by Elle E. Ire
The few slaves moving about have glazed eyes and hopeless expressions. Jacks drugs the ones not working. Makes sense, but my jaw clenches. It’s harder to motivate stoned people to run.
Four security guards patrol the perimeter—a small contingent for such a large number of prisoners, but then again, with them drugged, scantily dressed, and mostly small and not muscular, it’s probably sufficient. Four guards, four of us eager for a fight. I like our odds.
That is, until the alarms go off.
“We’re out of time!” I shout, grabbing the guard passing our entrance and hauling him backward off his feet. I slam his head against the closest wall. He drops like the stone he just hit.
Kelly’s whimper carries over the blaring din.
“You okay?” I ask, drawing close enough for her to hear me. Robert, Lyle, and Alex barrel into the main cavern, taking cover behind cots and cabinets. Gunfire erupts. An electrowhip cracks over and over again. Slaves scream while metal bedframes scrape on stone, and heavy storage bins topple and crash.
Kelly shakes off her empathic connection to the guard I disabled. “Yes. He’s not dead. Thank you for that.”
“Sure. No problem.”
I intended to kill him. She doesn’t need to know it. Not going to examine the impulse too closely. Kelly says I have a soul. Gonna stick with that for now, even if I doubt her judgment.
“Stay put. People are getting hurt, and I don’t want you picking up their pain full blast. If we look like we’re losing, give us some covering fire from here.” I glance at the pistol she now holds loosely. “Might want to take the safety off that thing.”
Her smile, even sheepish, warms me inside. She flips her thumb over the switch. “Got it.”
I touch her shoulder once in parting, then dart into the room, dive-rolling to avoid a barrage of laser fire and ending up behind a sideways cabinet with its contents scattered across the floor. It’s not big enough to cover my entire body, but it will do, and I get off a couple of solid shots, taking down a second guard on the far side of the room. Then I’m scrambling, searching for better protection. I’m racing past another side tunnel when hands grab me and pull me into it, laser blasts following in my wake.
“Thanks,” I mutter to the hands’ owner while I study the scorch marks on the stone wall just past my head.
I send VC1 a message to shut down the alarms, and the area drops into relative silence.
“Are you here to free us?” a female voice asks.
I turn to the sound and come face-to-face with three naked girls, one holding a towel, the other two dripping wet from an interrupted shower. They’re attractive, young, and I’ve got the remnants of the sex-enhancement drug in my veins. I avert my gaze, fixating on a point on the wall behind them. “Yes,” I say, answering the lead girl’s question. “Get some clothes on and stay behind me. I’ll cover you to the exit tunnel.”
VC1, can you interrupt the shield generators now? Also, I need directions to the quickest, easiest way to the surface.
I feel her assent as the schematic behind my eyes shifts to a new perspective—a map detailing a route to a bank of freight elevators designed for hauling large amounts of ore to the above-ground storage facilities. We’ll have to cross the slave quarters cavern and take a tunnel on the far side, but that’s not a bad thing. Reinforcements will most likely be coming from the guest suites back the way we came, so we’re heading away from them.
“Alex,” I say into my internal comm, “tell the strike team to begin their run. And make sure they’re landing the transport ships as soon as the shields go down for good.” I transmit the escape vectors to my teammates.
“Acknowledged,” Alex responds, a little out of breath. The gunfire in the main cavern continues. I need to get back out there.
“Stay behind me,” I tell the girls when they’re dressed, “dressed” being a relative term. One wears a nightie in pale pink that barely covers her ass. The other two have on short skirts and halter tops. No protection whatsoever. I suppress a sigh.
“I should’ve known you weren’t a real buyer,” the one in the negligee says. “And here I thought I was losing my touch.”
I know that voice. Peering harder at her face, I realize this is Cate, my personal “assistant” during the banquet. I didn’t recognize her with her wet hair stringing into her face and everything else on display, forcing me to look elsewhere.
