by M. E. Thorne
Marcella administered to Sabra for a few minutes before declaring she would survive.
“You have a very clinical bedside manner,” Sabra commented as she buttoned her shirt back on. I glanced over, relieved to see she looked like she’d been pulled back from death’s door once again.
“Thank you,” the Panacea responded, the comment going over her head.
Kneeling next to me, Marcella checked my leg to make sure her adhesive sutures were holding. The flesh around the wound looked red and inflamed. She secreted a milky white substance from a fingertip, which she then dabbed onto my leg. It hissed and foamed, but it didn’t sting.
“This is all I can do," she applied a freshly spun silk bandage that Spinny had given her. “You need to be admitted to a hospital.”
“Don’t worry, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, for us,” and I meant it. “How much farther to the station Anthony mentioned.”
“Less than an hour,” she answered.
There were no further sounds of violence coming from Grand Cooper Station.
I staggered up onto my feet and grabbed onto Gnasher’s back. She helped me get the harness in place. “Let’s get a move on then.”
Marcella eventually had us stop and climb an access ladder, ascending to another tunnel and a nearby platform.
We found ourselves in a small tram station, which was barely more than a platform and ticketing booth next to a torn-up tramline. The only splashes of color came from the mold and spores growing along the walls, which I recognized as being part of the Panacea’s fungal defensive network.
Unhitching from Gnasher, I collapsed into a plastic bench. The air on the platform was stale; it smelled like rat piss, mold, and concrete dust.
“Nobody’s been down here in a while,” I guessed, glancing around me.
Gnasher sniffed around, but gave up after a few tentative snuffles, “No fresh rats.”
Sabra gave her an odd look, taking a rest on the bench next to me.
“Rats don't taste that bad,” I shrugged. “With a little pepper and spice, they are almost as good as moles.”
She looked at me askew, “Moles?”
“They taste similar to chicken,” Spinny provided.
“You got to eat some chicken?” Gnasher asked excitedly.
“Once, a long, long time ago,” the Arachne answered wistfully.
“I am never really going to get used to this place,” Sabra sighed, rubbing her face.
“Where now?” I stretched out my leg. Blood seeped along the edge of the bandage.
“Up,” Marcella answered. “We are approximately two kilometers below the Metrocomplex. If we continue upward, we will encounter the cold fusion reactor used to power the area.”
“We’re bound to run into guards from the State then,” Gnasher said. She had been rummaging through the ticketing booth but found nothing worthwhile. “We turn ourselves in, get Locke to a hospital, and we’re golden.”
“Don’t forget kicking that mustache-dude's ass,” Gloria pipped in. She had let Billy out of her bag, and the flesh-lump was happily slurping down dust and dirt.
“That too,” Gnasher growled. She sharpened her claws on the ticket counter, tearing up thin peels of metal.
“There is an elevator shaft over here,” Marcella directed, helping me back onto my feet. “We’ll need to climb.”
The air got progressively hotter and hotter as we ascended. The shaft was massive, easily a dozen meters across. I guessed it had been built to not only move people but industrial equipment as well.
Still slung across Gnasher’s back, I did my best to help the others who had to scale the shaft by hand. I pointed out handholds for Sabra and Marcella and gave the inexperienced climbers tips as they struggled. Spinny had created makeshift climbing harnesses for them and secured their safety lines so any slips and falls would not be fatal.
Gloria scouted ahead, zipping up and down the shaft as she let us know what was above.
“There are elevator doors another two stories up,” she told us as she perched on a narrow ledge and took a drink of water.
I reached for my tools and handed her a crowbar. “Mind popping them open and seeing what’s on the other side?”
She took off, my crowbar clenched in her hind claws. There were a few metallic screeches, and some muttered curses. She came back a few minutes later.
“Not much, just a dark storage room, lots of boxes and machinery covered in tarps,” she said, returning the tool. “No sign anyone’s been in there for a while.”
Gnasher and Spinny climbed in first, pulling the rest up after them.
Detaching from her harness, I limped over to the nearest pile and pulled off the tarp. Underneath was a crate full of complicated-looking metallic parts. I picked one up; a long cylinder with multiple holes drilled through its sides.
Sabra and Gnasher took a look as well, but none of us could figure out what exactly the part was meant for.
“I’ve never been near a cold fusion reactor, for all I know this is a part for it,” I reasoned out loud.
