Authors: Joshua Roots
He broke off as he noticed the Elf for the first time. He stood there, staring openmouthed at her.
I jerked on my shoes. “Minimal bad guys. Good. Steve, which way do we go?”
The Minotaur pointed up the stairs. “That door leads to the subbasement. At the end of the hall are stairs to the ground level and all the exits. Time of travel should be less than five minutes. Resistance should be light.”
“Awesome,” I said, tossing the sword on my back. I tightened the straps of the leg holster and drew the Glock. Feeling more myself than I had in a while, I walked over and lifted one of the weakened male prisoners. Steve scooped the other male under his arm like a sack of potatoes while Simeon supported the Elf. Jethrow leaned heavily on Quinn and winced with every move he made. I stared at his ashen face. Fear and anger over his situation reenergized me as the raw power of the emotions charged my depleted Skill.
I turned to say something to Steve, but saw Jones was still staring at the Elf.
“Jones!” I said, snapping my fingers in front of him. His eyes focused back on me.
“Wha—?”
“Her name is Elyanna and she’s hurt. I’m sure Simeon would love for you to help her.”
Jones nodded. He gently approached the stunning creature and eased his arm around her. Simeon released her and she moaned slightly, but allowed the Oracle to pull her to him. Jones smiled as she leaned against him.
Simeon motioned for my prisoner. “Let me take that one. If anyone needs their hands free, it’s you.”
I handed my man off and glanced at the small group. “Okay, everyone accounted for?” There were several nods. “Great. Let’s get out of here.”
“I’ll take point,” Steve said.
“Why?”
He put a thumb on his chest. “Minotaur. Mazes are my specialty.”
I stepped out of the way. “Good enough for me.”
Steve moved to the front and led us slowly up the stairs. He halted everyone at the top and eased the door open a crack to peek down the hallway. A handful of agents rushed around in confusion.
I drew my pistol and slid a round into the chamber. With a nod, I motioned for us to continue, but Jones grabbed my sleeve.
“Wait.” He turned to the Minotaur. “There’s traffic ahead.”
Steve set his prisoner gently on the ground and opened the flap to his huge fanny pack. He removed several small spheres of randomly colored sticks as well as a pack of matches. He lit one and held it to the fuse on a ball. The moment the fuse sparked, he jerked the door open and heaved the object into the corridor. There was a cry of alarm, but the Minotaur shut the door and scooped up his prisoner before anyone could react.
“Bomb?” I asked.
Steve chuckled. “You could say that.”
There was a loud whistle and muted boom from the other side of the door. Agents shouted, and the staccato noise of machine-gun pops echoed off the walls.
“Now,” Jones said.
Steve opened the door, and we were greeted by a corridor of mass hysteria. Multicolored fireworks rocketed in every direction, racing into doorways and exploding in loud, patriotic displays. Firecrackers detonated all over the floor while Roman candles ricocheted off the marble and bounced down the hall with piercing whistles.
I gave Steve a thumbs-up. “Nice diversion.”
He smiled. “You’re not the only one who can wreak havoc.”
The distraction worked for the first few corridors with Steve heaving the remainder of his fun-balls along the way.
Eventually the agents recovered, and resistance went from not-at-all to holy-crap. Several agents launched spells at us, but Steve and I dropped them before they hurt anyone. Steve’s massive hands swatted agents like flies while my Glock thundered in the confined space.
We hacked and shot our way around several more twists and turns before finally reaching an exit. Steve shifted his prisoner from one arm to the other, leaned back, and kicked the door with all his might. It ripped from the hinges and sailed fifty yards before clattering into the grass outside.
The group spilled into the sunlight, and we squinted as our eyes adjusted.
The air was crisp and lacked the humidity I recognized from the DC node of the Underground. I scanned the surrounding area for landmarks, but with the exception of the building behind us, saw only thick woods.
The large building we’d escaped from was surrounded by a lawn with a chain-link fence around the perimeter. There were several guard towers on the corners, each manned with a Quaos agent.
The second they saw us, spells came whistling in our direction.
Magic exploded all around us, and the air was filled with the stench of burning ozone and dirt. It felt like we were a target at a state-fair shooting range, but at least we could shoot back. I fired at the nearest tower. The bullets struck the metal roof with a ping, startling the agent inside. I emptied the magazine to keep his head down as we continued to run towards the exit.
“This isn’t light resistance!” I yelled at Steve as I slammed a fresh magazine into my gun.
“Shut up and shoot,” he replied.
A spell from another tower detonated nearby and everyone flinched. Tendrils of the magic ricocheted and clipped one of Steve’s prisoners in the leg. The man screamed and grabbed at the angry blisters that erupted on his skin
“We need cover!” I said, firing at every tower as the enemy tore the ground between us and the exit to pieces.