“Your touch is fine,” I assure her, blushing when I realize the double meaning of what I just said. “I’m just very taken.”
I drop to my knees and crawl into the main chamber. The girls follow suit, and I wince in sympathy. The stone must be cutting into their bare knees, but they’ve been through too much to complain about the relatively minor discomfort.
“Your assistant, yeah. I figured as much. She was very possessive.”
“She can be that.” I chuckle even as I target another guard. My shot misses when he ducks. Taking a small risk, I pop my head up behind a cot and survey the situation. At the far side of the cavern, slaves are streaming through the exit and disappearing into the tunnel beyond, Lyle ushering them out as fast as they can move and laying down covering fire. I don’t spot Cynthia among them. I do spot several newly arrived guards, about four, joining the two that remain. And just like that, we’re outnumbered and sure to become more so.
Robert is creeping between the rows of cots, sneaking up on one of Jacks’s security. He takes the guard out from behind, sees me watching, and tosses me a jaunty salute.
Cheeky bastard, but for all his posturing, I’m glad to have him.
I point at the exit where Lyle is waiting. “That way. Go. Keep your heads down and your legs moving.” Waving my hand over my shoulder, I gesture my three charges onward, letting them crawl past me.
At that moment, the ground beneath me shudders and a rumbling boom echoes from the cavern ceiling and down all the adjacent tunnels. The Storm has opened fire on the above-ground generators. The three girls from the shower freeze halfway to their goal, craning their necks to stare back at me.
Is the shield down? I ask my internal counterpart. It doesn’t feel down. I think I’d know if—
There’s a sudden shift in the air, a pressure imbalance that pops my ears in a painful rush. Then whoosh. A howling wind hurricanes its way through the cavern, conflicting air currents crisscrossing from the various tunnels, colliding in the center and upending whatever furniture remains standing. A miniature tornado forms, whirling and picking up everything in its path: beds, storage units, people. It’s got one of the guards, but some of the slaves as well, careening them around until they collide with something more solid, most often a rock wall.
Screams cut off as bones crunch. The pressure release eases off. The whirlwind dissipates, dropping lifeless bodies on the floor.
I expected casualties on this mission. I didn’t expect death by cyclone.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” my father’s voice whispers in my head from beyond the grave, and I’m momentarily overcome by a flood of memories, him repeating the iconic Wizard of Oz phrase anytime our family encountered something unexpected. I guess when you grow up in Kansas, Oz references are inevitable, and Dad was more obsessed with the stories than most.
When the wind dies completely, I become aware of an increasing tightness in my throat and chest, each breath coming harder than the last, the exertion of crawling making the need greater and greater. The girls’ eyes widen, one clutching at her neck, another placing a hand over her ample breasts. Wheezing turns to gasping. I trigger my internal comm.
“Need those breather masks,” I shout, or try to. It comes out as a faint whisper. My vision sparkles at the edges, then darkens with black dots. If I pass out, none of us are escaping.
Movement at the tunnel where we entered sets me to panicking. It’s Kelly, already wearing her Storm-issued mask, behind which her face is ghastly pale, and I realize she felt the deaths that just occurred. Nevertheless, she’s darting fr
om bed to storage trunk to cabinet, keeping low and zigzagging as I’ve taught her, wavering a bit, but not losing momentum as she fights her own urge to faint. Several near misses blow apart furnishings to her left and right, and if I weren’t already doing so, I’d be holding my breath. She slides in on her knees, skidding to a halt beside me, and yanks a satchel from over her shoulder. After digging around inside, she comes up with a breather and passes it to me.
My oxygen-deprived brain can’t make my clumsy fingers close around it. Next thing I know, she’s dragging me to her with one hand cupped behind my head. The other tugs the straps of the breather over my hair, tightens them, and adjusts the mask to cover my nose and mouth.
I take a slow, deep breath while she moves to the three girls with me, doing the same for each of them. When she’s done, she crawls back to my side.
