Raisson's eyes stared at her with shock. His arms were now burning pink stumps that popped and fizzed as his flesh melted. Flames erupted across his trousers and his expensive suit disintegrated into nothing more than black ash that swirled in the storm of intense heat that surrounded him. Hungry white flames covered his body in seconds. The heat was intolerable. A thick, nasty stench filled the air. Raisson stumbled back against the edge of the stairs, his bloodshot eyes blistering in the heat. With a final agonised groan, he toppled backwards over the handrail, turning into a roaring fireball that disappeared into the darkness below. Thud-thud-thunk. His body slapped down on the landing several levels below.
Rachel lay alone in the darkness with tears streaming down her hot, stinging cheeks.
Alone Again
It was another fifteen minutes before Rachel's legs would work well enough for her to stand. She hadn't been able to erase the tormented memories of Raisson's pink, upturned stumps and blistering eyeballs. Every time she closed her eyes, the bright white fireball filled her mind.
She had known what the white powder was as soon as she had seen it. They used similar compounds at Central Command. It was an incendiary powder, probably made from some combination of lithium, iron oxide and aluminium. Central Command had some prototype weapons that fired cartridges of incendiary powder, but they had been of limited use. The powder would only ignite under extremely high temperatures, and embedding a secondary device into the cartridge, that could generate such temperatures had so far turned out to be impractical. The cartridges worked, but they were too heavy and expensive to be used as disposable munitions.
Raisson's powder had ignited at room temperature. She didn't know how he had done that, but the reaction had been frighteningly intense. Her own face felt hot and burnt even though she had been over a metre away from him.
Raisson's torch lay on the ground a short distance away. Rachel limped across the landing and picked it up. Her legs felt like lead blocks, dragging behind her. She found it hard to place one foot in front of the other. Rotating her arms, she tried to ignore the bruises she had picked up from her fall. She took a small pouch of water from her belt and sipped it, splashing some of the liquid over her face. She had to brace herself against the stinging sensation it left behind.
What had just happened had been horrible, but it was over now. She had to shut it out of her mind and go on to find her father. If Trent was holding him hostage, she might be her father's only hope. It took her a little time to gather her thoughts. Her head felt as though nails had been driven into it, but beneath the pain, her mind was full of questions.
Who was Timothy Raisson? What had he been doing in the Mekinet News building and why had he attacked her? He had laughed when she had asked him if he was Riser Trent, but he had lied about many other things. Could he have been lying about that too? She didn't know what to believe. She limped over to the handrail at the edge of the stairs and looked down into the blackness below. If her father was down there, she would find him. If Trent was down there, she would kill him. If she met anyone else, she would have to assume that they were hostile, and treat them accordingly. She couldn't make the same mistake again.
Walking slowly down the stairs, she held tight to the handrail, hoping her legs would soon feel more like limbs than dead lumps of meat. It was slow and painful progress.
Incinerated
Rachel descended the endless stairs, level after level. Her legs ached and her head still felt dull from the electric shock that she had received from Raisson's Taser. There was a lump forming on her temple where she had banged her head on one of the landings above. It was safe to say she was not feeling her best.
When she reached the landing below, her senses were assaulted by the overwhelming stench of burnt plastic. She used her torch to search for Raisson's body but she could only find the lower part of his legs, from his knees to his feet. His shiny black shoes were still intact and polished to a high sheen, but where his body should be, there was only a white stain etched onto the stone floor with black ash all around it. A shudder ran down Rachel's spine. He had been incinerated. Not even his bones or teeth remained. In a way, she was relieved that she didn't have to witness the gory details of his injuries anymore but she was still appalled by the effectiveness of the incendiary powder.
She found Raisson's Taser a few metres away from the remains of his body. It was resting against the wall, hanging over the edge of a step. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he had tumbled from the landing above. She picked it up and examined it in her hand. The munitions slot held five charged darts. Slipping the Taser into her pocket, she tried to push Raisson's fate out of her mind. With fresh determination, she set off to find her father.
Familiar Features
Rachel descended towards the basement. She remembered happy times from her childhood when her father had brought her down to the lower levels. The two of them had played games together. She had been so small back then, no more than eight years old. Her arms had been as thin as sticks.
At first, the basement levels had been a frightening place for her. She had been constantly lost and cold. It had taken her a long time to understand the obscure design of the building. The stairs that tied all the basement levels together were counter-intuitive and difficult to comprehend. Her father had explained it all with a series of games, and Rachel had enjoyed the time that they had spent together. She remembered those games now, as she placed one numb foot in front of the other, her head still aching from her fall. The stairs didn't confuse her anymore. She followed the obscure symbols on the walls and let her mind combine them, unravelling the mysteries of the building's design as she walked.
Rachel rubbed a hand through her tangled hair. She realised that Raisson's torch was growing dim. If it went out altogether she would never be able to find her father in this maze. For all she knew, Trent could already be using the satellite-grid controller to blow the city apart. Would she even hear the explosions from down here? What if he brought the whole building tumbling down on top of them? She could be buried alive. It was no good thinking about that now.
