Then he felt a draft from a side corridor. Vermen stared at the slight downward slope with suspicion. The waterfall’s rumble came clearer and louder, too. Had he been too exhausted to notice the rise at his arrival? Two days without sleep or food could do that to a man, just as ten days of imprisonment taught him the difference between fresh air and the recycled atmosphere of caves. This had to be it.
He forced himself not to sprint. Stay in control. Stay alert. Until the water’s constant rumble turned into the forest’s peaceful silence, he had not escaped. The tunnel curved. At the end, electric balls gave way to the night’s sky. The exit. His head felt light from the rush of blood.
Then he heard running steps from behind. A voice hailed him. Vermen tightened his sweaty grip on the redhead’s knife but kept moving at the same pace, ears perked up, until his unwary opponent was upon him.
Captain Vermen stopped and bent his knees. He reached over his shoulder and grabbed the rebel’s outstretched arm. As he pulled and swung the man around, spinning on his heels to give his movement more strength, he registered the hand’s blue skin. Andeal crashed into the wall to his left. The impact threw an electric light off its hook and it shattered on the ground. His friend grunted and his legs gave in, but the soldier allowed him no time to recover. He grabbed the front of his shirt and brought the knife to his throat. Andeal froze, panting.
“Whoa, knife.” He stretched out his palms, well in view.
“A gift from that redhead I smashed across the head.”
Andeal’s expression went from surprised to horrified in a blink. “Joshua? Is he…”
“No. I checked.”
“Oh, thank the Lady.” He wiped his brow and cast a bothered glance down. “You don’t need this, Hans. I came to warn you.”
Vermen did not lower his knife. All his muscles waited, taut, ready to react at an instant’s notice. “Warn me?”
“Don’t go out there. Our best snipers are in position with orders to shoot. Stay, please.”
The captain’s stomach clenched. It had been too easy. How would he get past the rebels’ bullets with nothing but a small knife? Unless…
“Do they have orders to shoot if a hostage is involved?”
“Why do you—oh.” Andeal’s smile vanished and his shoulders slumped. “Should’ve thought of that.”
An uneasy silence stretched between them. Shock had stolen Andeal’s voice and energy. He stared ahead, absent, perhaps absorbing the sudden reversal. Why must he be the hostage? Vermen cared little for the others, but the engineer had made his stay bearable. Perhaps he’d convince his superiors to be lenient. He withdrew the blade, pulled Andeal closer to the exit and bent toward the opening. He searched the surrounding rocks for human shapes but could not spot the shooters. Was it all a bluff? He leaned farther out and prayed they did not have a clean shot on him yet. The flat grounds between the exit and the small stairs were empty of shooters and so were, as far as he could see, the surrounding rocky slopes. The rebel snipers had either mastered camouflage, positioned themselves above the exit or did not exist. He had to risk it. With Andeal.
“You and I have a trip to the closest regiment scheduled,” he whispered.
He examined the distance to cross one last time and established a mental path. The straight line was too dangerous. Better to keep his back protected by the larger rocks and describe a half-circle. As he focused on the next step, he stopped paying attention to his prisoner. His grip loosened.
Andeal wrenched out of the hold, sprung at Vermen, and reached for the knife. Instincts kicked the captain into immediate reaction: he spun on his heels and slashed in front of him. A warning strike, to force the engineer to retreat. Andeal did not jump back. He accepted the deep cut across his chest, grabbed the captain’s hand as it passed close to his face, and sank his teeth deep into the flesh. Vermen cried out and dropped the weapon. Pain burned his hand and clogged his mind. Andeal crashed into him and they fell to the ground.
Warm blood poured from Andeal’s chest wound as the two men rolled over the ground, crushing shards of broken glass from the shattered lamp, wrestling for control. Andeal’s strength astonished him and Vermen struggled to dominate the fight. His gaze fell upon the knife, to his right. He stretched his wounded hand, desperate for an advantage. Andeal smashed the fingers and a new wave of pain coursed through the captain’s arm. Before he could react, the engineer sat across him, the blade at his throat.
