by Lincoln Cole
Dominick punched controls while alarms whistled and whooped.
“Throw it now,” Dominick yelled, flipping a switch repeatedly. “Throw the ladder.”
Haatim pushed the ladder out of the helicopter, but no way could Abigail reach it. He could see her falling just below them, maybe ten meters and off to the side. No way that the rope ladder would be long enough to get to her.
The engine restarted, and the blades spun to life once more. In only a few seconds, it would—hopefully—pull them back up, but Abigail would continue to fall, out of their reach.
With a steadying breath that sounded a lot like a gasp, Haatim pushed the ladder back into the helicopter behind him and grabbed the safety line sticking out of the side of the craft. Body shaking, he wrapped the cord around his wrist a few times, clutched the rope as tightly as he could, and dove out of the helicopter.
The spinning rotor blades stopped the descent of the behemoth machine. The line pulled out. Haatim had about twenty meters of slack before it caught him up.
He angled his body and aimed for Abigail. She tried to slow her descent as well, moving toward him to close the gap. He tried not to think about what he was doing, or how they might both fall and die, or how he might not have enough slack, and she would fall and die anyway.
Instead, Haatim focused on reaching her. He extended his free arm, reaching out to grab Abigail, and their fingers touched. He only needed a little more slack …
They came together just as the line ran out and tightened. Abigail caught his wrist and pulled the two of them together. Haatim hugged her to his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his body, clutching him, and her warm breath gasped against his neck.
They swung on the taut line. Haatim clutched the rope and Abigail as firmly as he could. After a few seconds, the line retracted while Dominick manipulated the controls from the front, drawing them back up to the chopper.
Abigail climbed inside first, then helped pull Haatim in, and closed the door behind them. The alarms had stopped. The cab seemed silent now, with the helicopter simply hovering.
Haatim untangled himself from the rope and tried to get his teeth to stop chattering. He had severe burns on his wrist from the rope and couldn’t stop his body from shaking.
“Thank you,” Abigail said, staring at him and still holding his hand. Her eyes had turned red, the same as in the holding cell before she’d escaped.
He must have reacted in surprise because he saw a hurt expression settle on her face.
“Your eyes …” he said.
She didn’t respond, except to look away.
“Come back up here,” Dominick hollered, flipping more switches and getting them in motion once again.
Haatim looked one last time at Abigail, and then climbed up next to Dominick, who said, “Nice catch.”
“What now?” Haatim asked.
Abigail leaned into the cockpit. “Get me back on that train.”
“I radioed in for backup,” Dominick said. “Response teams are less than ten minutes out and—”
“Get me back up there,” Abigail said. “Before they kill Frieda.”
Dominick didn’t reply, but instead, flew after the train. Haatim buckled himself into the copilot’s seat, still shaking head-to-toe but starting to relax. Each second that passed made his wrist throb more, but he barely felt it.
He heard noise in the back of the helicopter and shifted in his seat. Abigail rifled through bags and scattered tools. First, she grabbed a long and slightly curved sword, which she slung over her shoulder, and then she picked up the bag of C4 that Dominick had taken from his mother’s apartment.
“What do you need that for?” Haatim asked.
When she looked at him, her eyes glowed faintly. Her expression looked like a mask of calm, but it was her red eyes that sent a shiver down his spine.
“To end this,” she said.
Haatim gulped and nodded.
“We have a problem,” Dominick said.
They both looked forward. A mountain loomed in front of them. Huge, it grew larger by the second while they approached. The helicopter, though going as fast as it could and gaining on the train, still left them a ways behind.
The train headed for a tunnel in the side of the mountain, not that far away. In only a few seconds, it would disappear completely.
“How long is the tunnel?” Haatim asked.
“A few kilometers, at least,” Dominick said. “Maybe eight minutes for the train.”
“Too long,” Abigail said. “Get me on there.”
“I can’t fit in that tunnel,” Dominick said. “And even if I could—”
“Fly faster,” she said.
Dominick exchanged a worried glance with Haatim, and he could sympathize: right now didn’t seem like a good time to argue with her.
Dominick groaned but did pick up speed.
“Never thought I would be playing chicken with a mountain,” he muttered.
Abigail moved to the side door and slid it open once more. She climbed out onto the railing on the side of the helicopter, and then crawled to the back, getting into position as if about to pounce.
“Can we make it?” Haatim asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What happens if we don’t?”
Dominick sat in silence for a few seconds. “Let’s not find out.”
The train remained ahead of them as they zoomed toward it, and Haatim reckoned it would be close. They flew so fast that he couldn’t even feel sure that they would be able to stop now if they wanted to.
The mountain grew, and a jagged cliff wall filled the entire windshield. Dominick made gasping noises, and Haatim tried to look away, terrified and helpless. He couldn’t get his eyes to follow his mental commands, however, and just watched the cliff face approach.
“We’re not going to make it!” Haatim screamed.
He couldn’t even see the train anymore, or anything except the mountain in front of them. If the caboose hadn’t entered the mountain tunnel, it was about to.