A shuffling noise made her spin to face the darkness behind her. The thin beam from her torch illuminated a few scraps of paper on the floor. A fat hairy rat was rustling amongst it. A bloody rat! Rachel cringed, but beyond the rat she saw something even worse. She froze, aiming her impact pistol straight ahead. There was somebody there.
'Don't move,' she said, and they didn't. They were dead.
One shiny black shoe poked out from the darkness. For a moment, Rachel thought of Raisson and the remains of his body on the landing above, but she knew it couldn't be him. She had left him far behind. This had to be somebody else. Aiming her torch higher, she followed the shoe to a leg, and the leg to a body. It was a short man in a once expensive suit. He was lying in a pool of blood, and the rats had gathered to drink. One of the fat furry creatures was chewing at the dead man's fingers. It had a chunk missing from its ear.
Part of her wanted to walk away, but then she realised that the steps to the lower levels lay beyond the dead man's body. She considered shooting the rats to chase them away, but she couldn't afford to make so much noise. Perhaps it would be enough noise to wake the dead. She pushed the thought away.
Stepping forward, she used her heavy boots to kick at the rats, forcing them back. They weren't very much interested in fighting someone with an impact pistol and big black combat boots, so the fat rodents shuffled away, knowing that they could come back later when she had gone.
Rachel stepped around the body. The dead man's face was ruined by gunshots. A black hole lay where his nose should be and most of his teeth were missing. She tensed, shining her torch directly at his smashed face. It was a gruesome mess but there was something familiar about it. Behind the blood and ghastly injuries, she thought she recognised the man. His overall shape and appearance tugged at her memories, and a bad feeling rose up inside her. Tilting the torch, she aimed it at h
is left hand. The ring on his index finger bore a golden symbol of a panther. She didn't need to read the inscription. She knew the words by heart.
My beloved husband, confidant and soul mate. May you always find peace, happiness, acceptance and love.
Her mother had a matching ring, a golden swan with a similar inscription. Rachel stared down at the body of her father as a shiver ran up her spine. Moments passed in silence as she clung to her anger, letting her hands hang useless by her sides. She knew now why her father hadn't answered any of her calls. Tightness gripped her chest as tears welled in her eyes.
Dangerous Times
Rachel stood alone beside her father's body. She couldn't imagine how she was going to tell Lisa she would never see her grandfather again. A tightness in her chest reminded her that she had limits too. She wasn't invincible. She felt pain just like everyone else, and one day she would die to.
She hadn't spoken to her father for several days. It hadn't seemed important at the time, but she realised now that she would never be able to speak to him again. She wasn't ready for that. There were so many things she had left unsaid. Rachel's arms hung useless by her sides as tears welled in her eyes. Her hands shook as she cried, but the tightness in her chest slowly receded. What was she going to do? She felt dead inside. She wondered if she would ever feel alive again.
Lisa would be waiting for her with Annie at her father's house. Rachel was all that Lisa had now. Life was cruel sometimes. It had already taken away Lisa's grandmother, and now it took her grandfather too. Nick seldom spent time with Lisa either. Rachel didn't want her daughter to suffer because of her own mistakes. She reminded herself that her father wouldn't want her to fall apart. She had to be strong, for Lisa's sake. Her father wasn't a quitter. She just wished that she could ever be as strong as he had always been.
Rachel shuddered, brushing a hand through her hair. She had been crying for too long already. She had to find a way to go on somehow. Staring at her father's body one last time, she was shocked by the extent of his injuries. It looked as though he had been shot in the face at close range. Why was he here, of all places? Had he been down here when all this had begun? Had he just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Thompson had told Rachel that Trent had taken her father hostage, and now her father was dead. If only she had found him sooner, maybe he would still be alive. She looked to the ceiling for answers but found only darkness. Why had Trent killed him? For a few lousy credits? Was that all life was worth to him? Anger bubbled up inside her. Trent had to be stopped. She would finish what she had started and put an end to this once and for all.
With an effort that had to be pulled all the way up from her boots, she stepped around her father's body and headed for the stairs behind him. She would grieve when she had time. There was already a hole in her heart where her father used to be, but she had to hold herself together, and go on for just a little longer. She decided to gather her feelings in a tight ball and bury them deep inside herself. The pain still burnt inside her, and her eyes stung with the effort of holding back the tears, but she forced herself to take one slow step after another. Raising her head, and forcing her shoulders back, Rachel set off in search of Riser Trent.
Rachel descended the steps one by one, a dull ache filling her mind. She aimed her small torch just a few steps ahead, pushing herself onwards into the dark abyss below. She didn't know how long she had been walking when she raised her head and saw a sign hanging from the wall.
RESEARCH LEVELS
Her father had always been proud of the Mekinet News building. She remembered he had once told her that it had taken longer to excavate the levels below ground than it had taken to build the skyscraper above. There were so many corridors and staircases. Rachel had no idea whether she was even in the same building anymore. She half expected to open a door and find herself standing in a muddy field several kilometres away. When she opened the next door, there were no fields, but only blackness. There was no warmth, only damp and cold. More stairs descended beneath her. Rachel placed one foot in front of the other, descending step after step, as numbness filled her mind. She was beginning to think she might be lost.
