"Oh no!" Selena had caught up with him, panting nearly as hard as he, which didn't stop her from repeating it over and over again, like a mantra or a spell that would make it all go away if only she said it often enough. "Oh no... oh no..."
He wrapped an arm around her and pointed to one of the support pillars. It must have survived the tremor that had destroyed the ceiling and come down in a later quake to topple across the lobby like a felled tree. Free of glass, it formed a bridge to the street.
At the third attempt he managed to pull himself on top of it, then reached down to haul Selena after him. Careful to avoid any unnecessary glances to the lobby floor and the dead scattered there, they balanced across the pillar and finally found themselves outside and under a livid, churning sky.
Heat slammed into them like a mallet. Apparently some of the cooling systems inside the building had still been working, or perhaps Radek simply hadn't noticed before and it had taken the sick color of the sky to drive it home. Out in the open, temperatures were scorching. Near-tropical humidity made matters worse, and without so much as a whisper of wind to stir it, the whole stifling stew hung trapped amid the skeletal remains of buildings. In hindsight Radek thought that he shouldn't have been so surprised. It made sense. As the planet expanded, the atmosphere would have to thin proportionately, offering less and less protection from the sun.
The devastation in the street matched that inside the building, except that things were a little less cramped. Directly ahead rose what was left of the monorail station. The rail had buckled between two support struts. A train was jammed at the bottom of the kink, still trying to move forward, its engine whining angrily.
"Hell," Selena muttered. "I paid my public transport dues a year in advance..." She was coming out of her shock and dealing with the situation the only way you could if you wanted to stay sane.
"Serves you right for being a goodie-two-shoes." Radek grinned. "But I wasn't going to suggest we take the train anyway. It's unreliable at the best of times. I was thinking along the lines of purloining a glider."
`Purloining?"
"I would have said borrowing, but given that there probably won't be any owners around to ask..." He headed for a large parking area at the opposite side of the station.
Not that anyone could have recognized it for what it was. For all the world it looked like a junkyard. Still, Radek counted on finding at least one glider-a fast one preferably-that was still operational. Finding it quickly would bean added bonus.
The one they found-almost immediately, and they could barely believe their luck-was wedged into a makeshift shelter. The roof at the far end of the station had collapsed, forming a lean-to and protecting the three gliders parked beneath from the falling debris that had flattened everything else in the vicinity.
"I'm piloting," Selena said, shoving him out of the way with a meaningful glance.
"I was about to suggest just that."
Back on Earth he'd never even learned to drive, and the two attempts he'd made at piloting gliders had almost resulted in disaster. Selena, on the other hand, could proudly look back on a whole list of citations for reckless speeding, which might not be much safer but, under the circumstances, would be an asset. All he'd have to do was close his eyes. He climbed into the glider, swiped a little mound of dirt from the passenger seat, settled in-and closed his eyes.
Not a moment too soon.
The next thing he knew was his head being slammed into the backrest by a jolt of sudden acceleration, then the glider banked sharply-hopefully around an obstacle-and soared off across the parking area and in the general direction of the hills.
CHAPTER 21
Charybdis -908
onon peered through a tear in the sackcloth, checked for .observers, and smoothly rolled out from under the stall when he saw that the coast was clear. The lump of oil-soaked wool and linen sat on the counter of the stall, nestled among wrapping material and well protected from the rain.
Which was more than could be said for Ronon. He took an experimental step and squirmed at the squelching of water in his boots. If there was one thing he hated... Early in the evening it had looked as though it might clear up, but the respite had lasted all of fifteen minutes. Then the downpour had resumed, more violent than ever, and you couldn't help thinking that it meant to scour this place off the face of the planet.
"How many left?" he asked softly. They'd set a total of fourteen of the makeshift incendiary devices, mostly in taverns, because access was easy and panic was more likely once the fires started. A couple he'd managed to plant in private houses where the backdoors had conveniently stood open.
