for Lincoln to catch up. He leaned on the wall for support, afraid his leg was going to give out. “What do we know?”
“Li went to check the cell in the detention center, and it was wide open.”
“How did that happen? I thought only Doyle could open it? Didn’t he seal it with the adarria?”
“I thought so.”
The news that the adarria let it out was more disturbing than the Glyph being free. If Doyle didn’t have control like they all thought, how safe was the Factory? How safe were any of them?
They began moving again, and Lincoln, feeling the urgency, forced himself to go faster. As the adarria on the walls slid by, he recoiled at touching them any further. He no longer felt safe. At least, he felt even more unsafe than he had an hour ago.
“So can they recapture it?” Alvarez asked.
“Yes, if we can find it. Although without Doyle, it will be harder. We may have to try to kill it,” Grace said darkly.
“But you’ve done that before,” Carter said.
“Only Doyle.”
“But these things can be killed.”
“Yes.”
“There are one million hybrids on the Factory. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Yes. But we have to find it.”
They moved deeper through the Factory, passing side corridors that were pitch black. No one wanted to look down them, dreading what they might see. But all eyes darted into the shadows on impulse, as if expecting the Glyph to be waiting to ambush them.
“Lincoln, douse your light,” Grace whispered after a few minutes.
“Then we can’t see,” he whispered back.
She held her finger to her lips. Taking a deep breath, Lincoln turned off the flashlight. And plunged them into complete darkness. Of course, Grace could see. But that didn’t help the rest of them.
With the absence of light, every sound became louder. Every breath became the wheeze of an animal. Every rustle of clothing the footfall of a giant creature. Lincoln could have sworn that his heart was beating loud enough for everyone to hear it. Did the Glyphs have super hearing like the hybrids? He had never thought to ask.
A whisper of wind shot by his ear, sending cold rivers down his spine. Was Nelson breathing down his neck? But Nelson hadn’t been anywhere near Lincoln. Lincoln put his hand on the wall to steady himself. He was strongly reminded of the time he got lost in the silo by himself. Then, he had felt the strange prickling of the hairs on his neck.
Just like he was right now.
Then, running footsteps. A harsh cry. Something wet splattered on Lincoln’s cheek.
“Coward!” Grace yelled. Her next words were jumbled, like something had muffled her mouth. But her scream was unmistakable.
Everyone scattered. Lincoln had the sense to keep his hand on the wall, but someone—Nelson, maybe—ran blindly into him and knocked him off his feet. Falling on the cold stone floor was more painful than he would have thought.
The sounds around him seemed like a blind battle. People shouting, trying to find one another. Grace’s battle cry. A ringing clash that sounded like metal on stone. Lincoln pulled himself to his feet, only to be knocked over again by something as broad as a tree trunk. As he fell to the floor for the second time, he rolled, hoping to get out from under the Glyph’s feet before he was crushed like an ant at a picnic.
He rolled over something hard—his flashlight—and switched it on.
As the beam fell on it, the Glyph was swinging for someone. Its great arm swooped toward Lincoln, who ducked as it made contact with the wall. Stone cracked and splintered, pelting Lincoln’s neck and shoulders. He moved again, ignoring his half-numb leg.
Grace was still alive. He saw her standing in the light, her arm and face bloodied, holding a long knife. She never took her eyes off the Glyph, which had paused to regroup after its miss.
Lincoln edged away from the fight, keeping the wall to his back. He never took his eyes off the Glyph, either. He didn’t see any of the others. Their shouting had faded.
With a raspy yell, Grace charged the Glyph. It sidestepped her, but it had little space to maneuver in the close corridor. She plunged her knife into its side. It screeched and brought its clawed fist down on her like a hammer. Grace crumpled to the floor. Then, it picked her up and turned, fixing its cold eyes on Lincoln. He stopped breathing, waiting for it to come after him, too.
More shouting echoed down the corridor. Distracted, the Glyph looked both ways, then took off down a side corridor with Grace over its shoulder.
Lincoln swept the light along the walls, looking for his friends. But they were all gone. He waited, breathing more heavily than was wise, hoping someone would show up to tell him where to go. But the footsteps he heard must have turned aside down another corridor.
Watching the exit the Glyph had used, Lincoln edged away from it. He had to make a decision—try to go back and find the training room, or go forward to locate the hospital on his own?
If he did find the hospital, he couldn’t close the doors on his own. He would be just as vulnerable there as anywhere else. But the destination felt safe and familiar.
He should call for his friends. Lincoln opened his mouth to shout, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t shake the image of the Glyph crushing Grace with its arm. Or the way she had crumpled to the floor.
