Either way, shouting into the radio had lost any appeal when the hunting party ceased responding. Instead of wasting time trying to convince them otherwise, Kaylee made the decision to disobey their instructions. Michaels initially agreed until Kaylee also ordered him to come with.
Objections had stammered from his lips followed by angry insults, all silenced by Kaylee's fist. She had said, as he laid shocked and dazed upon the ground. "We're not going to have much support, so we'll need everyone we can trust. We can trust you, right?"
Michaels now progressed through the streets of upper-Haven, his face throbbing. He held an awkward grip on a submachine gun procured from the lobby of the Institute.
"I still don't see what good we'll be able to accomplish with so few people," he whispered to Kaylee while they walked. He kept his attention fixed upon every conceivable direction, peering into the darkness and imagining insidious shapes.
Kaylee scowled at him. "Do you want me to hit you again?"
Michaels sputtered, angry at her threats, her bullying, and her insistence on dragging him along. Before he formed any concrete words, she rolled her eyes. "Look," she said, "I'm sorry I hit you, but you really were being a cowardly ass."
The researcher closed his mouth, frowning.
"We're not going down there to assault the red-light district," she said, touching him on the arm and relaxing her tone. "We're going to lend support to the civilians, right Quinton?"
With a nod, the elderly man said, "We could use the help. People are getting scared."
Michaels opened his mouth again, ready to object again, but Kaylee seemed to read his thoughts. "Yes, you're right in that two more people won't make a huge difference." She hefted a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. "But a few extra weapons and a good pile of ammunition very well may."
The arguments appeared to be repeating themselves, but Michaels refused to cease speaking with rationality until silenced or heeded. "Sergei and Isaac will have your hide for stealing those. There's been talk of munitions shortages for weeks, and you assist this process by stealing some?"
"I barely scratched the surface of what they've got," Kaylee replied, "and if we're careful about using it, we'll have plenty to stave off any minor assaults, right?" She directed the question to Quinton.
The old man gave a nod. "May not seem like much, but even this little bit will help."
"They'll brand us as traitors; do you realize that?" Michaels kept at it.
Kaylee balled a fist. "You're starting to piss me off again, doc. What we're doing is the right thing. The people down there need our help."
"If the opportunity presents itself," Michaels raised his chin, "I will be returning. I have business in the Institute which needs finishing."
"Admirable, Sir Gregory," she said in a mocking tone. "Always ready to rush to his damsel's-"
"Shut up!" Michaels shouted, gripping the submachine gun with white-knuckles and resisting wild urges to aim it at Kaylee. "Don't you dare say anything about my work with her!"
Taken aback, Kaylee stared at him with an open mouth. He turned away, running a hand through his hair and feeling the boil of adrenaline course through his body. Michaels felt their eyes upon his back. Trembling, his anger dissolved into shame at his outburst. They just... I can't...
Thoughts tumbled without form in his head. Even an implied insult to Claudia was not acceptable. Simple consideration of Kaylee's minor slight renewed a flare of irritation, but he squelched the feelings before he opened his mouth to speak. I won't make a fool of myself any further, he thought.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched. Turning his head, Kaylee's concerned expression greeted him. "Sorry, doc. I... I do understand. I'm sorry we shanghaied you into this, but it's really important, you know?"
Michaels rested fingertips against his temple. "No... it's all right. I shouldn't..." He sighed, giving her a nod and waving her off. He didn't wish to continue discussing it, and his simple gesture felt like apology enough. She seemed to think so as well, squeezing his shoulder and falling into silence.
Still, as they walked, Michaels realized precisely why Kaylee's tiny insult bothered him. Words spoken long ago rang in his ears. Words from a colleague, a friend, and maybe something just a little more:
How gallant of you. What did I ever do without Sir Gregory protecting me?
