Authors: Megan Morgan
Muse remained, her dead gaze fixed on Robbie’s face.
“Robbie,” Occam said, his voice tinged with bemusement. “Leave the ghost alone. She can’t do anything.”
“I’m not going to let her stand here and mock me during this. She’s already plagued me enough. I thought when I killed her that would be the end of it.”
June glanced at the desk as well, at the bomb blueprint, and then at her gun on the floor a few feet away. Robbie was distracted.
Muse suddenly spoke, still looking at Robbie. “It’s a precarious game he’s playing.” Her voice was emotionless and flat. “Run.”
June stared at her. Robbie stared at her, his face screwed up in an angry grimace. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.
But Muse was speaking to her, because Muse was attached to her, not Robbie.
June sprang into action, jerking away from Sam and diving for her gun. She snatched it from the floor. Sam reacted as well. He grabbed the blueprint, and they both ran full tilt toward the door on the opposite side of the room.
Robbie’s cruel laughter followed them. “Where do you think you can run?”
“I got them,” Occam said.
As they reached the door, Sam turned the knob, and it blessedly opened. June spun around and lifted her gun. She fired.
Occam was coming at them, and the bullet hit him. He yelped, jerking back, a spray of blood erupting from his shoulder. For a moment he seemed stunned, and then rage filled his eyes.
She didn’t have time to savor it. They rushed through the door and into another smaller office. They crossed it and burst through the door to the hallway.
They paused briefly, Sam staring at the paper. June sucked in breaths, limbs vibrating with energy and fear.
“This way!” Sam grabbed her hand.
They ran.
June expected Robbie to rush down the hallway after them like a dragon breathing fire. He was probably occupied with being turned into a vampire, though. How long did it take? How far could they run before the inevitable?
They made it to the door of a stairwell. Sam pushed it open.
In the stairwell, to June’s surprise, Sam dragged her up the stairs instead of down.
“Where are we going?” She clutched his hand as they pounded up the steps. “We should be going down to get out!”
“We’re not getting out.”
She struggled with the pain in her side and the burning in her malnourished limbs, but they couldn’t stop. She’d rather die moving.
“They’re going to come after us,” she panted. “What about Anthony?”
“Anthony is screwed, just like we are.”
They ran up four flights of stairs, June’s body flagging further with each additional step. Sam finally flung open another door. They stumbled into a hallway. Sam looked at the number plate next to the door, then down at the blueprint.
“Forty-five,” he said. “This is it. Come on.” He hurried down the hallway.
“Where the hell are we going?” She loped after him, fighting to catch her breath. “We can’t hide from Robbie.”
They stopped outside a door with a plate on it that said “electrical room.”
“I think this is it.” Sam pushed the door open, and they stepped into a cavernous room.
A deep hum filled the air. Hulking banks of machines rose around them, creating a maze. The high ceiling was held up by thick columns.
Sam took her hand, and they rushed between the rows of machines.
“What are we doing in here?” she asked. “What’s in here?”
“I’ll tell you if we find it.”
As they navigated around the machines, June noticed something odd: many of the support columns were wrapped in black foam. Wires stretched between them, like a techno spider web.
“What are those?” She stared up as they ran beneath a tangle of them. “Are those normal?”
“Those are explosives. It’s normal if you’re about to blow up a building, yes.”
They turned a corner into an open area. The walls were lined with rows of meters. Several tables sat in the middle of the space, piled with tools and electronics.
“Yes!” Sam let go of her hand and hurried over to the tables. “This must be it.”
She followed him. “What is it?”
Sam dropped the blueprint on a table. “This is just a rough layout of all the explosives.” He pointed out the spots on the paper, his hand trembling. “It’s not detailed.”
Indeed, the blueprint showed only which floors the charges were on with rough sketches of how things were connected.
Sam pointed to a box in the corner of the sheet. “That’s where we are right now.”
Above the box were the words “Control Room—Floor Forty-Five.” Inside the box were the words “electrical room.”
Sam patted a huge sheet of paper laid out on the table beneath his blueprint. “This is the real deal. All the information.” He lifted the smaller one off and tossed it away.