Andeal’s breath came in raspy gasps. Blood blackened his loose gray shirt, all the way down to his pants. The cut ran from under his right armpit to his left shoulder. Despite the constant loss of blood, his grip on Vermen’s shoulder showed no sign of weakness. His jaw remained set, his eyes wide from…panic? His voice trembled as he spoke.
“I’m not—not going back. Not to the labs. You think you know anything about imprisonment? You’re fed, you’re given the time of day, the weather, news from outside. You’re not tested on. You can’t…you can’t even imagine what it’s like.” Terror danced in Andeal’s eyes. Vermen knew fear, had once led men convinced they’d die into battle. The intense despair he’d glimpsed for a moment disquieted him. Andeal forced his breathing to slow and his emotions receded. He removed himself from Vermen and straightened up. “Stand.”
The captain obeyed, shaken. He held his bitten hand close, gritting his teeth against the pain. Andeal had sure sunk his teeth deep.
“You have a choice now.” Cold anger replaced the quiver in his voice. “Either you walk out there alone and die, or you follow me back to your cell and I’ll vouch for your sorry skin.”
Vermen frowned and glanced at the exit. What did he prefer? Die now in an attempt to be free or wait for Seraphin’s inevitable condemnation? Andeal held the knife at ready. His arm shook and blood loss turned his skin to a pale and sickly blue. How long had he been held prisoner? Tested on? In the brief instant he’d held Vermen down, Andeal had opened a window to a different part of him. Gone was the optimism, the undeserved trust—all replaced by terrible memories. And Vermen had threatened to bring it all back.
He turned to Andeal and stepped away from the exit. “I don’t understand. Why would you even vouch for me?”
“It’s called decency,” he said with a hint of his usual good humor. “It’s the little thing that showed up out of nowhere and stopped you from shooting Seraphin at point blank.”
By that logic, if Seraphin had shot another at point blank, did it mean he had none? Vermen held the thought back but it brought a smile to his lips. He took another difficult step away from the exit.
“Very well. I’ll take my chances with your decency.”
Andeal sighed, lowered the knife. Vermen noted the growing signs of weakness: the man’s shoulders hunched from exhaustion, his breathing became ragged, and he glanced at his cut all the time, biting his lower lip. In addition to his bloodied shirt, a red line now travelled halfway down his pants. The fabric absorbed most of it for now, but Vermen wondered how much he’d lost already. When Andeal signaled for him to follow, he watched his companion’s weary steps.
They made it to the first intersection before Andeal stopped and put his hand on the wall for support. A pained expression contorted his visage and his breathing was slow and shallow. He wiped a new film of sweat from his brow, tried to smile, but his paleness alarmed Captain Vermen.
“You’ve lost too much blood. Don’t you guys have a medic?”
“Yes. Somewhat.” Andeal leaned on the wall and touched his wound. “Maniel has…she has a bit of training. Was nearly finished with nursing when they took us. Perhaps we could make a little detour?”
“Maniel. Of course.”
Andeal laughed at his bitterness, then flinched from the pain inflicted by the movement. He groaned, pushed himself off the wall, took a hesitant step—like he had to fight to even drag his foot forward. Vermen grabbed his arm to support him. His uniform, already creased, torn, and dirtied, now had a bloodstain bound to grow. Part of him
protested: if Andeal could not follow him, he could escape again. There had to be other exits, or he could use the unlighted tunnels and lose the rebels for a while. His oaths to the Union and its army demanded he leave the engineer behind and flee.
Yet when the strain became too much for Andeal, when the blood loss seemed to beat his resolve and he collapsed, Vermen caught him. He lifted his friend and carried him without a word, without hesitation. He fought against dreams of freedom, of the sun on his skin and the wind through his hair. After all, he was free now. It was his decision to save Andeal’s life. There would be time for regrets once the rebels shoved him back into a cell.
The captain marched through the tunnels, taking turns at random until he heard voices again. The echo made them impossible to track but he did his best. Unintelligible sentences became audible words. Maniel’s voice.
“Calm down. We’ll find him. If he’d left, we would know.”
