In Icarus' Shadow

by Matthew Jones

  Chapter Forty-Six

  With the added impetus gained from the sound of their pursuers thudding against the barricaded door, the group inside moved as quickly as they could. Murakami, despite her misgivings about Black, found herself curious about the quieter, more reserved man that had taken the belligerent mercenary's place, and had volunteered to help Nadia affix the wings to his arms. The straps were more complex than either of them had expected, though, and it was taking them longer than they would have liked to figure out exactly what went where. This was especially complicated by the fact that some of the straps seemed entirely too long for one's arms, which neither Nadia nor Murakami could get to stay on Orion's scrawny limbs. The crimson-eyed man, himself, said very little, just staring intently at the barricaded door with a thoughtful, musing expression. Meanwhile, Burgess, who was not much help in the area of fussing, continued to do what he did best. Namely, using his great strength to push the penthouse's furniture over to block the door; with most of the living room and kitchen moved around, the once well-furnished living space was now more reminiscent of an unused apartment. With the exception of the couch Giselle was laying on and the small mountain of weighty objects that her couch sat facing, the floors were bare. Jason, of course, had simply stuck by Giselle throughout all of this, determined to keep her safe as Burgess had asked.

  It was, as Nadia and Murakami finally realized that their respective too-long straps were meant to encircle Orion's torso and then buckle together, that a new element threw itself into the mixture of things they had to consider. The main light, hanging from the ceiling above the kitchen table's former place, began to flicker. Turning sharply, Burgess frowned at it, and then winced as it came on, the sudden light forcing him to squint.

  "The power's back?" Nadia queried, more an outward wondering than a real question.

  She was not the only one to be surprised, either. Burgess, snatching up his radio, put it to his ear and heard nothing. Checking the channel, he saw it had not changed; he simply wasn't hearing anything. Growling, he gripped the radio in his hand, the 'talk' button crushed under his fingers. "If anyone can hear this, this is Tyrone Burgess, Chief of Security. I need a status update."

  A few seconds passed with no sound or indication anyone had even heard him, before someone finally responded. "Sir, we received a call from the building's owner. He ordered two of us to go down into the basement and check the fuse box, turns out the power was shut off from there. We're still holding on the ground floor, should we go back to our usual patrols?"

  Burgess grated his teeth audibly, but kept his growling under control as he responded. "No, that's fine, hold position until I get down there. Burgess out."

  Letting the radio fall to his side, he took in a deep breath. "Looks like my employer has taken a direct hand in things."

  Orion, glancing up from his contemplations, nodded. "Yes, I imagine Apollo would not be at all happy if we were to escape."

  Murakami glanced at him as she began cinching up the straps around the arm she was tending to. "Apollo?"

  Nadia, doing likewise, nodded. "Yeah, it's the name of the guy who owns Mytikas Multinational. Orion spoke to him earlier and knew him; there's more to it than that, but it would take too long to explain."

  Orion nodded at his companion's summary. "She is right. But, Mr. Burgess, tell me; how many men are chasing us?"

  The big man frowned at the pale fellow. "Six, but don't you already know that? You, that is, Black took out four of them by himself."

  The cryptic smile he got in return suggested that he did not. "Six men could not all fit in front of the door at once, could they? I would think there would be only enough room for two to attempt to force entry through your barricade."

  Burgess shrugged. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Why?"

  Orion's eyes glanced to something past Burgess' shoulder and, turning, the big man followed his gaze and froze as he saw what he had nearly forgotten about; the smooth, polished steel doors of Giselle's private elevator sitting several feet further along the same wall the stairwell access was set into. A second shot of ice was administered to his blood as the soft hum of the elevator's motors engaging resounded through the room. "Shit."

  With the power out, Burgess had not given the lift a moment's thought and neither had anyone else in the room that had bothered to notice it. What took no time to realize, of course, was Apollo's now-obvious reason for having the power put back on in the first place. With nothing left in the room to move in front of the elevator doors except what was holding the other doors in place, the big man turned and charged towards Giselle's bedroom. He barely noticed its decorations or furnishings as he flung the door open to allow his towering size inside, aside from the fact that they were lacking in large objects he could get hastily back to the door; until his eyes fell on the bed. Seizing it, frame, mattress and all, he turned it on its end, sending its sheets and pillows flying. He hauled it down the hallway and into the main room as though it gave him no more trouble than a sack of potatoes might; such was the surge of strength their moment of desperation had given his tired muscles.

  With the elevator motors coming to a halt as he re-entered the room, he knew it was only a matter of seconds before the doors opened. Nearly sprinting across the room, he put the bed in front of the stainless steel surface, mattress first and just held on, motioning quickly to the room that they stay silent. The soft chime of the elevator rang out, muffled, from behind his impromptu barricade and they heard the metal doors sliding open. A moment of silence followed, during which time Burgess felt hands beginning to push against the other side of the bed. Planting his feet, he braced himself the best way he possibly could without showing them that the bed could be moved.

