Sunspire (The Reach, Book 4)

by Mark R. Healy

  “Yes, brother,” Lazarus said through gritted teeth. “You were right to mock me. My legs have failed me, and my mind is blunted and slow.” He squeezed. “But my hands have not forgotten how to kill.”

  Lazarus tightened his grip and Nurzhan screamed, flailing his arms uselessly. Lazarus was immovable, too strong now that he had the leverage, and a moment later, Knile heard a cracking sound in Nurzhan’s neck, like a dry twig being snapped in two.

  “The shadows will not flee before you, brother,” Lazarus said through drawn lips, his face a rictus as he directed every last ounce of strength through his hands. “Not in this life, nor the next. They are coming for you. They are coming for your very soul.”

  There were more cracking sounds, and Nurzhan gurgled horribly. His body convulsed twice, and then he went limp.

  48

  Knile stood panting in the rain, his hand extended down toward Lazarus, who had rolled away from Nurzhan’s body and then become very still. He lay on his back in the mud, staring up into the sky.

  “Come on,” Knile said. “There’s at least one more of those bastards still inside.”

  Lazarus worked his lips and flexed the fingers on his right hand. “I… I must apologise. I am spent.”

  “No, you’re not. Get up.”

  Knile leaned down and clasped the Redman’s hand in his, then pulled. It was like trying to lift a fallen tree trunk. Lazarus lay there for a moment longer, looking at him curiously, then wearily began to push up onto his elbow. He made it to a sitting position, one knee raised, and then waved Knile off.

  “You go,” he said. “I will be with you momentarily.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Go!” Lazarus said, more stridently this time. He continued to sit there, chest heaving, and Knile doubted he really did have the strength to get back to his feet. The battle with Nurzhan seemed to have taken what little strength he had left.

  In any case, Lazarus was right. Knile had to go. Roman and Talia were still inside Sunspire, possibly being held prisoner by the other Redman. He had to get in there quickly.

  The clock was running, and their narrow launch window was nearing its end with every passing second.

  He turned and began to run back through the substation.

  Talia came back to consciousness with a start. Immediately she went into another coughing fit, hunched over the floor on her hands and knees, struggling just to keep herself from collapsing.

  She must have blacked out at some point. She couldn’t remember when.

  How long was I out? she thought with horror. Have they already gone on without me?

  Her senses seemed muted, numb. She thought the ringing in her ears might have lessened, for she could now hear sounds, but they seemed as though they were coming from a great distance.

  Surrounded by dust and the inert machines of the comms room, she couldn’t help but be swallowed by despair.

  She was going to die here in the dark, unable to hear or see anything. Cut off from the world in the most profound way possible. But maybe at least the others had found safety. She could console herself with that.

  Then, as if by some sort of miracle, she saw a small patch of illumination on the far wall, a golden speck shimmering in the void. One of the consoles coming back online?

  She pushed herself up from the floor, then fell awkwardly back into the bench behind her. Grunting, she got up again. She felt dizzy and disorientated, but that glimmer of light had partially rekindled her sense of hope–

  It was already gone.

  No. Nonono.

  She moved forward, stumbling through debris, her hands out in front of her like a blind woman. She stopped, looked around.

  “Hello?” she shouted. “Can anyone hear me?”

  The glimmer of light returned, her fragment of hope shifting once again across the far wall.

  She heard a voice. “Talia?”

  It was a female, and it originated in the opposite direction to the light. She turned and saw the collapsed corridor, and what looked like a flashlight beam shining through a tiny gap in the debris.

  “I’m here!” Talia croaked, coughing again. She moved toward the remnants of the corridor, toward the source of the light. “Can you hear me?”

  The flashlight disappeared for a moment, then returned once more. “We’re coming. We’re going to get you out.”

  As soon as Knile made it inside Sunspire, he could tell something was wrong.

  He could smell smoke for a start, and that was never a good sign. Plus, the place was a lot creepier than he’d imagined. Weird, ghoulish graffiti adorned the walls, a feature that set his nerves on edge from the moment he saw it.

  Then, there was the noise – or more accurately, the lack thereof. Sunspire was preternaturally quiet. There was no shouting, no gunfire. No sound of footsteps.

  It made him wonder if he was walking into a trap, if there was perhaps a Redman waiting around the next corner, listening for his approach, ready to leap out and cleave his head from his shoulders.

  Working his way forward, he began to check through each room he passed. Much of the interior had been stripped, and what had been left behind was merely a shell. Here and there he saw an overturned table or a cluster of filthy rags, but on the whole, it was decidedly empty.

  Conscious that time was leaking way, he lifted his pace.

  Moments later, he heard a noise – the sound of something heavy being dropped, and then a raised voice. He homed in on the origin of the noises, weaving through the corridors as silently as he could, closing the gap between himself and whoever was there.

  Now he could hear at least two voices. He wasn’t sure what they were doing, but there was an intermittent hammering sound and scraping noises. It conjured the image of workmen on a construction site, for some reason.

  Knile edged toward the corner, seeing shadows dance before him. Whoever it was, they were close by.