“On it,” Quinn yelled back. She grabbed wisps of lingering smoke from an errant spell and waved her free hand in a large arc. Streaks of red light raced from her hands and landed on the ground in the distance. An instant later a huge ring of smoke erupted, completely hiding us from view.
I watched in awe as she unloaded another volley. Her Skill radiated off of her with titanic force, yet she wielded her spell with the nimble grace of a ballerina. The smoke danced and whirled like a beautiful gray organism.
“Okay, where to?” Steve asked, redirecting my attention.
“Millie’s,” I yelled back.
“This way.”
We turned, but Simeon didn’t budge.
“Simeon, let’s go!” I said.
“I see something.”
“Doesn’t matter. Keep
moving
!”
“I’m sorry, Marcus.” He eased his man to the ground, then took off toward a hazy structure in the distance with a limping gait.
I cursed. “Steve! Grab the wounded and keep everyone headed toward the exit. We’ll catch up in a minute.”
“You bet,” the Minotaur replied, scooping up the limp form Simeon had dropped, as if the prisoner weighed nothing.
I exited the fading smoke screen at a sprint and narrowly dodged a bolt of green lightning. I returned fire in the general direction of its origin, but kept my focus on the man in front of me. I caught up with him as he arrived at a small structure. It was an oversized doghouse, complete with food and water dishes. A sign over the opening read Mine.
“I thought it was you,” Simeon said. I frowned and peered around him.
Inside the doghouse was Tony Banks.
The undead’s hands and feet were shackled—he wore a studded leather collar, and there was a dark purple bruise on his chin. His wrists were rubbed raw from the chains that held him. Power vibrated along the metal, and he yanked ineffectively at his bindings.
Despite his conditions, he seemed... healthier. His skin remained a sickly gray, but there was definitely a pinkish hue to it. The stitching around his neck was nearly healed and the bullet holes in his chest were significantly smaller than before.
In addition to a five-o’clock shadow, Banks also wore an expression of defeat. Large watery eyes gazed up, and he mewled at the sight of me.
“Well how do you like that?” I asked. “All this time and energy spent searching and you’re right here on a silver platter. We have unfinished business,” I added, drawing my blade.
I shoved my sword into the ground, and the steel ignited with orange light. Simeon placed a hand on my shoulder.
“No.”
“Beg your pardon?”
He motioned toward Banks. “Look at him, Marcus. This being is no longer the reanimated beast that you first encountered. He is something more. Something special. He’s also defenseless.”
“I prefer it that way. Besides, he wants it.”
Banks nodded slowly as tears leaked down his undead cheeks.
“Of course he does,” Simeon said calmly. “He has nowhere left to go. His wife refused him, the Council will destroy him, and his Reanimator has imprisoned him.”
“He’s an abomination,” I countered.
“Perhaps once, but not anymore. Straddling the line between the living and the dead makes him unique. To re-kill him would be mercy, but it would also be murder.”
I stared at the weeping Banks. This was the creature that’d started this whole crazy mess. I was justified to re-banish him and end both our misery once and for all.
I snarled, swung my blade, and sliced cleanly through the chains. Magic bled from the cold steel as they fell to the ground. Banks stared at me with large dopey eyes.
“Okay, he’s free. Now we roll.”
Simeon shook his head. “I cannot.”
“Like hell you can’t. Let’s go!” I turned, but the Necromancer grabbed my arm.
“Marcus,” he said heavily, “you risked so much for me and my daughter, but I know what fate awaits me if we return with you. The Council will never admit their mistake.”
“Dammit, Simeon! The proof of your innocence is right here!” I waved my hand at Banks.
“I know, but even if the Council allows us to live long enough to present the evidence, whoever has been pulling the strings will not rest until we’re both destroyed. Mr. Banks and I are liabilities, but if we vanish, this entire incident blows over. We must disappear for good.”
“So you’ll let the people who framed you get away with it?”
Simeon sighed. “I am too old, too tired and too jaded to fight anymore. But I have a feeling that those responsible will eventually be held accountable. If you are any indication, there is a generation of strong hearts ready to stand up to the selfish and evil. I, and the souls of my old team, wish you all the best of luck.”
“What about Quinn?” I demanded. “She needs you.”
Tears filled the man’s eyes. “Not any more. Granted, the Council may try to censure her, but they will never do more than throw accusations. They have no leg to stand on to punish her, especially if they are convinced she was coerced. With her connection to me severed, she will no longer be in danger from the ones responsible for all this. Trust me,” he said quietly, “my departure is the best for everyone.”
I searched his face, but found nothing but resolution.
“Fine,” I said in a defeated tone.
The Necromancer gripped my shoulder. “Keep an eye on her for me, Marcus.” Without waiting for an answer, he offered his hand to Banks. “Come, friend. It is time for us to leave.”