“Glad you’re here,” I say, placing my hand over hers so she can feel the truth in it. Her love and gratitude flood me in return. “Good job handling all this.”
She beams with pride, though her eyes are teary and her hand shakes under mine.
After I inhale a few more times, my vision clears and I take in the battle zone. The drop in oxygen levels has done us one favor. It’s more than leveled the playing field. While Alex and Lyle scramble to get masks on all the slaves and Robert, they leave the guards to suffocate. It’s an unpleasant way to go, faces turning blue, mouths and eyes wide open in helpless terror.
Oh fuck. They’re dying. They’re dying and I’ve got Kelly beside me, and she’s already in bad shape.
I grab and pull her close as she topples against me.
Chapter 18: Kelly—Tunnels of Dark
Vick is stubborn.
I HUDDLE in Vick’s strong arms while the guards’ deaths wash over me, one by one, some hanging on a little longer than the rest and prolonging my agony. My body writhes. A moan escapes my clenched teeth. Vick grabs the bag I’m carrying, the one with the breathers, and rummages through it until she finds the hypodermic I always keep with me. After rolling up my sleeve, she presses the needle against my skin and pushes the plunger home. It’s all happening simultaneously, but it feels like time slows to a crawl before all the medication is administered.
The effect is immediate: a cool rush of calm flowing outward from the injection site to every part of my body and mind. Emotional dampener drugs allow me to remain conscious and function in all but the worst of exposure circumstances. My other senses sharpen as my empathic abilities snuff out beneath the blanket of chemicals. But there is one major downside.
I won’t be able to sense Vick’s emotions, either.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ll sense them, but more like being hit with a blunt instrument rather than tasting the nuance of her emotional roller coaster. For example, right now I feel a mix of her energized excitement, her fear, and her anger, whereas a moment ago I could differentiate between the energy derived from the current fight, the fear from the asphyxiation of both herself and me and everyone else, and her anger over the slave practices in general. I will also have less range in picking up what she’s experiencing. If she leaves my side, I’ll only catch the strongest surges.
I don’t like being less effective, being a victim of my own power’s weakness. But I have to be able to act.
Vick pushes me upright so I’m facing her and peers into my face, nodding at whatever she sees there. “Better?”
“Yes.” For certain definitions.
“Good. Let’s move. It’s going to get worse.”
With the guards out of commission, we’re able to rise to our feet and walk the rest of the way to the exit on the far side of the cavern. Lyle, Alex, Robert, and a host of formerly enslaved women and men await us there, all wearing functional breather gear. The ex-slaves shiver in their scanty garments. Goose bumps arise on their exposed flesh, and some of the girls’ lips are blue.
In the adrenaline rush, I hadn’t noticed the temperature dropping, but when Vick exhales her next breath, it fogs the mask she’s wearing.
“It’s getting colder. A lot colder,” I say, surprised by the chattering of my teeth and the unsteadiness of my speech.
“With the shields down, the heat is escaping too fast for the equipment to compensate,” Alex explains. “We need to meet our extraction team before we freeze to death.”
I glance at the young men and women waiting for guidance from us. “Some of us faster than others.”
“Why aren’t the alarms going off?” Robert asks. “All this should have brought the entire security team down on us. I assume this is your doing?” His tone is accusatory.
From her frown, Vick doesn’t appreciate it. “Yes, it’s our doing. So is the strike force that’s coming to back us up, and the rescue ships that will carry everyone to safety. And yes, I’ve shut down the alarms.”
Or VC1 has, but she isn’t drawing additional attention to her counterpart. As a member of the OWLs, Robert already knows some of VC1’s abilities, anyway. Which makes me wonder. “Shouldn’t you be aware of this operation?” I ask as we all trudge along the tunnel toward what I hope is a way out. Vick’s in the lead. She must know where we are going.
