Viral Airwaves

by Claudie Arseneault

  He ought to leave her there. Freeing Treysh was not his objective and an escape attempt would alert the soldiers to an intruder in their midst. He should get to Clarin, shoot him and then—if he still lived—come back for her. On the other hand, no one had questioned him since he’d entered. He’d blended into the crowd with surprising ease. His quick answers and sharp demeanor screamed old-time soldier. Added to the courier outfit, it’d granted him a free pass around the headquarters. If they searched for an intruder, he might not be their first target.

  And there was only one guard at the door, a young man from the local police with a set of square glasses. The missing partner was an anomaly too odd not to investigate a little.

  “She’s the rebel?” he asked as he looked through the window.

  “Yes sir. I hear she’s as crazy as they come. Guess you’ve got to be, to join their little band.”

  “Indeed.” Vermen moved out of the window and closer to the guard. “Shouldn’t there be two of you? They did trick thousands of people into marching toward this building. I suspect they’ll try to free her.”

  “They already did. A man came here disguised as a lieutenant. He had false papers from the president requesting a transfer. My guess is those pieces of trash forced Kurtmann to sign them before they got him to broadcast. My partner’s guarding the traitor and waiting for General Clarin to arrive before returning here.”

  Vermen tried to make sense of the story. They hadn’t sent anyone with false transfer information, so who had? Perhaps Treysh had a couple of unknown friends who’d mounted the operation. Or Andeal and Henry had found rebel sympathizers to help. They’d die for her. Alongside her, even. Omar Clarin would see to that. Vermen kept his expression neutral and indifferent to the rebels’ fate.

  “Where can I find the general? I have a message for him but compared to my backwater outpost, these headquarters are a maze.”

  “He ought to have reached the fake lieutenant by now. Just go down the corridor, up the stairs, then turn left. It should be the second room on your right.”

  Vermen nodded as he memorized the instruction. He glanced at the door, then back at the lone guard. “Thank you.”

  He ought to leave. Go kill the general. She wasn’t his priority. She wasn’t even his problem. Vermen started away, just one step. Stopped. How many rebels had he thrown in prison and allowed to die? And this one was Andeal’s university friend. Could he risk avenging Seraphin to save her? Would shooting Omar mean anything if he let another rebel die? Vermen swallowed hard, looked back at her constellation of bruises. He spun on his heels to face the guard.

  “One last thing, soldier…” Hans closed the distance between them, drew Seraphin’s pistol, and smashed its hilt against the man’s temple. The poor sod had just enough time to raise his arms in defense before he was struck. He crumpled to the ground without even a scream, his glasses skittering across the floor. “I still can’t believe your partner ditched you. Bad decision, that.”

  Vermen bent over his body, withdrew the key, and unlocked the cell’s door. He pulled the unconscious soldier inside, closing the door behind them. His heart hammered as he straightened up. He’d have to be fast. The longer he stayed here, the more likely it was that they’d be discovered. Treysh raised her head, flicked her hair back. From up close, Hans noticed a thin film of sweat on her forehead. He wondered if she was always so pale. Judging from her wide grin, though, she wasn’t too hurt.

  “Now that’s a rescue if I ever saw one!” She squirmed in her chair and gestured to indicate she wanted her hands free. “I’ve got to admit, I expected a familiar face, though.”

  Vermen moved to her and slid the key into her manacles. The moment she was free, she jumped to her feet, shook her hands with small huffing sounds, then waved her arms up and down in a wide, relaxed gesture. He felt like he’d unleashed an energy bomb. With every passing second, David’s assessment of her seemed more accurate.

  “I’m Hans Vermen,” he said. “Former captain.”

  “Oh! You’re that guy!” She clapped her hands, delighted by the idea. Then she bent over in a sudden coughing spell. Vermen waited it out with a slight frown, but she continued on like it never happened. “We have a friend in common. You know…tall guy, wheezy voice, put me in prison?”

  “Lieutenant David Lungvist.”

  “Yeah! He had so many questions about you. Poor guy, if I didn’t know better I’d say he’s smitten.”