  He held his shiv at the ready, then crept forward. The corridor came into view.

  Alec Duran was standing there, a .38 pointed right at him, in front of what looked like a pile of rubble.

  “Not as quiet as you thought you were, huh?” Duran said.

  Knile blanched and froze in place. “Duran? What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you again, Knile.”

  Duran watched him down the sights of the .38, his stance unwavering, an odd little smile on his face. His companion, the woman named Zoe, appeared at his side and put her hand on the gun.

  “Don’t be a dick, Alec. We’ve got work to do.”

  Duran allowed his hands to drop, then replaced the .38 in his holster. “Don’t worry, Knile. For once, it’s not you I’m here to shoot.”

  Knile glanced between them, confounded. “Why are you here? Talia said you went your own way back in Link.”

  “We did,” Duran said. “But we made a disturbing discovery and decided to change course.” He nodded past Knile. “What happened out there? Where’s the other Redman?”

  “Dead. Lazarus took care of him.” He glanced about. “What happened here? Where’s Talia and Roman?”

  “Talia’s on the other side of this collapse. Looks like she triggered an IED, killing the Redman who was chasing her in the process.”

  “Oh, shit. Is she okay?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “We put out the fire,” Zoe said, “but there are some heavy obstacles in our path here. It might take a while to dig through this.”

  “That’s going to be a problem,” Knile said. “We have less than half an hour to get back on board the railcar. After that, our escape window closes for good.”

  “Nice,” Zoe groaned sarcastically. “Should be a cinch.”

  Knile stepped forward. “Talia?” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”

  He heard her voice faintly in return. “Knile? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, we made it. The coast is clear. We’re going to get you out of there.”r />
  There was no response for a moment, and when she eventually spoke, Knile thought she sounded on the verge of tears.

  “Be careful. You don’t want to bring the whole place down around you.”

  Knile looked back along the corridor. “Where did you say Roman was?”

  Duran gestured behind them. “Said he was going to look for tools in a storeroom, but…” He grimaced. “That was a while ago.”

  The two of them stared at each other, the implications of what Duran had just said becoming clear.

  “Are you sure there’s no other Redmen in here?” Knile said.

  “Am I sure? No. We only just arrived. Traipsed half-way across the lowlands to get here, and–”

  “Goddammit.” Knile turned back the way he had come. “Which way did he go?”

  To his surprise, Duran followed after him. “This way. Come on.”

  They headed along the corridor, turning once, then began to check each door that they passed in search of the storeroom.

  “Roman? It’s Knile. Where are you?”

  No response.

  “He said it wasn’t far,” Duran muttered.

  “Check that one,” Knile said, pointing across the corridor. Duran opened the door and looked inside.

  “Empty.”

  Knile exhaled noisily. He had a bad feeling about this. “What was this ‘disturbing discovery’ you made, anyway?” he said.

  “The Redmen. When we met them they were posing as typical lowlifes from Link. Bodyguards of some businessman. They’d already bought the last dirigible, and then they struck a deal with your friends. Talia offered to pilot for them if they could tag along. After we left, Zoe and I saw the two bodyguards on a broadcast, standing in the background behind Hanker at his consulate. That was when we realised something was going down.”

  “So, what then? You came all this way just to tell us that?”

  Duran scowled at him. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it. Hard to believe, huh? Me looking out for your people.”

  It was hard to believe. Knile wondered what Duran’s real motivation might be, whether he had another angle on this whole situation. Either way, Knile wasn’t prepared to trust him just yet.

  “Over there,” Duran said. They came to an open door, inside of which lay a small room that contained a smattering of tools: saws, arc welders, and the like. There was no one inside.

  “Roman!” Knile yelled again. “Are you there?”

  He stepped inside the room. There was no sign of a struggle, nothing untoward. Had Roman simply moved on to another location of his own volition? And if so, where?

  “Disappeared without a trace,” he muttered.

  Knile turned to see Duran on his haunches, tracing his fingers lightly across the floor.

  “What is it?” Knile said.

  “There’s been a lot of dust accumulate here on the floor over the years. It’s been disturbed in places. I can see drag marks here. No question.”

  Knile crouched next to him. “How long have they been there?”

  Duran snorted. “I’m not psychic.” He stood. “But I’m pretty sure they’re connected to Roman vanishing into thin air.”

  Duran set off without another word, his eyes set on the faint marks in the floor, and Knile followed on his heels.

  Roman awoke to see a concrete wall moving past him. Curious, he blinked and tried to clear his head, then realised it was in fact the ceiling he was looking at. He was moving under it as if he were lying on a conveyor belt. The next thing he noticed was that his head was aching and throbbing with great intensity, the pain emanating from the back of his skull, just above the neck.

  He had no idea where he was, or even how he got here. The last thing he remembered was walking into the storeroom and looking around–

  Something had hit him hard on the back of the head. He remembered that much. That was the last thing he’d been conscious of before he’d blacked out.

  He tried to sit up, couldn’t. There was a hand clamped over his mouth.

  He tried to cry out, but only succeeded in making a few muffled grunts.

  Someone had hold of him. There were powerful arms around him, preventing him from moving. Struggle as he might, he was unable to free himself.