“Hold on …”
“Stop!” Haatim shouted. “Stop now! We can’t make it.”
The mountain loomed only a handful of meters away, and still they flew full speed at it.
“Now!” Dominick roared at Abigail.
He spun the helicopter back in the other direction just as Abigail leaped from the side railing and for the train below. The momentum propelled her forward, and she disappeared from their sight into the dark tunnel.
The helicopter continued gliding toward the mountain, fighting against momentum. The blades chipped against the side of the cliff face, and pieces of metal flew loose and crashed into the sides and windshield. A huge crack appeared in front of him, but whatever had hit the glass didn’t make it through.
Somehow, amazingly, they came to a stop. When he looked through his window, it felt like he could reach out and touch the cliff face if he wanted.
Haatim let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held and tried to calm his frantic heart.
“Did she make it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Dominick said.
“What now?”
“Now,” he said. “We fly around.”
***
Abigail caught the back rail of the caboose with only one hand, swinging down hard against the metal and hanging off the back of the train. Pain made her grunt, but she managed to keep a hold on it and pull herself up and onto the walkway.
Her entire body hurt, and she felt exhausted, but also angrier than she ever had. Frustrated with everything that had happened, starting with the trial and culminating with this, left her boiling. Arthur had always taught her never to give in to her anger, but she’d gone past that point now. Enraged, she embraced it wholeheartedly.
Abigail had done with fighting back against her nature. Done trying to be what Arthur had wanted her to be.
Now, she would be what she wanted: what she was always meant to be. She returned to the lit
tle girl Arthur had stolen from The Ninth Circle. The girl who had wanted to hurt things.
Abigail strapped Arthur’s sword around her waist and dropped the bag of C4 onto the walkway. Quietly, she moved forward to the doorway leading into the caboose.
In the pitch-black tunnel, the only light came from the train. Inside the caboose, a pair of guards milled around. Both of them carried rifles and looked rather bored.
They wouldn’t stay bored for long.
Abigail drew and reloaded her revolver, and then opened the door to the car. The guards looked up in surprise, but too late. She raised her pistol and fired off two rounds. Both guards collapsed, one with a bullet in his head and the other in the neck.
Abigail didn’t hesitate but sprinted forward through the railcar. The doors stood open between this car and the next, and she leaped clear through the opening and into the adjacent railcar.
Two guards occupied this passenger car as well. They’d heard the gunshots and had come to investigate, but pulled up short when she approached.
Abigail raised her pistol and fired two more shots, dropping the closest man, who had prepared to fire. Then she slipped Arthur’s sword free and charged the other man.
He got his gun up, but she swatted the barrel aside with her sword and impaled him in the stomach. Further down, another man stood on the walkway between this railcar and the next.
Abigail fired her last two shots at him, hitting him in the arm and chest. He fell to the side, over the railing, and disappeared into the dark tunnel behind the train.
Then she jerked her sword free, letting the dying man fall to the ground, limp. With no more shells for her revolver, she tucked it away and picked up a rifle from a downed guard. Then she ran toward the far door, which led into the next railcar, the one where they had Frieda.
Through the window, she saw that the remainder of the guards had gathered. Maybe eight of them, but they had taken up positions behind furniture and out of sight, so she found it impossible to tell. They didn’t come toward her, and had, apparently, decided to hole up and make her come to them.
Fine with her.
The girl hid with the guards, on the far side of the first-class car. She had picked up Frieda and used her as a body shield. Frieda looked only barely conscious, being mostly supported by the girl.
“You’re too late,” the demon shouted. “The ritual is complete. I have what I came for.”
Then she threw Frieda forward onto the ground and turned to the guards.
“Kill them both,” she said, heading out toward the front of the train.
Abigail dropped to a knee and took aim, but not at any of the guards. She aimed, instead, at the lights over their heads.
She fired. Glass exploded, casting their railcar into darkness. Startled, they fired at her, forcing her to duck out of the way. She dodged behind the seats, out of their line of sight, and then shot out the lights in her car as well, casting it into darkness too.
Abigail ducked down and shifted her position to further back in the train. She waited until the shots had died down, watching for muzzle flashes. Once they stopped firing, she lined up a shot and pulled the trigger.
As soon as she fired, she dove to the other side of the train. They set off another barrage of shots at her. Bullets thudded into the area she’d just vacated. Windows exploded. A cacophony accompanied the railcar getting torn apart all around her.
Even when the firing died down again, she waited.
“Do you see her?” one of the guards shouted.
“I think she’s down.”
“Check it out.”
“You check it out.”
Movement came from up ahead when one of the men climbed across the walkway to come check on her. Abigail waited until he reached the walkway, and then rushed forward. She stayed low, using his body to block line of sight between her and his friends.
When he noticed her, he raised his gun and let out a shout, but too late. She kicked the gun away, grabbed him, and then threw him sideways into the wall of the tunnel. He disappeared with a thud and scream, fading into the darkness behind them.