June peered at the big blueprint. The building was intricately detailed in this one, with notes added, the bombs and all their connections mapped.
“I read up on building detonations.” Sam pointed to the lower floors. “The first blasts will happen at ground level, and they’ll work their way up. It has to compromise the structural integrity starting at the bottom. The charges should be in the middle of the building, so it falls inward. Ideally, anyway, for safety—but I’m sure Robbie doesn’t give a shit about keeping the buildings around us intact.”
“You’re going to stop the bombs?” June looked up at him. “There’s a lot of them.”
“No.” Sam walked over to a pile of electronic parts on one of the tables. “I’m looking for something else. Robbie is right. I’m not a blast expert.”
As June walked around the corner of the table, she tripped on something. Something large and resilient.
She shrieked, jerking her gun out in front of her, though obviously she didn’t need to shoot the person. He was already dead.
The man lay face-up, a pool of blood around his head. His blank eyes stared at the ceiling. A ragged, bloody hole had been torn in the side of his throat. He was holding a long industrial screwdriver in one hand. If he’d been trying to use it as a weapon, it hadn’t worked.
Sam rushed over. “Occam’s vampires came up here and took out Robbie’s goons. I bet if you look around, you’ll find more.” He hurried back to the electronics. “At least they did us that favor.”
June got the hell away from the dead body, trying not to look at it. Sam pushed things around on the table, frantically rooting through the stuff.
“What are you trying to find?” She laid her gun down on the table. “Tell me and I’ll help you.”
“I’m trying to find the detonator.”
She had no idea what that might look like. She pictured something like an old-timey push switch that villains in movies blew up train tracks with.
“None of this may be done right.” Sam looked up at the wires strung between the columns. “He said it wasn’t all hooked up yet. The explosives might not be in the right places. The detonation might only bring part of the building down. I don’t know how precise he’s managed to get it.”
“I’m sure Robbie doesn’t care how precise it is, as long as he causes some destruction.”
Sam opened up a black case, and froze. He stepped back, hands open. “I think this is it.”
She leaned over to see.
He took out what looked like a yellow walkie-talkie, with two big buttons on it—a black one with the word “arm” above it and a red one with the word “fire” above it.
“That sets off the blasts?” June asked.
He flipped a switch on the bottom and the buttons lit up.
“If the blast caps are connected, yes.” He looked up at the wires again. “Like I said, the explosion would start on the bottom floors.”
“Can it stop the explosions too?” She widened her eyes at the box. “Is that why you were looking for it?”
Sam gripped her shoulder. “We’re not going to stop the explosions.”
She stared at him.
He held up the detonator. “We’re going to set them off.”
She was struggling to catch her breath still, her wounded lung working hard. Her whole body was numb, her brain a flat line. “What?” It was the only word she could get out.
“We’re dead.” His voice was grim. “This is the only way we can take him with us.”
She looked at the detonator, her vision narrowing like staring down a long tunnel.
“And that fucking traitor Occam,” Sam said. “We can’t let them win.”
Despite the logic, despite the knowledge they had no other choice, everything inside her rebelled, the will to live too strong.
“Sam, there has to be another—”
“There isn’t. We go, they go. End of the line, for all of us.”
She’d never dreamed this would end in a literal blaze of glory.
She opened her mouth to speak, but a sound echoed through the room. A clang, the sound of the door being slammed open. Footsteps.
She snatched up her gun. Probably pointless, but she had to try.
“I need a minute to arm the blasts,” Sam said. “Stop them if you can.”
The footsteps approached fast. June lifted her gun in both hands, her arms turning to stone, unflinching.
Neither Occam nor Robbie appeared around the bank of machines. Instead, Belle popped out. She stopped. She had her radio in hand and lifted it to her mouth.
“Occam,” she said. “They’re in the electrical room.”
June pulled the trigger. The blast echoed through the room. Belle yelped and collapsed to the floor, her radio flying out of her hand and skittering across the concrete.
June ran over to her, and to make sure, shot twice more directly into her head. Blood sprayed June’s legs, along with chunky bits of skull. Belle was still.