Silent like a ghost, Teyla shifted from the shadows behind the stall and to his side. "Five more. I think we should place them all in the fortress. That's where-"
The noise reared up suddenly and didn't seem to want to stop-ever. It began as an almighty roar that rolled up the street, wave after wave of it, followed by a screech that ebbed and rose but never quite subsided. And then the screaming started. Ronon had a flash of that miserable shantytown, shoebox houses stuffed with enough people to make their walls bulge outward; dwelling after dwelling, crammed together as tightly as possible, because space was at a premium between the river and the city walls, and in those narrow, winding alleys hundreds and thousands of people, desperate to get out and drowning like rats. He felt sick to his stomach.
"What was that?" gasped Teyla.
"The levees. The levees have broken."
"The houses by the river..."
"Yeah. More of a diversion than we planned," he conceded grimly. "We can't help those poor bastards, so we might as well make use of it."
She nodded wordlessly.
Holding on to Teyla's arm, he led her away from the market and down the wide street they'd first walked up the evening before. It was virtually deserted now; everybody who could move had sought refuge from the torrential rain, and the porticoes were packed with countless prospective thrill-seekers, jostling for the premium places near the braziers and still hoping they'd see an execution the next morning. Some of them, the older, weaker ones or the very young, had given up on the notion of shouldering their way anywhere near that aura of warmth and sat bleakly staring into the rain. Invariably, they goggled with disbelief when they spotted him and Teyla out in the downpour.
Not good. The last thing Ronon wanted was to stand out.
"Play along with me," he whispered to Teyla. "We're drawing too much attention."
"Am I pregnant again?"
"No. This time you're a thief" He grabbed her a little tighter and shoved her in front of him.
"Hey!" she snapped. "That hurts!"
"Should have thought of that before you went snooping around the market!" he barked back. "Move!"
Ducking her head in a convincing kicked dog impression, she did just that. It had the desired effect. In the manner of people the universe over-or so he'd been told-the onlookers under the porticoes averted their eyes and withdrew deeper into sodden cloaks in an effort to become invisible in the eye of the law. Even better, with Teyla as his captive, he had a perfect excuse for reentering the fortress. Ronon snuffed a grin, and kept plodding on down the street, occasionally prodding his `captive' for show and noting that, if anything, the weather was getting worse. Some two hundred meters on, they reached an intersection and left the main street for a narrower alley that led up to the fortress.
The runoff down the streets had swelled dramatically, and despite the incline they were wading ankle-deep in water that gushed over cobblestones and lapped at walls and steps and sent all kinds of debris swirling around their feet. The footing was treacherous, to say the least. As if trying to match the rising water, the screaming and shouting beyond the walls had risen in volume, too.
"They're trying to get to high ground," Teyla said.
No need to elaborate. High ground was within the city walls, and by the sound of it a whole mob of terrified people was about to storm the gates. As i
f to confirm Ronon's speculation, a contingent of soldiers came barreling down the alley toward them.
Rushing past, one of them yelled, "Where do you think you're going, man? They need every hand at the gate! The filth is trying to get in!"
"Some already did!" Ronon yelled back, giving Teyla another shove. "Caught her trying to sneak into a house. I'll join you as soon as she's taken care of."
He wasn't sure whether the man had heard him or cared if he had. Essentially the same conversation repeated itself several times over as they climbed on toward the fortress and encountered more and more troops heading for the gate. At this rate there wouldn't be a guard left in the entire building.
Finally, the entrance to the fortress loomed above them like a huge maw, and for just a moment Ronon envied Teyla for not being able to see it. Had it looked this forbidding last night`?
As soon as the question popped into his mind, he chased it away. It was a little late to have second thoughts, especially since the sole guard left under the portcullis had spotted them. A bitter wind was sweeping the downpour almost horizontally into the gate, which, if the guy's face was anything to go by, hadn't improved his mood.