  When the soldiers on the other side of the downy wall realized that their opponents had blockaded this entryway as well, they allowed the elevator doors to close; though the motors did not re-engage to send them back down a level. No, this was not retreat, it was simply a reassessment to decide how best to proceed. Burgess, honestly rattled by the close call, stepped back from the vertical bed and drew in a deep breath. Turning, he then motioned for Jason to hold up the bed as he strode back to Giselle's room. With a second, less panicked look at the place, he saw it held much the same style as the main room. There was a dresser, for clothes he assumed, as well as a table with a mirror set in it against one wall, a wooden chair tucked in against it. A large closet took up the wall opposite the vanity table and a small window with simple blinds completed the list of the room's contents. The centre of the room, now rather vacant, had been the bed's assigned place, with a full-length mirror set up just beside the door, he noticed. He supposed that made sense, it let you see how you looked right before stepping out. Shrugging, he took the dresser to be the barricade's next addition, straining himself to move the combined weight of the object and all of its contents with his tiring strength.

  Succeeding in getting the dresser into place before the mercenaries returned, Burgess waved Jason back to minding Giselle and leaned against the wall to catch his breath and see how the others were faring. Murakami and Nadia had gotten the wings successfully strapped into place on Orion's wiry frame and the man was presently trying a few experimental flaps to see how it felt to have wings. If his expression was any indication, 'silly' could very possibly be the best word for the experience. Rolling his eyes, Burgess concentrated on massaging his tired muscles; if the pair wanted to commit suicide, it was no concern of his, just so long as they got out of the building.

  Nadia's main concern was, of course, whether Orion could even get off the ground with the wings he had attached to his arms. Immediately following that concern was whether or not she would be able to hang on if he could. Clambering up onto his back to try and find a way to hang on, the pair staggered around the empty space in comical fashion; Orion flailing his arms attempting to gain some altitude, and perhaps regain his balance, while Nadia did her best to hold on without choking him in the process
. Tripping and falling, their efforts only resulted in their being sprawled across the carpeted floor, though Orion managed to keep from falling on the wings, lest they break.

  Propping herself up, Nadia sighed. "I think I would feel better about this if we had some time to practice."

  Orion nodded in total agreement, then winced at the renewed sound of the two soldiers throwing their shoulders against their barricaded entrance. "Unfortunately, we do not have any."

  Murakami, watching their ungainly display with utmost seriousness, frowned; she didn't know if she believed the wings would really get them off the ground at all, but the way they were staggering around and tipping over was what seemed to be getting in their way most. That and the picture window. Studying it, she realized it was not meant to open at all; there was no latch, nothing to draw up or push open. With this problem in mind, she passed through the hallway to Giselle's bedroom, in search of some kind of solution.

  Burgess, standing by the elevator's now-blockaded door, heard the sound of machinery first; cocking his head, he heard the doors closing. This, understandably, brought a frown to his face, which deepened as the motors engaged, sending the lift back down to its resting place on the floor below. "That's odd," he mused aloud. "I didn't hear it open, but they sure as hell didn't try very hard to get through."

  "Maybe they're giving up?" Jason chipped in, hopefully.

  Orion, standing once again with Nadia attempting to climb onto him, shook his head. "I do not think Apollo would allow them to."

  "Me neither," was the addition from the man's clambering comrade.

  Putting his ear to the seam between bed and wall, the big man listened for all he was worth; and his effort was rewarded when he heard the tiniest noise. A beep; no, a series of beeps, getting faster and faster and... Oh no. "Get down!"

  Turning, Burgess sprinted for the couch, leaping over it entirely. He had intended to turn and pull it down, so that the back of the three-cushioned seating would be on the floor and the cushions could serve as an impromptu shield for Giselle and himself. Unfortunately, he did not have the time. The explosive device, planted inside the mattress of the bed itself after one of the men had cut it open with his knife, was in fact little more than a concussion grenade that had been jury-rigged to a small, timed detonator, to allow the soldiers time to take the elevator back downstairs.

  The blast tore through the more meagre barrier, sending bits of the bed frame and dresser in every direction; with the smoke now the only thing obstructing the men from filling the interior of the room with lead upon their return, they were well and truly out of time. Coughing, Burgess looked over at Orion and Nadia as they staggered upright, willing them to get a move on. The pair obviously had the same thing in mind he did and turned to the window. Ready or not, now was the time. The blast had cracked the glass already, they would just have to get a running start. Taking a few unsteady paces back, Orion paused as Nadia climbed down off of his back.

  With her most stubborn of expressions in place, she looked him straight in the eye. Had she had any time to think about it, she would have been pleased to realize she no longer had to keep herself from flinching away when her eyes made contract with the man's crimson-hued orbs. "I'll only throw you off balance; we'll jump together and figure it out as we go."

  With no time to argue about it and the elevator motors re-engaging to bring the armed men back to their floor, Orion nodded. Beginning to run, they were briefly aware of something sailing over their heads. A chair, to be specific. The small, wooden chair that Burgess had nearly overlooked in Giselle's bedroom, the one that had been set in front of her dressing table. Murakami, having already had a running start down the hallway, had thrown it for all she was worth. The four-legged bit of furniture struck the cracked glass of the window and went straight through; with a deep breath apiece, Nadia and Orion leaped through the shattered portal after it. And, for that one, brief moment as their momentum carried them outwards from the building, they hung there in space with all of downtown stretched out below them. Parked cars were tiny, iridescent beetles lit by streetlights, while buildings were more akin to space shuttles, a blaze of light at their base propelling the rest of them ever upward. The dark, warm air of a night set between spring and summer enveloped them, comforting, quiet and familiar. And then they started falling.