  Vermen pressed his lips together. Had everyone seen it but him? His head felt hot and he wondered how red his cheeks had just turned. Treysh didn’t comment, though. She stretched her legs, then her back and neck.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  A part of him already regretted saving her. She seemed unable to keep it shut for more than a few seconds and would alert the entire headquarters before long. He needed to get to Clarin as fast as he could.

  “You’re on your own.” He opened the door a crack and checked the corridor. No one in sight. “I have a general to shoot.”

  Vermen expected Treysh to protest, to ask for an escort out. Instead she laughed and crouched next to the unconscious policeman. “Sure thing. Don’t get killed.”

  “Not before I’m done.”

  His answer drew a giggle from Treysh, which turned into another cough. Vermen stared at her as she recovered from it, then she began unbuttoning the guard’s uniform. One loose screw, Lungvist had said. He never did have much patience for eccentrics. Neither did Hans, in truth, and he had no plans to stick around.

  “Enjoy your freedom.”

  Vermen left the cell to the sound of her delighted laughter and a quick, confident “Oh, I will.”

  He hoped she’d make it to the exit without being caught and even more importantly, without raising the alarm. If the headquarters learned they’d been infiltrated, he would never reach Omar Clarin.

  * * *

  No one forgot Clarin’s deep bass voice. It reached inside and resonated through Vermen’s bones, shaking his confidence and making him feel small, unimportant. Hans paused, struggling with his doubts. Would he be up to this? Could anyone really waltz in and put an end to such a great man? He leaned upon the wall and wrapped his fingers around Seraphin’s pistol, touching the warm string. Holt’s skeptar renewed his courage. Seraphin had done it before. He was with him now. Hans could not turn back.

  Then another voice reached him, familiar and quite alive, prompting him to hurry.

  “These papers were signed by President Kurtmann himself. I’m sorry to interfere with normal chain of command, General, but his order does precede yours.”

  Lungvist’s speech was Omar Clarin’s opposite in every way: wheezy and unimposing, it rebuilt Vermen’s spirit as fast as it’d been taken down. Hans inched closer, his grip tight against the pistol. David must’ve found Galen’s secret labs. As predicted. Hans wished he could underscore how right he was to Seraphin, and delight in his defeated pout. Vermen could always count on his lieutenant. And while he had no idea how his discovery had led Lungvist to the headquarters, trying to free the very rebel he’d put behind bars, it sounded like his friend needed to count on him now.

  “Haven’t you heard, Lieutenant?” Omar asked. “Your precious president is dead, shot live on today’s broadcast. So these papers…”

  The ripping sound that followed chilled Vermen. He swallowed hard and covered the distance between him and the door. His heart hammered in his chest. A gun clicked inside and Hans resisted the urge to peek. He could not risk it. At least Omar was still talking.

  “We expected an escape attempt but I must say, you disappoint me. We trusted you to uphold the Vermen brothers’ legacy. I hope you’re at peace with your treason.”

  Heat rushed to Vermen’s head and clogged his mind. That was a death sentence, all right. And on his behalf? Had the Clarins been feeding lies to Lungvist before he’d seen him in Serenity? Not that it mattered. Now was an excellent time to interrupt. With a soft prayer to the
entire Holt ancestry, he burst into the room.

  “General Clarin, sir, urgent message!”

  Despite being no taller than five foot six—quite a bit shorter than Lungvist—Omar Clarin dominated the room. His mere presence imposed upon others, in a way not unlike his voice. A third soldier—a woman, probably the guard’s missing partner—waited at the back, at attention. Clarin held David at gunpoint, his arm angled upwards to compensate for his height. That was bad. The shock from a bullet might make him press the trigger. No choice, though. Clarin’s and Lungvist’s eyes were already widening in recognition. David began to crouch as Vermen raised the skeptar.

  “It’s from the White Renegade.”

  Hans Vermen pulled the trigger. Before he thought too much about the risks for Lungvist and formulated second thoughts. Before the general could spin around completely and shoot him. It really was that easy. You just walked in, aimed, shot. The blast deafened Vermen and the old weapon recoiled with surprising strength. A dazed satisfaction swirled in his stomach as the bullet sank into Clarin’s heart. The general twitched as he reached for the wound, his fingers clenched. He licked his lips, tried to utter a word but blood welled out of his lips. Omar Clarin collapsed. Vermen never saw him hit the ground.