Claudia. Her quick wit and simple grace, idealized times fifty in the months of Michaels trying to discover the cure. Nothing: no task or threat would prevent him from finding out how to save her. Kaylee had known this, and quick glances revealed regret and sympathy on her face for bringing it up.
Quinton kept his face passive and eyes watchful. Michaels knew the old man thought ill of the noise they made, but nothing was said.
He cursed himself again for being such a fool, using the lull in discussion to think about the situation. After short consideration, he decided Kaylee had not been in the wrong. She's not entirely right, either, he thought, but doing something, perhaps anything, is better than what those morons Sergei and Isaac demand.
Chapter 6: Another Long Night
Gripping tight upon the radio, Sergei nearly cast it to the ground, where it certainly would have shattered. Anger burned in his blood, a reaction from listening to the voice which highlighted the total amount of materials robbed from the Institute.
Weapons and ammunition, precious and diminishing resources, and this Kaylee woman steals a not-small amount, his teeth clenched at the thought, then further disobeys orders by leaving.
"We should have just brought her with," Isaac said, giving his head a slow shake. "Good for helping find the creature: someone familiar or maybe even bait?"
"You are right, my friend," Sergei nodded, "but now we have lost the opportunity along with some of our precious munitions. Kaylee will have to be punished for this indiscretion."
Isaac gestured for the several guards following to halt. He folded his arms. "What if they were right?"
Sergei scowled. "About a faction of blood-drinkers? How many bodies have turned up thus far? Four now? If the victims counted higher, I would think we were under attack, but just a few suggests only one killer."
"Quinton said there were a lot down below. Dozens, more even," Isaac replied.
"Ehhh, but how much is he to be trusted, especially after this theft of our equipment?"
Isaac rubbed his chin. "In response to us refusing?"
"Bah." Sergei waved a hand. "I do not know how much I wish to concern our forces with petty complaints from down below. They made the choice to avoid this necessary fight, and we respected it. They must understand this means we cannot bend valuable resources to keep them safe whenever they see a boogeyman." He shrugged. "If they were among us, then clearly things would be different, but I remain reluctant to spare our effort towards their aid."
"What if they're right, and these people are a real threat?" Isaac asked. "We could be running around chasing this Malcolm thing for weeks without seeing a trace of it, him, whatever. If these people Quinton mentioned are the real source of this problem..."
Sergei wagged a finger, feeling his resolve beginning to weaken. "What do you suggest, then, my good and dear friend?"
"We can catch up with Kaylee and the others. Maybe even provide assistance if there really is trouble. If not, we get our equipment back, take them into custody, and get Kaylee to help in the Malcolm search."
"Hmmm..." Sergei tapped fingers on the butt of his side-arm. "I believe I might agree with you. Considering our trail has gone somewhat cold..." He shot a glare at one of his soldiers, who had been trying to track the beast. "I suppose we have few better options available." I suppose the benefit of the doubt will be given in this situation, he thought.
Isaac nodded.
"I would like for us to gather more people for this effort, but..." Sergei gave a shrug. "I suppose it cannot prove too difficult for our skilled forces, yes?"
"Yeah, I think we can handle it," Isaac said.
"Very well. Everyone!" Sergei called out to the soldiers. "We are going to have a change of direction to retrieve some possessions which were stolen from us. They may react in hostile fashion, so please remain on your guard."
He continued, "However, we will not fire upon them unless it becomes absolutely necessary. These are our people, wayward souls, who believe so strongly in something that they are willing to fall upon disobedience and theft to make their grievances known. Wrong or right, they still will be punished," he gave a pause, "but we will see first if their actions were worthy of their cause."
Satisfied his loyal soldiers wouldn't tear the dissenters apart at first glance, Sergei nodded to Isaac, who drew him to the side. "Sergei, are you sure you'll be all right coming with?"
The other man raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Battle situation..." Isaac said. "You haven't been in on them much lately. What happens if..." he left the implication of Sergei's tendency toward hallucinations hanging.