Abigail didn’t hesitate, just dove into the darkened train car and drew the sword once more. Though pitch black inside, somehow she knew the exact location of the guards.
On instinct alone, she stepped in and stabbed to the side with her blade. It sliced into flesh, and a man let out a scream of surprise and pain.
Several gunshots fired into the area, but Abigail had already moved on. Each muzzle flare came like a flash of lightning. The train car became a series of random images, highlighting everything for a split second and then gone once more.
Abigail ignored it all, focusing inward instead. She kept moving, diving and weaving over and around the seats to close the distance between each guard. She ran across the tops of the seats, stabbing one man, and then bounding off to land on another, driving her blade into his chest and riding him to the ground.
Abigail hit the floor in a roll, coming up slashing to cut the arm off another opponent, and then the head off yet another. She never stopped, taking erratic turns so that they couldn’t anticipate a pattern in her movements.
With the sword an extension of herself, Abigail cut and stabbed and dropped each of them while she moved through the railcar.
All of a sudden, the train filled with light when they exited the tunnel. Though cloudy outside, and the sun setting, she’d spent so much time in the darkness that it felt blindingly bright.
One man remained standing, but looked the other direction, evidently thinking her still behind him and toward the rear of the train.
He turned, searching for her, and raised his rifle when he spotted her. He stood a good eight meters away; too much distance to close. Abigail rotated and threw the blade end over end, embedding it deep into his chest. It sunk in almost to the hilt.
He collapsed onto his side with a grunt. The train fell completely silent, the only sound the chug of its wheels rolling over the tracks.
Abigail looked around. Realized what she’d just done. Body parts lay strewn all around her. Now, she stood near Frieda.
She’d killed all those men over the span of a few seconds. Blood covered her hands and clothes, and she grew lightheaded. She’d always thought she hated killing people because Arthur had raised her to think such.
Never should taking life be done lightly, and yet, she’d just murdered fifteen people. And the only thing that concerned her was how little she cared.
Evil lived in her. Pure and complete. She’d become the very thing that Arthur had taught her to hunt for so many years.
And the scariest thing was that a part of her felt thrilled that she’d accepted her place in life at last.
The demon-girl she’d chased had gone. Must have gotten away during the firefight. Frieda lay on the floor, eyes open but unfocused. She breathed shallow breaths and looked to be severely hurt.
Abigail rushed over to her. A cut stood out on her right wrist, and a lot of blood had drained out. She seemed barely conscious.
Quickly, Abigail wrapped up her wrist, staunching the flow of blood, and then tapped her on the cheek to wake her. It took a few tries before Frieda’s eyes opened. She let out a groan, tried to roll over, and her eyes had difficulty focusing.
“Stay with me,” Abigail said. “Hey! Focus, Frieda.”
She groaned and shook her head, blinking. “What the hell happened?”
“A lot,” Abigail said. “What do you remember?”
“She took my blood.”
“Who?”
Frieda hesitated. “Haatim’s sister.”
Abigail looked at her in confusion. “She’s dead, right? She died months ago.”
The look on Frieda’s face said that she didn’t have an answer to that question.
“She was … trying to summon something, I think. I only heard bits and pieces of what they chanted.”
“Summon?”
Frieda nodded. “She wanted t
o bring something into this world.”
“And she needed your blood?”
Frieda looked at her helplessly. “I have no idea. Apparently. They drained a lot, and then started chanting, and at some point, I passed out.”
“I need to get you out of here,” Abigail said. Then she retrieved her phone with the intention of calling Dominick, who’d called multiple times from the looks of the missed calls list. She punched in the number to call him back.
He answered on the first ring, “Abigail, you okay? We’re three minutes out.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve got Frieda.”
“Where is she?”
“Third car from the back. This isn’t over. I’ll detach the back cars, and you can grab Frieda.”
“What? What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me. Get Frieda to safety.”
Abigail hung up the call before Dominick could respond. She found her bag of C4 back in the caboose and carried it to next walkway. The bag held several pounds of plastic explosive, along with a number of timed detonators.
It wouldn’t take much to detach the three cars. Abigail placed a small chunk of it around the hitch, which connected the two railcars together, and then attached a timer. She set it for thirty seconds.
When she looked back into the car, she saw Frieda sitting in one of the chairs and holding her wrist. She looked exhausted and beaten up, but Abigail felt sure she would be all right.
“Once you’re loose, Dominick will come get you and take you to safety,” Abigail said. “Stay here and keep pressure on the wound.”
“What are you going to do?”
Abigail grimaced and slung the bag with the rest of the C4—at least ten more pounds—over her shoulder.
“Stop this train.”
“Be careful,” Frieda said.
“We’re a long way past careful,” Abigail said.
Then she turned and headed into the next railcar, intending to go after Nida.
Chapter 20
Abigail ran through the train, leaping across the walkways and heading toward the engine. Nida must be somewhere up ahead, but she couldn’t see her yet. The demon proved easy to follow, however, because she’d left all of the doors open along the way.