“I’ve been acting under deep cover for multiple days. I was aware something was in the works, but to be honest, given all the red tape involved in a multigovernment undertaking, I didn’t expect it to get underway so soon. Good on you for pulling this together.” He tips an imaginary hat.
“Thanks,” Vick jumps in. “Now shut up. I’m in contact with the strike team, and if you don’t want them shooting up this section of the mines, you need to not distract me.”
Robert’s eyes widen. “In contact with? Below several hundred feet of rock? How is that even—?” He breaks off at Vick’s stern glare and focuses on me instead. “So, if she’s VC1—”
“Vick,” I correct him.
He has the courtesy to blush. “Vick. Yes, of course. Then you must be Kelly LaSalle, the diplomat’s daughter.”
I acknowledge his assumption with a nod.
“And the two of you are… together.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“Pity,” Robert says with a rakish grin, then moves forward to assist some of the struggling escapees.
Shaking my head, I smile to myself, even wider when Vick gives me a look over her shoulder that says she heard the entire exchange. Nice that she can still become jealous about me after all we’ve been through.
We continue on. This part of the complex is less-used, more rugged. Fewer lights guide our way, and we’re stumbling through near darkness. Things move in the shadows, and down one tunnel I hear a slosh of water and the flutter of leathery wings. Another lake? More flying mini-dragons? Vick says nothing but picks up her pace. A shudder works its way up her retreating back.
After three more turns in the passageway, we reach a floor-to-ceiling pull-down gate beyond which lies a large flat metal platform with railings running around it and an endless stretch of blackness above it. Vick strides to the front, bends down, and yanks the heavy gate upward with seeming ease. “All aboard,” she announces.
Under different circumstances there would be pushing and shoving in their hurry to escape, but these poor young men and women are close to freezing, their skin bluish gray, their violent shivering uncontrollable even with their arms wrapped around themselves. They shuffle forward, making room for everyone. It’s a tight fit, but all thirty or so of them manage to squeeze inside, along with Lyle and Alex. I push in between them, then notice neither Vick nor Robert is attempting to follow.
I hold up a hand in useless protest as Vick yanks the gate down to click into place at the bottom. “Vick….” It’s a warning, and she knows it. She gives me an apologetic smile.
“We haven’t found Cynthia or her too important secretary mother. And I have unfinished business with Jacks,” she says, straightening the electrowhip over her shoulder. I’d forgotten she had that thing. Beside her, Robert nods.
M
y heart sinks. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”
Even through the emotional dampening drugs, I feel Vick’s guilt. “Not all along. I hoped we’d find them along the way. All three of them. But we haven’t.”
I lower my voice. “They’re probably dead, Vick. There’s not enough air, little heat, and the strike force—” I’m interrupted by a tremendous explosion back the way we came. The entire elevator rattles around us. If we don’t leave soon, we aren’t leaving at all.
“All the more reason not to take you with me and expose you to that. I’ll avoid the strike zones. I have to try. That girl….”
Her eyes are haunted. I’m sure mine reflect the sentiment. “Please be careful,” I tell her, reaching through the segmented metal strips of the gate to clasp her shoulder. She covers my hand with hers. Love flows through the bond, soundly defeating the drugs in my system.
“I will. Besides—” She jerks a thumb at Robert behind her. “—I’ll have this idiot watching my back.”
“I believe that will be the other way around,” he says, starting off the way we came.
Vick rolls her eyes. “See you up top.” She tugs free of my grip, jogs off after the OWL, and disappears from view.
Alex throws a metal lever on the railing beside me and the freight platform groans, then rises, first by inches but picking up speed into the pitch darkness above.
Normally, I’d be terrified. I can’t see my hand in front of my face. The others are whimpering or all-out sobbing in fear, and that fear flows over and through my core. Vick isn’t beside me, keeping me steady.
Instead, I’m grateful. No one can see the tears streaming down my cheeks.
Chapter 19: Vick—Loose Ends
I am sorry. For some things.