"I will be all right." Sergei said, firm and confident. "I believe this will not be a taxing ordeal, and I spend too long these days behind a desk. It will be good to contribute."
"If you're certain..."
"I am." Sergei gave a nod.
Isaac shrugged. "Okay then." Turning to the troops, he called out. "Right, fellas. Let's get going."
******
Sitting next to Cass, perched upon the overhang at the front entrance of the school, Rick aimed another procured rifle into the darkness beyond their floodlights. The girl, having shaken off most of her terror and shock, reclaimed her own weapon and engaged in a similar watch.
The pursuit had appeared to have fallen off at first, giving them time to slow their pace. Half a mile out from the school, the crazed individuals attacked again, coming close enough for Rick to have to bludgeon a few with the butt of Cass' rifle.
Knife blades hissing through the air behind them, the pair scrambled for safety. Again, while they approached the floodlights of the school, shouting and waving their arms in the hopes of not being shot on sight, the direct pursuit seemed to fade.
Except the attackers remained nearby. On the edges of the floodlights, they ran, taunted, and faded into shadows. The school had raised an alarm, blazing into their assault procedure of dispersing weaponry, barricading particular rooms, and preparing a defense of progressively tighter circles should the building be breached.
Given the weapon and a very small stash of ammunition, Rick volunteered for outside duty. The occasional shot cracked out into the night as one of the other outer guards caught a glimpse of movement.
"Hold your fire unless you get a goddamn decent shot!" Rick shouted for what felt like the millionth time. "If we run outta bullets, we'll have to throw rocks!"
Rick himself only had a single box of ammunition, twenty-five shots. During the period of watch, he'd fired his weapon three times, scoring a hit once. A few kills had briefly decorated the edges of the light until other attackers swooped in and carted the wounded and dead foes off.
"Bloody impossible to tell their numbers," Rick told himself yet again. "You hangin' in there, kiddo?"
Cass gave a nod, her expression attempting to be hard. Rick could detect fear bordered on the knife edge of panic behind her stern eyes, but nothing he could do would help. First real fight; she'll have to figure out how to deal with it on her own.
Rick admitted no small amount of fear in his own heart, but many battles against worse odds filled his background. "Dug in position. Elevated, probably not outnumbered..." Rick said out loud, trying to comfort himself as much as Cass. "They got us surrounded, but they can't approach. If they try to attack without firearms, we'll fill 'em full of holes before they get within twenty feet."
The girl gave another nod, his rousing speech not appearing to have any strong effect. Well, shit. She's too young for this anyway. Best I can do is try to make sure she doesn't die.
More shots echoed through the night.
"Goddammit people," he yelled, "stop wasting our..." he trailed off, realizing the source and echoes were not coming from around the corners of the school building but directly out in front of him. Instead of individual shots, scattered and sustained fire came forward.
An eternity of hope and worry danced around in his head. Oh dear God, the game might change a bit if they've got guns instead of just knives and hammers, came the first thought. It was followed by, If Quinton managed to get Sergei and Isaac to throw down support, I'll give that wrinkly bastard a huge kiss.
The contemplation turned to relative hope in his head as renewed screaming and howling madmen sped off in the direction of the arriving party. They're chasing; that means... Rick hoped whoever approached could handle themselves well enough.
Regardless, he held a tight grip, aiming in the direction of the noise, which to his imagination or reality seemed to be on some manner of approach. Minutes dripped by, his unblinking gaze fixed upon the shadows beyond the floodlight. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Cass within a similar vigil.
"Take it easy, and don't shoot right away. They might be friendlies."
"You really think so?" Her voice contained a hard, doubtful edge.
Rick turned, releasing one hand on his weapon and placing it on her shoulder. He could feel a slight tremble. "Take a deep breath. Calm your nerves." He gave a squeeze as she drew in a short breath, far from being anywhere near deep or calming, but it seemed to help. "Don't shoot unless I say so."
