******
Malcolm sat on the couch in the flat where Kaylee had been held prisoner. He had spent the last twenty minutes rotating between it and the window, restless while waiting for her.
She had told him, once she had regained composure, that she wasn't sure what to do next. "I hadn't expected to survive, honestly," she admitted.
Malcolm offered no suggestions, as he did not really have the clearest idea of what was going on. Kaylee took a moment to fill him in on a few of the details, which he absorbed in silence. "Regardless," she had said, "I'm filthy and covered in that bastard's blood." She decided to mull over the options during the course of a rudimentary clean-up.
After swigging some, she had taken the remaining stale water from the broken fridge and had cleaned herself up as best she could. While he waited in the living room, Malcolm had moved the bodies to the outside. One of the guards was dead, a product of over-application of strength. The other, used as a battering ram to the room, was unconscious, his breathing shallow. He had sustained such a serious head injury that his survival without intense and immediate care was unlikely, not that Malcolm knew it.
He dumped them and the late Miguel into another empty suite across the hall. He wasn't sure if anyone would be coming up to investigate or not, but a stack of dying and dead bodies seemed improper.
Malcolm walked back over to the window, looking outside. The intermittent sounds of gunfire still filled the air, and from what it looked like, Miguel's forces had gotten pushed back even further. They barely now held the line just outside the square, and several of them fell to the onslaught with every moment of combat. Malcolm could now see a few of the opposing soldiers. They were well-organized and took advantage of every opportunity to advance. They incurred losses every so often, but not nearly as many as the disorganized rabble that frequently featured some person turning tail and running.
This occurred less and less because it tended to expose them, and very few of Miguel's men made it away before they were targeted and taken down. What surprised him was that several of Miguel's downed men appeared to be still alive.
An image flared through Malcolm's mind. He saw a shirtless man lying on a table, his body bruised and battered. A tube ran into his arm, connecting to a plastic bag hooked up to a metal stand with wheels. Clear fluid filled the bag, which in turn seeped into the man's arm. Another image flashed before him, of the same man's face, eyes and ears covered by an apparatus. Slack-jawed, the color in the person's face faded as he twitched back and forth: tired, beaten, and terrified.
He shook his head, clearing the confusing images from his mind. He still didn't know where they kept coming from or what exactly they meant. Watching out the window, he saw a cloud of white vapor envelop the edge of the square. He could see several of Miguel's men burst out of the mist, gagging and coughing. They crawled around on their hands and knees, gasping for breath.
Kaylee came out and stood next to him. She had removed the dress and put on her old clothes. "Jesus," she whispered, "they're gassing them." The term clicked with something in Malcolm's mind, and he nodded.
The combat line around the square appeared to be crumbling, as many of Miguel's men had moved backward. The ever-closer rumble of gunfire suggested that some were setting up inside the slight overhang alcove a few floors beneath them.
Kaylee turned to Malcolm. "We should get out of here, but I don't know where to go. If they find us, we'll be killed or taken back with them." She looked back outside, grimacing.
They heard the sound of rapid footfalls outside, like the sound of someone running, and the door was thrown open. A single man entered, yelling an inquiring, "Miguel?" as he came inside, gasping for breath. He saw Kaylee and Malcolm standing by the window, and confusion touched his face. "Who are…?" His eyes slid around the room, noting the bloody trail on the carpet as well as various broken objects. He slowly backed out, eyes wide, and bolted down the hallway.
Without a word, Malcolm sprang forward, moving after him. Surprised, Kaylee started pursuing as Malcolm burst into the hallway. As she reached the door, she heard a thud and a short cry of pain. She saw that Malcolm had leapt upon the poor man and pinned him to the ground. He was still conscious, but he must have gotten the wind knocked out of him as he gasped for breath on the ground. Kaylee watched as Malcolm raised his clenched fist, striking the man in the back of the head. The man went limp.
Malcolm picked him up, and, as Kaylee walked down the hall to join him, he tossed the man, unconscious or dead she didn't know, into the room with the others.
As he came out, Kaylee walked up to him. "Let's go, they've probably been looking for Miguel for a while." She eyed Malcolm, waiting for some kind of response. When she received none, she continued. "It looks like the club is surrounded, so…" She gave a little shrug. "Maybe we should just go up a couple more floors and wait it out."
"No," Malcolm responded. Kaylee cocked her head as he elaborated with a brief, "Followw," he grunted, taking off down the hallway at a startling clip.
Kaylee ran after him, calling out a, "Wait up," as he moved with that same fluid speed that surprised her every time. She shook her head slightly as she followed. I hope he knows what he's doing, she thought.
Uprising Page 38