  Voices whispered nearby. He arched his back but couldn’t get a good look at them. Now he was being manhandled, turned over. He kicked out with his legs, tried to free himself again, but he was wasting his time.

  They had him good and proper.

  They changed course, veering across the corridor, then stopped. Roman heard the sound of a heavy door creaking open, then he was being dragged into a darkened room that was redolent of something wet and metallic. The door closed again, and he was dragged past the glistening shapes of bulky machines, covered in dials, emanating from which were a multitude of copper pipes.

  They were in some sort of plant room. But why? What were the Redmen up to? Taking hostages?

  A few moments later he was suddenly freed, thrown on the floor, and two men loomed over him, dimly outlined above.

  “Hello, Ciro,” a voice drawled. “Yefim. Lights, if you will.”

  One of the figures moved away, and a few moments later several yellow lamps stuttered into life around them. Roman blinked in the sudden glare, taking a few moments to focus on the man over by the light switch. He was an older man wearing a black coat, and Roman had no idea who he might be. He certainly didn’t look like a Redman.

  On the other hand, the man standing over Roman and pointing a gun at him was definitely familiar.

  Roman gaped up at him. “What…?”

  “Surprised, my old friend?” Vincent Rojas said, a triumphant smile on his face.

  “You? How did you get here? What’s going on–?”

  “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done, Ciro. Did you think I would?” He leaned in closer. “Do you think I’d forget what you put my mother through? How you took her life? No, I haven’t forgotten. I still think about her every day. I think about you every day, Ciro.”

  “That’s not my name, you crazy fuck. And I never knew your mother.”

  “You fooled me once, Ciro. You made me drop my guard. But that day you escaped from my residence in Lux, I knew that the Greatness had plans for the two of us. I knew it would not be long until we were drawn together again. And merely a week later, there you were, sneaking through Lux with your friends. Through my own backyard.” He looked Roman over like a piece of meat he was about to dissect. “So I followed after you. I chased you all the way down the Reach, across Link… even across the lowlands themselves, leaving no stone unturned until the Greatness brought us together one last time. Our spirits are intertwined, don’t you see? We are shackled to one another for eternity.”

  “That was you, in the hoods,” Roman said. He began to sit up. “Back at the Reach. What were–?”

  “Uh-uh,” Rojas said, shoving the gun forward. “Stay right there. Don’t move.” Yefim appeared at his side again, and Rojas handed the gun over, taking a curved hunting knife from his belt in its stead. “You needn’t fear the gun, Ciro. I wouldn’t think of using it on you. I want to take my time with you.” He stared smugly at the glinting edge of the knife. “You’re not supposed to die quickly, see? Not like those other times when you got off lightly. You’re going to leave this life a broken man, a wretch. And when you enter your next body, when you are born again into this world, you will spend your entire life afraid that I’ll find you again. I’m going to hurt you so badly that your scars will transcend your physical form. You’re going to feel this in the pit of your soul, Ciro.”

  Roman did not shirk away. He didn’t want to give this bastard the satisfaction.

  “You think you can scare me with–?”

  Rojas’ face contorted and his hand snapped out, gripping Roman by the hair and roughly wrenching his head to one side. He reached out with the hunting knife and began to drag it across Roman’s cheek.

  Roman shrieked at the sudden, ago
nising pain in his face. He reached out but Yefim delivered a vicious kick that knocked his hand away. Rojas withdrew the knife and stepped back again, a satisfied look on his face.

  “The first cut is done,” he said, his eyes shining. “Never fear, dear Ciro. The first is always the hardest. It’s all downhill from here.”

  “I told you I’m not the guy you want!” Roman cried. He lifted a hand to his cheek and felt warm blood flowing freely from the wound. “It’s not me!”

  “You’re beginning to understand it now, aren’t you?” Rojas said. “The fear. How does it feel to finally stare into the void, knowing that there’s no way back?”

  Roman stared despairingly up at the two men. In truth, he was afraid. He knew that there was no bargaining with them, no talking his way out of this. They had followed him all the way to Sunspire Mountain, after all. They weren’t going to turn away now.

  And worse, Rojas was completely insane. Roman could see it in his eyes. Twisted by grief for his mother, it seemed that there was no limit to his thirst for vengeance.

  How could Roman possibly reason with a man like that?

  You don’t reason, a voice inside of him said. You play along with his fantasy.

  Maybe that was his only shot.

  He took a deep breath and tried to gather his wits about him. The fear within him threatened to overwhelm him, but he knew that, should that happen, all would be lost. Instead, he thought of Knile and Talia, of the railcar waiting to take them away from Earth. The image of the three of them together, happy, gave him just a modicum of courage, but that was enough.

  With a great deal of effort, harnessing all his self-control, Roman dropped his hand away from his face and straightened his posture. He glared up at Vincent Rojas with what he hoped seemed like pure malevolence.

  “So, boy,” he said coldly. “Little Vincent. You’ve finally shown me your true self.”

  Rojas blinked, perplexed at this sudden change in demeanour, then tittered to himself with almost childlike glee.