She was about to give up hope when she noticed a dim light in the darkness below. Peering over the stairs' dusty handrail, she could see that there really was a bottom to the staircase after all. The stairs ended with a wide stone landing below. The light was coming from a doorway that led off from the landing. It could be any door. It could be any place, but somehow Rachel knew that she had found Riser Trent. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. Who else would be this far underground in a cold, dark basement? Who else would have light without power? No wonder Trent had no fear of launching a satellite strike on Cinnamon City. This far underground, he probably wouldn't even notice if the Mekinet News building was destroyed - until he tried to get out. She wondered how often Trent left the building. Maybe he never left the basement at all? The stairs didn't look well used.
Rachel tucked her failing torch into her jacket pocket and used the dim light from below to make her way down the last two flights of stone steps in silence. This far below ground, the steps were damp and the footing was treacherous. Taking slow, careful steps, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the changing light levels. It wasn't long before she found herself at the bottom of the stairs. The silence was deafening. Her hands trembled by her sides. This was it. Trent had killed her father. She knew what she had to do.
The door was ajar. Rachel stepped closer and took a look inside. Through the opening, she could see a long corridor beyond. At the end of the corridor there were two more doors, both well lit. Rachel wondered where the power was coming from. She raised her impact pistol and slipped through the first door, making her way along the corridor in silence. After a few steps, she paused, imagining shadows in the rooms beyond. Nobody came out. Nobody spoke. She moved again, using her stealth to reach the intersection between the doors without making a sound. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck. A dryness clung to her throat, threatening to make her cough, but she swallowed hard, refusing to give in to it.
The first door led to a room that was filled with piles of equipment and machinery. Rachel noticed that a generator had been hooked into the basement power grid. Pieces of insulation tape and packaging were littered across the floor as though the generator had been unpacked recently. Now she knew how Trent had power, but where had he got the generator from?
Peeking through the second door, she could see a room with a long table against one wall. Schematics had been pinned to the walls and there was a water dispenser standing next to an old wooden desk. Several water containers had been stacked in the corner of the room and there were a lot of equipment boxes standing in piles against the walls. Some of them were open.
Rachel slowly approached the doorway. She could see a man sitting in an expensive executive chair, facing away from her. A cardboard sign hung on the back of his chair with the word, 'Director' written on it in thick black lettering. It looked like he was wearing some kind of hat that was plugged into a machine on his desk. Various consoles on the desk displayed endless streams of information.
Rachel took her first look at Riser Trent. He was fat. His thinning greasy hair poked out from under the cap in uneven tufts. He smelt of old sweat and rank food. His shirt looked as though he had been wearing it for days or weeks. The floor was littered with bits of food and drinking cups. The whole room was a stinking mess. At odds with the rank decay, was the sparkling new equipment that covered the surface of his desk. Rachel recognised his wrist controller as one of the latest and most expensive controllers available. That kind of equipment came at a high price, and scum like Riser Trent didn't get credits like that through honest, hard work. She'd seen all that she needed to see. This was the man who had killed her father. He had killed Edwards, Pierson, Roderick and Mendez. He'd killed Grayson, Hector and Bowlin.
Havers Compound was littered with the bodies of people who would still be alive if it wasn't for Riser Trent. How could she forgive so many crimes? She couldn't. Rachel pointed her impact pistol at the back of Trent's head and walked slowly into the room. She cast all doubts from her mind. This wasn't murder. It was justice, and it was far more humane than the treatment that her own father had received.
Rachel cried out as she felt cold metal slicing into her back. Her impact pistol fell from her hands and her legs buckled. She found herself sliding down towards the floor, white agony slicing up her spine as thick-muscled arms encircled her neck. She crumpled onto the floor with her own hot blood pouring down the back of her legs, and her mind unravelled, taking her to a dark place full of cold stone and hot, wet blood.
The Cold
Rachel's eyes faded in and out of consciousness. She was losing too much blood. Numbness seeped into her mind like a gnawing disease. She reached back, trying to plug the wound in her back with her fist, but she couldn't coordinate her arms anymore. The heavily muscled arm tightened around her neck, pulling her closer to the blade as it slid deep inside her.
The knife's edge crunched against something hard inside her back. She tried to cry out but her voice didn't work anymore. Instead, she was left gasping for air with dribble pouring from the corner of her open mouth. Her strength had deserted her. She had nothing left to give. She tried to find that calm place in her mind, searching for the inner strength that she had used so many times before, but she could find nothing but emptiness inside her. With a sense of hopelessness, she felt herself falling until she landed face down on the hard stone floor. The shock of the impact wasn't enough to distract her from the searing agony in her back. The floor felt cold beneath her skin. It echoed the cold that she felt inside, making her beg for something warm to wrap herself in. But nobody could help her now. Her body heat faded away as Rachel lay still, her eyes unfocussed and lost.
Information Cloud: Science fiction and fantasy series (Tales of Cinnamon City Book 1) Page 28