Coward, she had said.
Lincoln was the coward. Ashamed of himself for hesitating, he called out. His voice bounced off the walls, but it seemed mute
d, like the stone was absorbing the sound rather than carrying it.
“Hello!” he called again.
No answer.
No. He couldn’t be left there. The sheer enormity of Lincoln’s situation quickly took hold. This wasn’t like getting lost in the forest. The Factory was dark and deep. He could wander for days without seeing anyone.
And if the hybrids found him? Doyle had counted on their loyalty to him. And on Grace being there to protect the humans in case one of them went astray. But with Doyle gone and Grace dead, what would stop a hybrid from murdering Lincoln and then hunting down the others?
With these questions, Lincoln made a wide berth of the tunnel where the Glyph had disappeared. He figured if he were to die, at least he would die fighting. Maybe the hospital had a scalpel or something else to arm himself with. Lincoln laughed joylessly at the thought.
He knew he was going to die on this Factory. He just knew it.
The trip to the Nomad was more nerve-racking for Mina than the trip away from it. Since she couldn’t see anything, she imagined all sorts of things lurking in the dark. Condarri, Calla, the aether.
Knowing Calla was on the ship, even a ship as large as Condar, was somehow more terrifying than meeting a Condarri. Mina’s only consolation was that Doyle had some control over the aether.
Doyle had successfully killed a Glyph and captured another one. He had never done either to Calla.
Because he doesn’t want to.
Rather than stew about it anymore, Mina resolved to find out why Doyle had let Calla live. He had told her it “wouldn’t be him,” or something like that. Was it because of their past relationship, or was it something else?
When they reached the door to the hangar, Mina’s focus returned to their task.
When the door opens, Doyle told Mina and Morse, run. If we get separated, don’t wait for me. Don’t turn on your light unless that happens. Get to the Nomad. Morse, I need you ready to fly her.
Yes, Dar Ceylin, Morse said.
Joking time was over. Everyone was on edge. Mina felt the anticipation in her jaws, which she’d clenched tight without realizing. She tried to relax and visualize the Nomad’s location.
It had been at the far end of the hangar, to the left of the door. She hoped and prayed it was still there.
Just when she couldn’t stand the waiting anymore, Doyle opened the door.
Chapter Seventeen
A whoosh of freezing air hit Mina's body, and she shivered inside her suit. They quietly entered the hangar, moving to the right so Doyle could shut the door behind them. Alice stood beside Mina, hovering close to her body.
Everything was quiet, but an army of hybrids could have been waiting inside and Mina wouldn’t have seen them. Since Doyle didn’t raise the alarm, she assumed they were safe.
Then, his breath hitched in his throat.
Mina grasped for him, for reassurance. But he wasn’t there.
“You’ve grown soft, Doyle,” a woman said. Calla. Her voice was so full of malice and quiet fury that Mina took a step back and bumped into Alice.
“Get out of the way,” Doyle commanded.
Completely blind, Mina felt Morse grab her arm and steer her behind him. His grip was warm and strong. Almost too strong, like he was channeling all his own hatred into his hand. Mina didn’t cry out—he wasn’t trying to hurt her. Even in the complete darkness, she could tell his attention was focused on Calla. She pulled Alice with her and put the young woman behind her. Alice whispered a harsh question over the comm, but Mina was too intent on what was happening in front of her to listen.
She wanted to turn on her light, to see the hybrid standing between them and their escape. To see the woman who had already caused her so much pain. But now Morse stood in between.
Mina’s rage rose up through her weariness. It rose into her throat, stung her eyes. Then, her head grew hot.
Calla had hunted her and Doyle, and in her effort to serve her masters, killed Mina’s friends. For no reason.
The air inside Mina’s helmet grew unbearably warm, and all she could hear was her own breathing. She fought through the confusion to focus on what Doyle was saying to Calla.
But all she heard was Doyle and Morse yell, “Run!”
Her instincts kicked in, and Mina grabbed Alice while switching on her light at the same time.
Calla stood in front of them, holding her knife in one hand and a handgun in the other, pointed straight at Doyle.
Without another word, she fired. Three rounds at Doyle’s chest, each accompanied by a flash and a deafening sound. Mina’s comm squealed.
Doyle grunted and fell back.
“No!” Mina screamed.
“Mina, get out of here!” Morse yelled again.
But his voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away. All Mina could do was stand frozen in time while Doyle’s body arced toward the stone floor.
She reached out for him, but Morse tackled her to the floor just as Calla fired again.