"Hey! Slacker! Aren't you going the wrong way?" he barked. "Now isn't the time to piss your pants. They need every man down there."
Ronon recognized the voice and almost did piss his pants. It belonged to none other than their friend from the city gate. Making a show of hunching his shoulders against the weather, Ronon tried to keep his face in the shadows as best he could, lowered his own voice to a ludicrous bass, and once more launched into the tale of how he'd arrested a piece of rabble about to sneak into a house.
The man squinted at Teyla and smirked. "Should have known. Watch yourself around that one, brother. She's trouble" Leaning in to Ronon, he added in a whisper, "She's a witch."
"She won't make trouble once I'm done with her." Ronon did his best to ignore the fact that the guy's breath reeked of bad teeth, booze, and garlic. How Teyla had come up with cheap perfume and home cooking beat him. Today at least the odor was rather more hellish.
"You'd better make it quick then. I don't trust her." The guard laughed, squinted again, and then an idea seemed to take hold. "Hey, make sure you let me know which cell she's in, brother. I could use a bit of warming up once my shift ends."
The temptation to deck the son of a bitch was overwhelming, but Ronon decided that it would be counterproductive. So, he winked at the guy instead. "It's a deal," he promised and nudged Teyla past the guard and through the gate.
They hurried across an interior court, which stood at least two inches under water, and toward the wing to the left of the gate. Ronon couldn't even begin to imagine what the other sections of the buildings might hold. The structure was massive, less from genuine need, he suspected, than to project a sense of power over the city and surrounding countryside.
"Where are we going?" Teyla whispered.
"The guardroom," he replied, trying to inject it with about twice as much optimism as he actually felt. "Should be empty. We'll leave a fire-starter there, then head down to the cells."
"Good. I think." She didn't sound convinced, not that Ronon could blame her.
Despite his own misgivings, he was grateful when they reached the entrance to the building and, for the first time in hours, a place that was dry. The outer door gaped on a long hall way, lit by a handful of torches in wall sconces and the warm glimmer of light spilling through another open door right at its end. The guardroom was deserted as he'd hoped, cups of wine and plates with unfinished meals littering the refectory table that took up half the space in the room.
"Hungry?" asked Ronon, grinning.
"Not particularly."
"You sound nervous "
"I wonder why." She gave a lopsided smile. Then, "Let's hurry. I've got a bad feeling about this. As if something or someone is going to try and stop us."
He knew better than to question Teyla's instincts. They were always on the money, and of course there was that Wraith gene that seemed to allow her to sense stuff above and beyond telepathic contact.
It took them less than half an hour to place the rest of their oil packages. One they deposited in the guardroom itself. From there a second door led off into several large bunkrooms, and they hid the remaining four parcels in those after making sure that the quarters were as deserted as everywhere else. The bedding would provide excellent fuel.
"How long do you reckon?" said Ronon.
"Difficult to gage," she replied. "It's a lot warmer in here than it was back in the market square, so that should speed things up. I would guess about half an hour, but I can't be sure. The ones we planted in the city should go up soon, though."
"That's what I've been thinking." He hadn't forgotten her warning about the need for haste. The fact that the guards, who had been milling around in droves the previous night, were absent was an unforeseen gift. In Ronon's experience you were well advised to take advantage of those as quickly and as thoroughly as you could, because there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be snatched away again. "Let's do it," he murmured. "Weather's only getting worse."
"Excellent point." Teyla gave a brief smile, which was reassuring. He didn't like her being all tense and apprehensive. It was rare enough to be unsettling. "Have you thought about how you'll get Rodney out of that cage?" she asked.
"Yes. I can do it, though McKay won't be happy." An optimistic assessment, but Ronon chose not to share that minor point. He led Teyla through the guardroom and back into the corridor, which ended at an archway spanning a flight of stairs.
Unlit and narrow, the staircase seemed to lead directly to the bowels of the planet. A clammy draft streamed up from below, making the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. Worse than that, he heard footsteps.