She turned to Sam, breathing hard. “Hurry. They’re coming.”
Sam figured out the detonator—it was simple, really. He pushed the “arm” button first. Nothing noticeable happened, but a moment later a light above the “fire” button blinked on, glaring red.
“This is not how I imagined the end.” June’s voice shook. “This is not how I imagined our end.”
“Me, neither.”
She stood in front of him, gun dangling at her side. She pictured the glass at Navy Pier with the angel leading the man into death. “Do you think it will be like the glass? The way you imagined for your brother?” She gazed up at him, like the man in the glass gazing up at the angel.
He cupped her cheek, a sad smile breaking his lips. “I always hoped, but I’m not at all a believer in angels. It was just a nice fantasy. At least you’re here with me. Neither of us is an angel, but it’s better than dying alone.”
She looked down at the gun, considering a quicker way. But it was only one gun. Could she watch him go first? Could he watch her?
“I don’t believe in angels, either,” she said. “But I’ve certainly come to believe in demons.”
He pulled her close, sliding his hand around the back of her neck, and kissed her forehead reverently. She closed her eyes. She felt almost at peace. Giving up the fight was more of a relief than she ever could have imagined.
“I’m sorry this became your world,” he said softly. “I’m sorry you were pulled into this. If I could go back and change it for you, I would. I’d make sure you never came to Chicago.”
She eased forward, to rest her head on his shoulder. “Then I wouldn’t have met you.”
“All things considered, that would have been the best thing that could have happened to you.”
She focused on the detonator. The glowing red light shone back at her.
“Maybe we can still get out,” she said. “Maybe we’ll be able to run when the explosions go off.”
He drew back and looked up. “If these are armed, there’s no way. It’ll happen fast, at least. If they aren’t hooked up, the building will still crumble from the bottom. We won’t be able to get out. We’ll never get down fast enough.”
“What if the ones on the bottom aren’t armed yet, either?”
He laughed ruefully. “Then our death will be much slower and much more painful. At least mine. Occam might still spare you.”
“I can’t imagine the kind of life he’d spare me for.” She shook her head. “What about all the people outside, the protestors? Who knows how many people we’ll take with us?”
“If we don’t do this, Robbie will kill them instead.”
This truth was the hardest to bear. They’d made mistakes, done bad things, tried to do good things, got caught up in a web they’d woven themselves. Maybe they kind of deserved this, but the innocent bystanders below didn’t.
“All right,” she said. “It’s this or what’s coming up behind us.”
As if on cue, the door clanged open again. She stiffened. Sam lifted the detonator.
Occam’s voice boomed across the machines. “Do not blow up the building, you godforsaken imbeciles!”
June clutched Sam, her gaze locked on the spot where Belle had popped around the corner. Footsteps approached.
“Don’t do anything!” Occam called out. “Until you see what I have for you.”
She looked up at Sam. He frowned.
“I promise”—Occam’s voice drew closer—“if you don’t like what you see, you can bring the place down.”
June swallowed, her heart thudding in her ears. Doom closed in, the walls set to fall and crush them.
Then Occam stepped around the corner.
He was a shocking sight. Blood oozed over his lower lip and streaked down his chin. His shoulder was equally bloody where June had shot him. Most startling of all, though, was the load he carried.
He held Robbie bridal style, Robbie’s head hanging, one arm dangling limply. Robbie’s shirt sleeve was soaked with blood, and it dripped from his fingertips. The blood emanated from a gaping wound in the side of his neck.
June stared at them, confused, disbelieving. Occam looked down at Belle.
“For fuck’s sake!” Bloody spittle flew from his lips. “Vampires are your friends, June Coffin. Stop fucking shooting them!”
June couldn’t respond. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Occam stepped over Belle, his load swaying. He carried Robbie across the room, toward the tables, a trail of blood following them.
As Occam approached the tables, the items on them moved, pushing back slowly like a magnet repelling another. Objects clattered to the floor. June took a step back. One of the meters on the wall popped, the glass cracking. She jumped.