  Two successive gunshots rang out and pain exploded in his knee and hip.

  The soldier, Hans thought as he fell. Good training. Good discipline. Never kill if you can question later.

  His elbow smashed against the floor and he hissed to vent the pain without screaming. He clutched his knee as darkness obscured his sight. Vermen forced his breathing to slow despite the crippling agony. The bullets felt like white-hot iron through his bones. He clung to consciousness long enough for the throbbing in his ears to subside and his vision to clear. Panting, Hans struggled into a sitting position. Blood already soaked his courier uniform.

  Lungvist had knocked the firearm out of the other soldier’s grasp and shoved her against the wall. She struggled but he was stronger, taller, and better trained. He had enough control to turn to Vermen.

  “Brilliant, Hans! How do you plan on escaping now?”

  Vermen gritted his teeth. Talking. Now that would require focus. “I just saved your life, you ingrate.”

  “You compromised yours, and since I’m not leaving without you, I think it’s safe to say you only bought me time.”

  A thin and satisfied smile stretched on his lips. David’s typical I’m-right-and-you-know-it expression. Lungvist loved having the last word. Even now, with soldiers on their way to capture them, he enjoyed winning this argument. Vermen wiped his brow, smearing blood all over it. When he answered, he had to punctuate every sentence with a painful gasp.

  “I’m okay with that. I came for Clarin. You’re just…just an unnecessary extra.”

  His friend faked hurt then laughed, a familiar soft wheeze that comforted Vermen. Hans stretched his hands to grab the skeptar and bring it back, close to him. It seemed he wouldn’t be able to return it to Seraphin’s body after all. At least he’d managed to take Omar out.

  “That’s…” Lungvist didn’t finish his sentence. “Where are the others?”

  “Dead, dying, fighting. Winning, maybe, if the police and army can’t reorganize fast enough.”

  Vermen expected reinforcements to arrive any time now, so he straightened up, determined to meet them with what dignity he could muster.

  A policeman did enter the room, but not the type he expected. This one had dark green hair stuffed under her beret, her old guard’s square glasses perched on her nose, and an excited grin. Seraphin’s rebel girl hadn’t escaped when she could, it seemed. Hans didn’t know if he was more relieved or annoyed.

  “Why are you two idiots standing there?” she exclaimed. “It’s like you actually want them to catch you!”

  Vermen wanted to point out ‘standing’ was not an option for him but before he could reply, Treysh strode to the held soldier and smashed her firearm’s hilt against her temple. Like Vermen had for her guard. The woman slumped in David’s arms and he slid her to the ground.

  “What are you doing here?” Vermen asked. “You should’ve left when you could.”

  “Did you really think I was leaving?” She checked the unconscious soldier’s pulse as she waited for an answer. When he didn’t give one, she burst into a cheerful laugh. “Oh boy. You don’t know me at all. I’m saving your asses, that’s what I’m doing.”

  She pranced to Omar and crouched over the dead general, reaching for a short-wave radio at his belt without the slightest hesitation. Vermen didn’t like the eager grin on her face, like she was about to pull off the best of pranks. Treysh pushed a button and let out a questioning “Hello?”

  Two seconds later a furious voice answered. Hans recognized the same smooth man who had interrupted the recording and declared the protest illegal. Had she called Galen Clarin directly? Why would she warn him? He held Andeal hostage and surprise might be the only way to save him. He called for her to stop but Treysh brought the radio to her lips anyway, her words lost under his exclamation and the dull thump in his skull.

  Then, before she could keep going, Treysh bent over and protected her mouth with her arm. The deep cough that followed sounded almost as painful as Vermen’s knee. Lungvist withdrew from her, all the way to the opposite wall, his eyes wide with horror. “When did you get sick?”

  Treysh straightened with a groan and rubbed her face. “Sick? I’m not. I…” She stopped, reached for the wall behind her, as if dizzy. “They gave me something this morning?”