She licked her lips. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"We don't want to fire on friendlies. Risking enemy approach is much less terrible than losing the few people and alliances we have."
"Okay," she replied, and Rick heard a firm certainty behind it.
Intermittent gunfire sounded, and the shouting could still be heard. Rick imagined a gruff voice barking orders, keeping a tight circle and watching in all directions.
The sustain of it, the approaching gunfire and shouting, all but proved to Rick that whoever advanced served as an enemy to the unknown attackers. It could be the zombie-carcass of Franklin Lange himself, and I'd still be glad to see the rotting prick if he managed to cut down enough of these crazy people.
Shuddering from the thought, more moments slid along, and Rick began to see the edges of running forms, blocks away but indistinct. Their progress appeared slow, and occasional muzzle-flashes and percussive chatter accompanied their approach.
Well, at least they're not firing on us, Rick thought, squinting down the barrel of his rifle. The figures began to resolve, and he noted the reason for their gradual progress. One leaned upon another, and those two hobbled along as quickly as possible. Another person, a woman, swiveled her weapon in all directions, doing her best to cover them.
Sounds of the screaming, howling madmen grew louder. No longer on all sides, it appeared whatever number of attackers stalking the shadows around the school had converged upon the weaker and less defended prey.
Except the approaching group, whose meager number caused a peal of disappointment in Rick's chest, sustained their fire well, seeming to have fangs enough to protect themselves. More than a couple of charging figures fell before drawing too close to the small party.
He drew in a sharp breath; shock, horror, anger, and even a little joy blazed through his surprised thoughts. The woman in the lead finally burst into the edges of the floodlight.
"Holy shit..." Rick's grip on the rifle slackened. "What the hell are you doing here, Kaylee?" he spoke under his breath.
More faces resolved, to Rick's considerable surprise. Quinton he expected, but when the gasping and disheveled form of Michaels stumbled into the light, half-carrying the old man and awkwardly clutching a submachine gun in his free hand, Rick wondered if he had passed out or gone mad.
"Friendlies on approach, eastern face!" he shouted. No other outside sentries technically had angles on Kaylee and her group, but he knew a few faces and guns poked out of the windows b
ehind him. Rick preferred to ensure no one gunned down his allies.
One of the attackers, abandoning caution and shouting at the top of her lungs, sprinted out of the shadows. Rick watched the researcher guy panic, scream in fright and squeezed the trigger on his weapon. Scattered, inaccurate fire issued forth, the recoil and lack of aim spewing bullets everywhere except the target. Rick's finger tightened on his own trigger, but he didn't have a clear shot.
His shot went unfired, too much of a risk, but he breathed a tiny sigh of relief to see Kaylee swivel and add her own controlled spray to Michaels' cause. The attacking woman was hit by some small amount of the ammunition flurry, and her crazed shouting ceased as she dropped to the ground.
At least Kaylee's gotten better, Rick thought, remembering a time when her skills at most aspects of organized combat were lacking at best.
A few more of the howling attackers moved near on the edges of the lighting but chose against pressing the not-so weak traveling group.
Out of breath and sweat pouring off of their bodies, Kaylee's party didn't stop running until they were under the awning and pounding on the door. Half-amused, Rick realized the floodlight had obscured his and Cass' appearance to them. He heard Kaylee shouting, "Please, we're here to help. Let us inside!"
"Keep an eye on things; I'll be right back," he said to Cass, dropping his rifle and climbing through the window, back into the adjacent classroom. Not wishing to leave the new guests standing on the doorstep, he sprinted through the halls and down the stairs.
Watching the barred main entrance were two people, a man and woman, in case of a successful frontal assault. At Rick's enthusiastic approach, the startled and inexperienced pair nearly fired upon him. He waved his hands back and forth and said, "We've got reinforcements outside. Open the doors!"
Exodus (The Fall of Haven) Page 11