by Amy Gamet
Luke’s blood dripped down his chin and he swiped at it, again limping forward to a railing some ten feet away, his view of the silo opening up wide. There were metal railings encircling a wide round space where the missile itself used to stand, floor after floor extending in either direction, a large machine spinning at the bottom of the column like a twisted amusement park ride. An open metal stairway connected the floors, about seven stories separating him from the bottom.
Fuck.
He prayed his leg would hold out and began his descent, searching vigilantly for tangos as he went but finding none. It was as if he was alone with the futuristic spinning machine, though he knew Walsh and Summer’s father were here somewhere.
Hopefully the old man was still alive.
He missed a step and his leg collapsed, making him fall half a flight to the metal landing. His jaw cracked on the steel handrail with a sickening thud, blood spraying from his mouth as he lost a tooth. He grabbed the handrail and pulled himself to a stand, cursing under his breath as he tested his weight on his bad leg once more.
It held.
He descended another flight, agony wrapping itself around his leg like a vine. His stare caught on a spot of yellow standing out from the ubiquitous gray metal that surrounded him. He forced his eyes to focus. There on the silo floor, just beneath the overhang from the floor above, was a white-haired man in a yellow shirt, tied to a chair.
It must be Summer’s father.
He was watching Luke with interest, his eyes full of caution and fear. He was older than Luke had been expecting, and he wondered at the man’s ability to climb the steps back to safety.
Hell, I wonder about my own.
Maybe he wasn’t supposed to walk out of here alive.
“Having a little trouble, are you?” called another man’s voice. Luke looked around but saw no one. “Take your time. We’re not going anywhere. Are we, Jerome?”
Luke was being played with and he knew it, which didn’t bode well. There would be no sneak attack. Walsh knew he was coming and could clearly see he was alone.
He thought of T-ball’s body beneath the rubble—another brother down, another man lost—and was filled with an anger far larger than his grief for one man. This was the angst he carried after so much death and destruction, the shadow entity that both haunted and sustained him. It was a rage, a horror, a deadly determination.
I’m going to get this sick-ass motherfucker if it’s the last thing I do.
He rounded the final corner to the silo floor, half a flight of stairs the only thing separating him from Summer’s father and the brancium.
“Welcome,” said the voice, clearly behind him.
Luke turned slowly around. There stood Steven Walsh. Luke raised his M4, pleased he would finally be able to put the bullet in Walsh’s brain he so rightfully deserved.
But Walsh raised his hands. “If you shoot me, Renaldo shoots Daniels. I don’t think you want that.”
Luke glanced at the old man. Sure enough, a brawny white guy with a bald head held a gun to Daniels’ temple. Walsh spoke behind him. “You aren’t going to get out of here without my permission. Not this time. You’ve already seen the power of my explosives, and there are more where those came from.”
“If you were able to stop me from getting here, you would have.”
“You’re assuming I didn’t want you here, but I did. It’s not every day I get to meet a Navy SEAL. You should have told me at AGL. I would have been impressed.”
Luke narrowed his eyes, his stomach twisting at this development. “How do you know who I am?”
“I have a friend at the Pentagon. After our last meeting, I decided to find out who Summer had allied herself with. Your tattoo told me just who to ask.”
The special warfare symbol on his forearm. An eagle, a trident, and a rifle. “I’m not a SEAL anymore.”
“We have friends in common. The Afghani rebels.”
Images flashed before Luke’s eyes, the soldiers overtaking their outpost, knowing Buckeye was in there but needing to blow everything up to stop them. “They’re not my friends.”
“No. I don’t imagine they consider you to be one, either, given they’ve offered me a great deal of money to bring your head—and only your head—to their leader. You killed his oldest son when you blew up that outpost.”
“Too bad you won’t be able to accommodate him.”
Walsh laughed, waving him away. “I didn’t say I would do it. War is a machine. We feed it and it continues to function. One man’s resolution is another’s inciting incident. The best you can hope for is to be on the right side at the right time. It’s a flourishing industry that’s very lucrative to be a part of.”
Luke’s mind tried out different scenarios. Walsh and the bald man were too far apart to be taken out together, and though Walsh hadn’t pulled a weapon, Luke could clearly see the gun holstered at the other man’s waist. Luke spit on the floor, his saliva bright red with blood.
Summer’s father groaned loudly, his voice full of pain.
Walsh snapped his fingers. “Quiet.”
Renaldo smashed the butt of his gun into the old man’s skull with a nauseating thud, but Daniels didn’t pass out. His moan turned to a yelp followed by a quiet whimper, making the fingers on Luke’s gun twitch with the need to defend him.
He had to get the upper hand. “He needs his meds. He’s going to stroke out without them. His breathing is labored. There are probably blood clots in his lungs. All it takes is one of them to go to his brain.”
“Do you think I care?”
“Yes. With that man alive, you have leverage over Summer. If he dies, you have nothing but a dead body. Give the man his meds.”
“My father is crazy as a hatter. Moments of clarity, entire chunks of time before he disappears beneath the water again. I wonder if Summer knows how good she has it.”