I carefully packed it back into the box and closed the lid. On top, Spinny laid out the map the Panacea had provided her.
“It’s pretty vague throughout here,” she said, “but it looks like we just need to keep going up and we’ll hit the lower levels of the cold fusion facility.”
“My kin have not been here personally,” Marcella tapped the map. “But they’ve detected people here before, assuming they were servicing the power plant.”
I rapt my knuckles on the side of the crate I had taken a seat on. “Or retrieving spare parts.”
We searched around the room and found a stairwell in the far corner. The door was locked, but even in my injured state, it took me only a few minutes to fool the electronic keypad and get it open.
“Remind me to replace the keypad lock on my bedroom door,” Gloria marveled, as we started heading up the stairs.
“Yeah, those things suck,” I grunted, using the banister to haul myself upward. “We have contests, at the Delvers’ Guild, to see who can break through them the fastest.”
“Locke is currently the undefeated champion,” Gnasher said, placing her shoulders under my own and helping me up the stairs.
A steady, rhythmic noise began to shudder through the stairwell as we climbed. Gloria winced every time the noise reached a crescendo, only relaxing when the frequency began to die back down.
“Whatever is making that noise, it's huge,” she complained. “It's scrambling my echolocation. All I can picture is a giant meat-grinder.”
“Please, let’s not put that mental image in the rest of our heads,” Sabra said. She stopped and listened for a moment. “I’m guessing that’s the reactor’s main water pumps, they require a constant cycle of water to operate properly.”
“Explains why it’s so damn loud and hot,” Gnasher said. Her skin was slick with sweat, and her hair was matted down to her head. Like Gloria, the constant noise must have been getting to her as well. “All I can smell is hot metal and engine grease.”
Billy the flesh-lump gave a sympathetic bark from inside of Gloria’s pack.
The door at the top of the stairwell featured another keypad lock, which I quickly disengaged.
The room we entered was low and long, stretching away in every direction. Thick concrete pillars were evenly spaced every few meters, slung with fluorescent lights.
The heat was almost unbearable, and I could feel my bones rattle with each metallic thrum.
“We must be directly under the reactor,” Sabra shouted.
We started making our way unsteadily across the room, looking for the stairwell or exit that we assumed was on the other side.
I was supporting Gnasher almost as much as she was supporting me. She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and just forced one foot in front of the other. Her ears were folded flat against her head. Even Spinny looked ill; only Marcella, Sabra, and I were unaffected.
White suited soldiers stepped out from behind the columns, guns aimed at our faces. I tried to turn around and lead an escape, but even more Syndicate members closed in from behind. In less than ten seconds we were surrounded.
Gnasher growled, and I grabbed for the crowbar.
“Give it up,” called a voice. Stepping forward, Valash stood before our group and sneered at us through his helmet. “You’re surrounded.”
“I could kill half you bastards before you can even blink,” Gnasher said, though she didn’t sound completely convincing. She swayed unevenly on her feet.
Spinny crouched down, tensing her legs to jump onto the ceiling while Gloria unfurled her wings. Even Sabra clenched her fists, ready to fight. Only Marcella appeared calm, rubbing her palms together and generating a slick, noxious fluid.
Valash gave a dramatic sigh and held up a small device. “You‘re nothing but a bunch of stupid animals. I came fully prepared for this. Stand down and surrender, or I’ll detonate the explosives.”
“What explosives?” Gnasher spat back.
The Syndicate leader pointed to an unobtrusive box attached to a nearby column. “I’ve wired this entire room with explosives. I press this button -- and well -- some really bad things happen to us, the reactor, and the Metrocomplex.”
“You’re a madman.” Spinny was aghast.
“Just a desperate one,” he responded. He pointed towards me. “This freak holds the solution to all my problems. He surrenders, and I’ll allow the rest of you to live. Even the traitor.”
“You’re lying,” Sabra accused him. “ You lied to the SADB and the Central Committee, blaming me for all your screw-ups. You can’t afford to let me live. If the truth gets out, you’re sunk.”
“Damn,” he said, “you got me." He looked at his soldiers. “Kill the monsters and the traitor, but don’t harm the man. We need him in one piece.”
Marcella spread her hands out, spilling the liquid she had been cupping in her hands. As soon as it hit the floor it expanded out in a thick cloud of smoke, which rushed outward.
Within less than a second, the room was hidden in an impenetrable mist.