"Crap," he whispered.
"Do you want to go back?"
"No. Probably seen us already." He guided her forward, keeping a firm hold on her arm to prevent her from tripping.
Halfway down, they met a couple of guards who came barging up the steps, breathing hard. Ronon grunted a greeting, hoping that they wouldn't recognize the tension in his body as they squeezed past. He needn't have worried. The guards barely acknowledged him and Teyla, rushing on up the stairwell, intent on their errand, whatever it was. Good luck to them.
"They were scared," Teyla offered softly.
Ronon decided against asking how she knew. This whole telepathy thing was making him feel distinctly nervous.
A couple of minutes later they reached the bottom of the stairs and another corridor. Last night he'd learned that this was one of the levels where prisoners were kept, and the implication had been that there were further floors like this; gloomy and dank and devoid of hope, their low-ceilinged hallways seamed by sturdy wooden doors and the cells they locked. Uncharacteristically hesitant, he ambled to a halt outside one of the open cell doors.
"What?" Teyla asked.
"Look, don't take this personally..." Oh damn, just spit it out, Dex! "You should stay here. You can't help me with McKay, and it'll be easier if I know you're someplace safe."
A brief flare of anger danced across her face-or perhaps it had merely been the flicker of a lone torch five meters down the hall. "That's the worst part of it," she murmured. "Believe it or not, I managed to train myself into forgetting it most of the time. But every now and again I come up against something that demonstrates to me how lacking I really am."
"You're not lacking," he said earnestly. "Your skills are different, is all. And we'll need them again, later."
She gave a soft laugh. "I'd never have pegged you for a diplomat, Ronon. To be honest, the idea is a little scary."
"I know." He nudged her into the cell, pulled the door shut and bolted it. "I'll be back as quickly as I can."
And he'd better keep that promise. If he didn't, he had just sealed Teyla's death warrant.
Shoving that thought aside, he started jogging down the corridor until he
got to another staircase at the far end. This one spiraled up floor after floor, to the upper cell levels and eventually to the parapet from which McKay's cage was suspended. Ronon wouldn't have to go quite that far. The place he wanted was only two floors up. He sucked in a deep breath and bolted up the stairs, two steps at a time. The temperature was dropping as he climbed, proof that he was getting close.
Tonight there were no rubberneckers-all of them too busy quelling the riot at the gate-and the landing in front of the window was deserted. Carved three feet through solid rock, the sides of the casement glistened wet, and gusts of wind drove in the rain. He shuddered to think what it had to be like out there in the cage. But McKay wouldn't have to stay there much longer.
Ronon took off the cloak that was part of his stolen uniform, drew his sword, and began cutting the heavy fabric lengthwise into strips. Knotted together they'd give him a reasonably strong rope. From what he'd seen yesterday, he wouldn't need much more than six meters, which meant he would use about half the cloak and should have enough left over to provide McKay with some kind of cover. When he was done, he tied one end of the makeshift rope to a hook set high in the wall, secured the other end around his waist, and crawled out to the edge of the window.
Out of inky blackness, a stinging fist of rain smacked his face and ripped his breath away. He couldn't see a single thing-welcome to Teyla's world-and for long moments he worried that the rescue attempt would fail right here. Then, slowly but steadily, his eyes adjusted and he could make out the gray-in-gray outlines of the cage and the man slumped inside it. Slumped in a different position from yesterday, which was good news. At some point in the none-too-distant past McKay had still been able to move under his own steam. It wasn't saying much, and it might have changed by now, but every scrap of hope helped.
Pushed and pummeled by the relentless wind, the cage swayed nervously three meters beneath the lower edge of the window, and about two meters out from the rock face. It'd be a rough landing, and Ronon would have preferred to jump for a more stable target, but he doubted that things would improve anytime soon.
Mirror, Mirror Page 27