Mina landed hard on her stomach with Morse on top of her. Her jaw connected with the inside of her helmet, the plastic softening the impact on the stone but still sending sharp pain through her chin. Mina heard a soft “Oh” as Morse jumped off of her.
Then, Mina lost track of everybody. She scrambled to her feet, her light swinging wildly on dark stone all around. Disoriented, she couldn’t figure out which way to turn, like she was underwater and couldn’t find up.
Finally, a hand grasped her arm, gripping it so painfully Mina thought it would break and bringing her senses back in sharp relief. But she recognized it. Doyle was there, swinging her around.
It must be him.
Mina almost choked with relief. Not caring how or why, she let him pull her away from the sounds of the fight going on to their left.
Then, Mina’s light hit Alice. She stood to the right, one hand on her arm. Blood streamed down, slowly staining the blanket tunic in dark red.
Mina grabbed Alice, wrapping her free arm around the young woman as Doyle pulled her toward the Nomad. Mina could see it now. It wasn’t far.
But the man herding them toward the ship wasn’t Doyle, after all, but Morse. Mina’s light hit him, and realization struck her. She tried to pull away, to go back to Doyle.
NO, Mina! Morse’s voice in her head was different from Doyle’s. Harsher, tinged with bitterness.
Is he still fighting her? Let me go back!
I’m going back. Get Alice inside.
And then they were at the Nomad, standing beneath its dark hull and watching the ladder descend to the ground. Mina didn’t understand how they’d reached it so quickly. She shook her head to clear it. Without hesitation, Alice climbed the ladder.
Morse gripped Mina firmly, as if he knew she would turn and run toward Doyle if he gave her a chance.
Then, more footsteps running, and Morse turned. Mina swung with him. Her heart, already beating so fast her breath couldn’t keep up, dropped into her stomach.
The other hybrid man had appeared. Doyle and Calla were engaged in a struggle on the floor. How Doyle had managed to disarm her, Mina couldn’t say. How was he even breathing?
Morse released Mina and took off at a run toward the other hybrid.
Mina almost ran after him, then paused to look up the ladder. Alice was up there, injured, alone, and probably scared out of her mind. Morse was going to help Doyle.
With a rage-filled cry, Morse launched himself at the other hybrid, who appeared unarmed. The hybrid crumpled under his weight, and they both landed heavily on the floor.
That cinched it for Mina. If Morse had to fight somebody else, Doyle had to fight Calla alone and injured.
“Alice!” she called up the ladder. “Stay put!”
Then, forgetting her weariness, her heartache, and her fear, Mina ran for all she was worth. Her breath fogged up the helmet, and she vaguely registered that it must have a hole in it. But Mina was all in. If Doyle wasn’t leaving, neither was sh
e.
Doyle couldn’t breathe. The agonizing pain in his chest was crushing him, squeezing his lungs. More blood than he’d ever imagined was pouring out of the wounds in his chest. He felt the cold metal and lead of the bullets that had mushroomed inside him. Had felt them puncture both lungs. His hybrid nature kicked into gear, pushing away the pain to fight until the last breath. He desperately clung to every shred of consciousness he still possessed.
Calla was on top of him, trying to get her fingers around his neck. But Doyle held onto her in a last desperate attempt to ward her off. The longer he kept her there, the better chance the others had of getting away.
Mina needed to get away. He needed to hang on for her.
With that thought, Doyle’s body grew cold, and then suddenly hot, as if it had burst into flames. Despite Calla’s tremendous strength, she couldn’t compete with his desire to save Mina. Just when he thought he couldn’t hang on much longer, he felt the aether return.
It swirled around them both. Calla’s eyes grew wide in fear, and her hold lessened by a small fraction.
That was all Doyle needed. With a roar of anger, he threw her off of him, letting the aether lift him off the ground.
But Calla found her courage and attacked before he could recover, ignoring the aether to knock Doyle back to the ground with such force that every bone in his body trembled. Then she was on top of him again.
In her rage, Calla snarled at Doyle. Even now, the aether was tugging at her, grabbing her, pulling her away from him. But she refused to succumb to it. Doyle was hers. Finally, after all these months. She held on tighter, holding his arms, trying to find an opening to get her hands around his neck. She wanted to watch the life leave his eyes. Wanted to watch him die.
The traitor.
You are the traitor, Calla, he said into her mind. You have been killing Glyphs.
How did he know? And how did he know what she was thinking?
I can link to you now without your consent. You are like me—a killer and a monster. Let me go. I won’t let you hurt them any further!
You love your humans too much! she replied. But you can’t help them when you are dead. Look at all that blood. You are dying.