“Get them!” Valash screamed.
Gnasher roared in response, launching herself at the nearest target.
I dashed forward and attacked Valash, shutting out the pain from my protesting leg. Unlike his soldiers, he didn’t appear to be armed.
I couldn’t see him clearly in the mist, but you don’t need a ton of accuracy to club someone with a crowbar. I saw his silhouette and swung down, feeling a satisfying crunch as my weapon connected with his collarbone. He gave a muffled scream and fell, disappearing into the smoke.
I swung wildly to the right, fending off another soldier. Striking him across the face, he gave a muffled yelp and fell backward.
Muzzle flashes flared, painfully bright. I heard sporadic, irregular gunfire. The ear-shattering percussion was joined by screams, growls, and chittering wails. I barely ducked in time as a hazmat suited figure was thrown over my head.
“Stop Valash,” Sabra yelled from somewhere behind me, “he can still hit the detonator!”
Clocking the soldier who had tried to rush me, I turned back and tried to find the wounded Valash. I stumbled forward, locating him huddled at the base of a pillar. His face was twisted in pain.
I didn’t see the detonator, but he had a hand behind his back.
I raised the crowbar again. “Hand it over.”
He just sneered. I had expected a knife or the detonator, but not a taser. I didn’t even have time to swipe at him with the crowbar before he fired.
The two prongs hit my chest, and my world was set on fire.
Chapter 19
The thing they don’t tell you about being tased is, it doesn’t knock you unconscious. It just throws your nervous system into a fit of miniature seizures and muscle cramps. You can’t move, can’t react, can’t fight.
I toppled to the floor, cracking my head. Grimacing and twitching, I could only watch as Valash grabbed me by my collar and started dragging me away. He screamed and hollered for his soldiers, slowly rallying them to his side as they beat a slow retreat.
They formed up, injured and staggering, laying down covering fire as they broke through the smoke and made for the far side of the room.
“Bind him,” Valash instructed, as we ducked behind a column. “Head towards the tunnel, rig up the remaining explosives. We’re going to blow it behind us after we’re clear.”
“What about the reactor room, sir?” questioned a soldier. My heartbeat spiked in fear.
Valash just shook his head, and I realized he had lost the detonator.
One of the soldiers bound my ankles and wrists, before forcefully shoving a bag over my head. Blind and immobile, I couldn’t even struggle as I was lifted and carried away.
I could hear the sounds of fighting fading away, then completely disappearing in a rumbling, shattering explosion, followed by the sound of toppling concrete.
The Syndicate soldiers gave a beleaguered cheer. “We did it!”
Someone gave me a hard pat across the chest.
“With this bastard in tow, we’ll be heroes,” Valash announced. “He might not know it, but he contains the cure for our baby-making problem.”
“What are we going to do with him, boss?” someone asked.
“Simple,” he chuckled darkly. “We’re going to bleed him dry and slice him up into chunks. By the time we get home, we’ll be getting a parade and he’ll be a slide under someone’s microscope.”
I don’t remember much about my imprisonment after that.
Valash never removed my bonds, and I was left blindfolded or bagged almost the entire time. Tired, thirsty, and injured, I faded in and out of a daze as I was manhandled, dragged, or tossed about. I occasionally heard the sound of pursuit, hurried footsteps, and voices raised in anger, but I wasn’t able to determine who was chasing us or how close they got.
We boarded a working tram at one point. I was left on the floorboards, rolling between the booted feet of the Syndicate soldiers. They would take turns poking and hitting me with the barrels or butts of their guns, laughing and joking about what they’d do when they were rich and famous as the saviors of mankind.
Occasionally I’d feel stinging jabs from what I could only assume were needles and syringes, stealing blood and tissue samples. Unable to fight back, I just seethed and daydreamed about getting revenge.
I rarely heard Valash, and even when I did he was far away, screaming orders and making demands. After we boarded the tram he seemed much more at ease, even joking with his men and congratulating them on their efforts.
The one time I saw him was when someone tore off my mask to give me some water. His sash had been twisted into a sling for his arm. His suit bulged around compresses and ice packs where I had hit him with the crowbar. Seeing that gave me immense satisfaction.
The tram ran for hours. When we finally stopped, I assumed we were in some kind of Syndicate base. I could hear dozens of people moving about, packing boxes, issuing orders, and moving supplies. It sounded like an organized panic.