Vermen stared down the tunnel. Three makeshift doors lined the walls, along with the usual white lights. He hurried down the path to find which room Andeal’s wife was in, tracking the sound of her voice.
“This place is a maze for the uninitiated. He won’t find you and barrel into—”
Hans stopped at the right door and kicked it. It flew open without breaking, and Vermen hurried in.
A bit larger than his cell, this cave had a smaller alcove at the back, hidden behind a curtain. It also contained a double bed, an angled desk covered in large sheets of paper and a tiny nook at ground level that resembled a fireplace. The two-seater and small library added to the impression of a cozy living room. On a small table near the curtain rested an open first aid kit. As he entered, Maniel was pulling on the curtain.
She wasn’t his main concern.
Seraphin Holt leaned on the angled desk, his pistol aimed at him. Vermen’s cheeks flushed as anger and shame tightened his throat. Something in the man’s piercing blue scrutiny squeezed his insides, even with the glasses half-hiding it. It reminded him of the stress when high-ranking officers inspected them—an intense fear of critique mixed with the thrilling hope of potential compliments. No, worse. It reminded him of impulses when other men attracted him. Except this was Seraphin Holt, the White Renegade, his brother’s murderer, and these feelings were all wrong. He tore his gaze away. Maniel was staring at her wounded husband.
“Andeal…”
Three long strides brought her across the room, to his side, and she bent to touch the wound and the burning forehead before caressing his jaw line. She lifted her head and planted her eyes on Vermen’s. The captain took an unwilling step back at her intensity.
“You did this,” she said.
“I—yes.”
“Put him on the bed. Now.” She pointed and he reacted without questions. As Vermen set Andeal down, she grabbed her tools, knelt next to the bed, and rummaged through the first aid kit for the appropriate bandage. “Seraph, I’ll need boiling water.”
He scowled and lowered his pistol. “But—”
“No buts! He brought him here, he’s not going to kill him. Your hesitation might. Go!”
The Renegade’s jaw dropped but he holstered his weapon and hurried out of the room. He paid Vermen a warning glare and the captain smiled back. Maniel gave him no time to celebrate the small victory.
“Help me remove his shirt. Why didn’t you do this earlier? No, never mind, I don’t want to know why, or what happened. I might kill you.”
Vermen froze. Maniel could’ve intimidated an entire army if she’d wanted, and for a moment he didn’t know how to handle it. She whirled around at his non-reaction, furious, and his discipline kicked in. In these matters she was his superior. A scary, make-a-mistake-and-you’re-dead superior, but one nonetheless. He grabbed the bottom of Andeal’s shirt and, despite the pain throbbing in his hand at every movement, he helped her.
They worked together to disinfect, sew, and bandage the large cut. Seraphin brought the water, stared at Vermen’s back as they worked for a while, then left without a word. Maniel’s technique, despite her unfinished training, was efficient and methodical. She knew her business and seemed to obliterate all thoughts of who she was treating, concentrating on what. Not once did she hesitate, even when Andeal regained some consciousness and moaned from the pain. Trained nurses on a battlefield couldn’t have done better.
By the time they were done, blood soaked half her sleeves and the mattress below Andeal. A large bandage wrapped his torso, his breathing had stabilized, and his fever diminished. Maniel sat back on the ground with a deep sigh. Eyes closed, she undid her destroyed braid and ran a hand through the curly hair before retying it into a simple ponytail. The simple movements seemed to comfort her. Vermen remained standing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The silence hung heavy, threatening to choke him. He had to say something.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
She looked up at him, then struggled to her feet. “A week ago I told him he couldn’t trust you. I don’t know if this proves me right or wrong.”
Vermen had no answer for her. What did tonight prove? He’d put Andeal’s life before his chance at escape—his sole opportunity to fulfill his oath and uproot the rebels. Did this make him a traitor? A coward? Would he do it again? Vermen couldn’t tell. His burgeoning friendship with the engineer was a professional mistake but he could no longer deny it. Somehow, he’d have to find a way around it.
“Give me your hand.”