  David’s panicked swear acted like a powerful hand squeezing Vermen’s heart. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so dismissive of Treysh’s coughs when he’d freed her. Something was up, and it terrified his lieutenant.

  “Stay away,” David ordered. “Don’t approach me. Don’t touch Hans.”

  “We need to get out,” she answered.

  “No! You’ll infect everyone.” Lungvist reached for the pockmarks on his face. “It’s started. You’re only the first. I should shoot you now.” His hands rested on his empty holster. He shook his head. “You’re lucky I promised Schmitt I would save you. We’ll figure something out. Try not to breathe on anybody.”

  “Fantastic!” Treysh lifted her arms but her grin hadn’t vanished. Almost like she didn’t care. “But hey, I am a crafter of explosive miracles, I should be able to live without breathing, no probs. Soldiers are coming. Allow me to save you all before my contagious cough becomes the harbinger of death.”

  David’s terrified expression morphed into an angry scowl. “Be serious. Galen—”

  “Hush!” Vermen glared at them until neither talked back. He could hear the soldiers coming. How had he managed to be more reasonable than both of them combined, despite the buzzing in his head and unstable floor beneath him? “Argue when we’re out. Treysh, follow your plan.”

  “Yes, Captain!”

  She gave him a salute—one so lax he’d have soldiers punished for it—and ran out of the room, her wide smile replaced by a credible grim frown. Hans hoped the plan was a good one.

  “Here!” she called to the incoming soldiers. “That rebel trash escaped. She killed General Clarin and shot a courier. We need an ambulance, ASAP!”

  Lungvist and Vermen cringed. ‘An ambulance’ wasn’t the call they used in the military. She wore a local policeman’s uniform, though, so they might let it past. Vermen hoped they did. He couldn’t maintain a complex bluff. Thick sweat drenched his clothes, his vision blurred again. One hand slipped from his hip wound, drained of the strength to hold it. He tried to tighten his grip on the skeptar. David crouched at his side and applied pressure for him before taking his hand.

  “Hold on, Hans. It’s just a bit of blood.”

  Vermen stifled a chuckle and squeezed his lieutenant’s fingers as hard as he could—which mustn’t have been all that much. Soldiers crowded the room, orders were shouted, but everything appeared distant to him, part of another world. Even
the pain in his knee receded, along with the floor’s reassuring cool. He had no idea how much time passed, if he’d lost consciousness and come back. Lungvist hadn’t moved.

  “David.” Vermen swallowed hard, gathered his thoughts. His head was hot and he couldn’t focus. He wouldn’t be any more help to Maniel and the others. But Lungvist…Every word escaped his lips in whispers. “I need you.” David’s eyes widened and he clung tighter. Hans shifted a little and gasped as sharp pain erupted in his knee. “I need you to get me out. Alive. Finish this and protect…”

  He pushed Seraphin’s pistol toward Lungvist. The lieutenant stared at it for a second, then slipped it in his holster.

  “You can count on me.”

  The wheezy voice seeped into his mind, enveloped it. A soft smile drifted to Vermen’s lips.

  “I always can.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Fingers pinched Andeal’s nose and woke him. He shook his head to get rid of them and took a deep breath when he was released. Andeal’s instinctual panic calmed and he tried to get his bearings despite his powerful headache. They’d stopped in a small room with unfinished walls and an open cupboard full of janitorial tools. Andeal was manacled to a pipe, sitting on the concrete floor, his side still radiating dull pain. The area around had been cleared of anything he could use as a weapon. An emergency solar lamp provided the only light. They must be in the basement. Galen Clarin welcomed him back with a crisp smirk.

  “As you can see, we are not out of the tower yet. We had a little…inconvenience.”

  Andeal pulled himself to an upright position and massaged his stiff neck with his free hand.

  “What inconvenience?”

  He feared the answer but if this was why Galen had bothered to wake him, he’d hear it whether he wanted to or not.

  “You’re not a fool, don’t act like one. He hid in the recording room the whole time, didn’t he?” Galen clacked his tongue and crouched next to Andeal. “You became so helpful when it meant keeping me from entering it.”