A chime sounded and Walsh withdrew a cell phone from his pocket, smiling at what he saw. “Speak of the devil. Summer is on her way through the tunnels. She should be here shortly.”
“That’s not possible.” She was on the chopper with Mac, who would never let her in here.
“I assure you, it is,” said Walsh. “See for yourself. No cell reception down here, but I do have excellent Wi-Fi.” He passed the phone to Luke. Sure enough, Summer and Mac appeared on the screen making their way through a concrete hallway.
Luke felt physically ill. He could barely hold up his own weight. How was he going to defend her?
“I called her,” said Walsh. “I accused her of lying to me and giving me the incorrect formula for Alloy 531. I told her I was going to kill her father. What choice did she have but to show me the error of my ways?”
He could imagine it happening, could see Summer’s reaction to that lie and her desperate need to come after him. Why the hell had Mac allowed it?
This was terrible.
“Of course, the formula is correct, but I’ll get the added advantage of killing two birds with one stone. I do so love efficiency.”
25
Summer followed Mac through a narrow concrete tunnel, the scent of combustion lingering on the air, images of T-ball’s body beneath the rubble haunting her vision like the afterimage of a bright light.
It was her fault he was dead. Not directly—she hadn’t killed him—but if she’d never hired HERO Force, that man would be alive. It was a heavy burden, even a pinch of responsibility for taking a human life, her conscience creaking under the weight of it like a floor that might collapse.
This must be what Luke feels like every day, only worse.
Jeez, that gave her a new perspective. She knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her brother, but this was the first time she’d managed to truly have sympathy for him. No, it was empathy. The tiniest little taste of what he lived with every day. It must be very hard.
Harder still because she was here, because of the chemistry between them, the living, breathing attraction that came to life whenever t
hey were in the same room. Even in the chopper she’d been aware of him, no matter she’d been so angry she could have slapped him silly. She wanted to hate him. She should hate him. She’d spent the better part of her time since their talk trying to do just that, but she was having trouble.
She was following Mac through a concrete labyrinth, but in her mind she was back in Luke’s arms, their mouths connecting them more deeply than a simple touch, her soul seeming to dance with his as she felt his warm, strong body pressed against hers.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Talk about a disaster waiting to happen.
There was no future for the two of them together, no happy ending on the horizon. How could there be, after Edward?
There might not be a future for any of us outside of this hole in the ground.
There was a fundamental truth in that thought. Life was short. You had to spend it wisely, make the most of every chance you’d been given.
And I want to spend more of it with Luke.
She didn’t have the energy to question her need, all her attention focused on her very survival. This tunnel was heading somewhere bad and it was going to end soon, Luke and her father and Walsh and his men on the other side. Her father. She hoped he was all right. The medicine he needed to stay alive was tucked into her pocket, hidden by the bottom of the bulletproof vest she wore.
Just ahead, a thick steel door stood ajar, an eerie blue light shining around it, and the frightening visual it made hauled her back to the present. Mac pulled it open and she followed him, knowing they were nearing the end of this limbo and suspecting they were heading headfirst into hell.
Ten feet in front of them, the tunnel ended in light. “Ready?” asked Mac quietly.
“As I’ll ever be.”
A cool breeze blew toward her face. It smelled of earth and a tinge of exhaust. Metal girders came into view through the final opening. They stepped out onto a small railed platform, a momentary awe overwhelming her as she took in the width and height of the silo, a large round opening in each of many floors like a giant circular elevator shaft.
This was where the missile had been kept, vertical and ready to launch. A throwback to a different time, when tension between two world powers made men dig deep to house destructive forces. The scale of it was frightening, the purpose of the structure seeming to haunt the space, still.
A deep voice beside her made her jump. “Hold it right there, you two.”
She turned slowly around, her heart skipping like a rabbit’s when she saw the rifle pointed at her and the man holding it. Another man appeared as if by magic, taking Mac’s weapon before patting them each down for more. He turned her around and shoved her toward an open metal staircase. “Walk.”
There was blood on the landing but she made herself move, her senses hypervigilant as she scanned the silo. A whooshing noise caught her attention and she peered over the edge to see where it came from.
An oscillating friction accelerator filled the center of the space, its stainless-steel arms moving like Medusa’s snakes. But more important, her father, Luke, and Steven Walsh were also there. Her father was slumped in a chair, whether barely alive or already dead she couldn’t tell for certain.
Dizziness assaulted her and she stumbled to the side, her hip crashing into the metal handrail in the same place the table hit her yesterday, pain radiating outward, white-hot and bright.
“Stand the fuck up,” said the guard, jabbing her in the small of her back with what felt like the tip of his gun.
There’s blood on my shoes. A person’s blood on the bottoms of my shoes.
My father might be dead.
She wondered if she was losing it as she descended the final flight of stairs and stood in front of her dad.
His eyes were slits in his swollen face, his attention clearly on her. Her shoulders dropped, relief flooding through her. He was alive, for now. “His medication is in my pocket.” She looked from one man to another, the man who marched her down the steps, Luke, then finally Walsh, who scrunched up his face.