Absorbed in his thoughts, Vermen hadn’t noticed Maniel approaching with a bandage. Bite marks lined the back of his hand, deep and red, but they no longer bled. He allowed Andeal’s wife to look at them anyway, and before long she’d treated them and gave him some painkillers. Vermen clenched his fingers. The movement remained difficult but soon it wouldn’t hurt so much.
“Thank you,” he said, at which Maniel only shrugged.
She grabbed a book from the library, dragged the two-seater sofa closer to the bed, and collapsed onto it. She flipped through the pages to find her marker but as she read, her gaze flitted between the words and her husband. Vermen clasped his hands behind his back. She ignored him and he was tempted to walk out. Instead, he cleared his throat.
“He’ll be okay now, won’t he?”
“Yes.” She lowered the book. “Get the desk chair and sit. Enjoy the rare hours out of your cell. Between Andeal’s cut and Joshua’s head wound, I doubt your conditions will get any better.”
Vermen’s stomach tightened at the thought. He accepted her offer and brought a seat close to the bed. Maniel dove back into her reading, not the least bit concerned about his presence, so he leaned into the chair’s back and closed his eyes. The night’s events played in his head as he tried to make sense out of them but, no matter how hard he tried, he could not reconcile his mission and duties with his current actions. Questions spun in his head until he fell into a fitful sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A resentful throb to his chest and a wracking headache welcomed Andeal back to the world. The familiar cave ceiling danced before his eyes then came into focus. His mind needed more time to regain full functionality but as he grasped for shreds of concentration, his memories returned. After he’d shown Henry the balloon, he’d decided to test his trust in Vermen and tell the captain his escape window was growing narrow. He expected him to stay in his cell.
Events had proved him wrong.
The evening blurred in his feverish brain—all but one moment: the crushing panic that took over when Vermen spoke of dragging him to the army. Of delivering him to the labs. His world had collapsed, taking with it any regards for his safety. Better dead than a lab rat. He’d nearly had his wish fulfilled.
“Andeal? You awake yet?”
Sharp pain burst in his head at the familiar voice. Andeal turned his neck with a groan. At first he saw a humanoid blur but his eyes readjusted to the new focus and Joshua’s visage became clearer. Red hair framed bright eyes, a long beakish
nose, and a mocking smile. A purplish bump now marred his temple’s dark skin.
“Somewhat,” Andeal muttered. “How are you?”
“Fine and dandy! I have a horrible headache that’ll last through the week, but who cares? I’ll live.”
Andeal forced a smile to his lips. It seemed the terrible pain had not killed his friend’s bitter sarcasm—proof he was indeed fine.
Strength trickled back into his muscles and Andeal pushed himself on an elbow. The floor tipped for a dizzying moment, then stabilized. A glance at his clock on the wall told him he’d slept through the night, morning, and part of the afternoon. His heart sped and his mind cleared.
“What happened? Where’s Vermen?”
“In his cell.” Joshua smacked his lips and stood. He moved to the living room table, on which a cold meal waited, and brought it back as he spoke. “I don’t know what you did to him, but while the good captain didn’t mind smashing my skull in, he couldn’t leave you bleeding out on the ground. He carried you here. Maniel even allowed him to stay the night. Seraphin was…let’s say ‘not pleased’. Here, eat.”
This time, Andeal’s smile came of its own. He’d have a huge scar to remember the evening, but at least it hadn’t been pointless. No one could brand Vermen as an uncompromising enemy now. Andeal rubbed his wounded torso, thoughtful. The captain didn’t qualify as an ally either—yesterday was too close a call for that. He had to be more wary.
First, though, he should hold his end of the bargain and defend him at the meeting. There’d be no one to be careful around if they decided to execute him.
“I hope Seraph will calm down before the meeting,” Andeal said as he straightened up, sat cross-legged in his bed, and accepted the plate of food. Rice and beans. No meat. Their stock must’ve run low again. He took small bites, forcing himself to eat despite feeling like his heart blocked his throat and threatened to come out anytime. Joshua linked his fingers together then raised his gaze at the ceiling.
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