“Not just yet,” he said. “We have a few things to discuss before we go rescuing anyone. Okay, pumpkin?”
Her throat convulsed, her words fighting to get out. “He has a clotting disorder of the blood. Look at him! He isn’t well. He could have a pulmonary embolism or a stroke. He was supposed to take his pills more than twelve hours ago. He needs them now.”
“And I need to right the balance of the world gone wrong.”
She jerked her head back. “What are you talking about?”
“Not everything is about you!” He slapped her face and she stumbled, righting herself before she fell.
Walsh moved to her father. “Do you know what it did to me when you stole those patents? My mother just died the year before, and you pushed my father into the deep end of his mind. They took me away from him and put me in a place where boys like me get treated like garbage. You did that.” He turned to face Luke and gestured to Summer. “Do you like this woman?”
“Leave her alone.”
“Because I think she’s a self-centered whore. Definitely has no business in a managerial position.”
Summer stood between Luke and the stairs, ten feet separating her from each. She struggled to keep up with Walsh’s changing stream of consciousness.
“But alas, as the daughter of Jerome Daniels, you just had to have a job there, didn’t you?” Walsh walked behind her father and grabbed a fistful of his hair, lifting the old man’s head up as Daniels groaned. “Look at your daughter. I’m going to kill her to make up for everything you did to my father and me, and I want you to watch closely as she dies. Everybody paying attention now? You’re not going to want to miss this.”
Summer lifted her hands to protect herself from attack, but there was no one else around. Her eyes went from person to person, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. Her stare connected with Luke’s, and his shot upward, looking at something above her head.
“Get down!” he barked.
She dropped to the ground just as a beam of purple light focused on the floor several feet from where she’d been standing. “The brancium photon beam!” she yelled. It carried enough energy to kill her in seconds, boring a hole through her body as it vaporized tissue.
Luke fired his weapon three times in quick succession as she scrambled for cover. But as soon as she found it, she saw her father still strapped to the chair and the photon beam circling the floor of the missile silo, leaving burn marks on the concrete like a child’s giant marker. Walsh was on the floor, a bullet wound in his forehead.
“Daddy!”
“I’ve got him,” said Luke, rushing to his side. “Stay there.” He pulled out a knife and worked to cut through his bindings as the photon beam’s pattern inched closer to his outstretched feet.
“Lookout!” she called.
“I see it,” said Luke.
The beam reached her father’s foot just as Luke freed Daniels, the powerful energy setting his shoe on fire. Luke dragged him to safety behind a metal console and used an extinguisher to put out the flames, quickly removing the crying man’s shoe. “It’s okay. We’re going to get you out of here.”
“The hatch,” said Daniels. “Open the hatch.”
Summer looked up high, all the way to the top of the missile silo. She couldn’t even see the doors, but knew they must be there. But how could they get out with the photon beam ready to kill them all?
This is your baby.
She knew the accelerator at Daniels like the back of her hand. Unless Walsh had specifically asked for modifications, this one had to be similar or even identical, which meant the main power was located on the control board at the base of the steel trunk. But she’d have to cross the most dangerous part of the photon field to get there.
She didn’t hesitate. “You open the doors,” she called to Luke. “I’ll stop the accelerator photon beam.”
“Be careful!”
She ran past Walsh
. The beam had crossed his body, completely severing it in two. She looked away and ran, hoping the photon beam didn’t swerve in her direction, but it did—forcing her to abruptly change directions and making her already injured ankle twist for the second time that week.
She gasped, falling to the ground. The purple beam was only three feet away and heading straight for her. She scooted backwards on her bottom, arms then legs, dragging herself away. But she wasn’t fast enough and there was no time to even attempt to stand.
A loud motorized noise echoed in the cavernous space, stretching on for long seconds with the whine of metal on metal. The hatch doors were opening.
The accelerator control panel was only a five or six feet away, with a small overhang of steel between the console and the floor, like a child-sized desk she could hide under. A sharp burning in her foot and she knew she’d been hit, quickly yanking back her leg and forcing her to move even faster, until she was safely under the metal and the photon beam disappeared above her.
She hugged her legs to herself for a long moment, then peeked out, seeing the beam across the room. She pulled herself up on her burned foot and cut the power to the machine.
26
“Wake up, Summer.”
Her eyes opened, instantly squinting against the bright overhead lights. Her head hurt and she sat up, holding the blanket over her clothes. She was in a small room bordered by cots in HERO Force headquarters where she’d collapsed after the ordeal at the missile silo.
They’d been airlifted through the massive hydraulic doors—first her father, Luke and Moto to a waiting ambulance, then herself. It was some time later before Mac was able to retrieve T-ball’s body and sent it up on a stretcher, finally being lifted himself.
Summer had stood in the cold, watching it all. She didn’t feel right accompanying Luke to the hospital, and besides, she needed to see that this was truly finished.
She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
Mac O’Brady was sitting on a folding chair next to her bed. “A little before nine in the morning. I was hoping we could talk.”