Banks allowed Simeon to help him to his feet. I noted that, for the first time, he was wearing shorts.
I smiled.
Banks cocked his head and held his hand out to me. I glanced at it, then shook the cold, clammy thing with disgust. The undead didn’t say anything, but grunted with an appreciative nod. Simeon motioned toward the doorway and the pair eased out of the doghouse, trotting in a different direction from the rest of the escapees. The guards failed to notice as the pair slipped through a hole in the fencing and disappeared into the unknown.
With the Necromancer and Banks gone, there was little left to do but rejoin my party. I sprinted as fast as I could toward the small band and caught up with them as they were approaching the perimeter of the Quaos base. Several spells flashed ineffectively overhead. Quinn further complicated their aim by tossing another salvo of smoke behind us.
“It was the reanimated, wasn’t it?” she asked as we moved through the haze.
“Yes.”
She cursed and wiped her eyes.
I said nothing as Steve led our group toward relative safety. Moments later we came upon a doorway inside the trunk of a large tree. I gave it a quick nudge and it opened, revealing the heat and humidity of DC. Within seconds, we were lost within the alleyways of the Underground I was familiar with.
Chapter Seventeen
Out of the Frying Pan
The streets were packed, but with Steve still in the lead, we plowed through the crowd with relative ease. Some were annoyed, but the majority simply let us pass without a second glance. If anything, they seemed unconcerned.
I, however, was very concerned.
Millie’s was several streets away, and we had no idea where The Conduit and his followers were headed. My cell phone was in my backpack at the diner, so there was no way to contact my father to let him know what was happening.
That gave Quaos a huge head start.
But fanatics with world destruction were not the only issue we faced. Quinn gave me a fearful look as she struggled to keep Jethrow upright. His wound had reopened and blood was slowly seeping between his fingers. The guy was tough, but there was a limit to what the body could take. If he didn’t receive medical attention soon, he wouldn’t last the night.
We arrived at Millie’s and burst in on the dwindling lunch crowd. Unlike the streets, everyone turned in surprise as we crashed through tables, calling for the owner. She appeared immediately from the kitchen, her face etched with concern.
“We need a Healer!” I yelled as Jethrow’s knees gave out. Quinn held him up and I lifted his other side. Millie nodded and picked up the old telephone handset. While she placed the call, I barked for one of the waitresses to get us clean towels, water and every first-aid kit in the joint.
There was a flurry of activity as we hauled our wounded up the stairs to my room. The door opened automatically when I touched the handle.
We dragged the mumbling Jethrow inside and eased him onto the nearest bed. Blood spilled from the hole in his stomach, and I pressed my hand firmly against it. Jethrow’s life force was warm and sticky against my palm. I tried to perform a basic healing spell, but the bleeding refused to slow.
As I fought desperately to keep Jethrow alive, Jones placed the Elf on the second bed, and Steve deposited the two male prisoners on his haystack. There was little else my friends could do to help, so they simply stood out of the way and watched.
The door swung open and two of Millie’s waitresses rolled in. Gone were the gum-popping grins—replaced instead with serious expressions. One girl handed Quinn a large stack of clean towels while another deposited bottles of water and several first-aid kits on the bed next to Jethrow.
I grabbed one of the boxes with my spare hand and tore the top off. Inside were numerous bandages, creams and balms designed to heal the physical and psychological wounds of the Skilled. I picked a small sealed packet of powder and ripped the thing open with my teeth.
I spit the plastic out of my mouth. “Restrain him!”
Quinn held the injured Warlock.
“I’m sorry,” I said to my old friend.
I removed my hand from the wound and dumped the contents of the packet all over it. There was a hiss as the powder contacted the blood and it began to foam. The air filled with the scent of burning rust.
Jethrow bucked and moaned, arching his back as the blood and skin around the wound burned. His thrashing stressed the edges of his injury, preventing it from closing. Quinn struggled to keep him in place.
“Help her!” I snapped at the Minotaur as I grabbed another packet. Steve locked a thick arm over Jethrow’s chest and used his free hand to secure the man’s hips. The Warlock grunted and squirmed, but the edges of his wound remained in place.
I tore open the second packet and dumped the contents onto the bloody foam. It hissed and the smell got worse. I pressed my hands back against the wound and winced as the heat from the chemical reaction scalded my palms.
“What’s going on?” Quinn asked, staring at the powdery substance as it bubbled and fizzed between my fingers.
“This stuff is similar to what Normal combat troops carry,” I said, nodding to the empty plastic. “The powder reacts with blood to cauterize the wound.”
Jethrow moaned loudly and pressed against his restraints.
“Will it work?” Quinn asked, tears spilling down her cheeks.
I stared at Jethrow’s ashen face, screwed up in pain, and felt sick. “I don’t know.”
There was another knock at the door and Millie entered. She was followed by a man dressed in a seersucker suit and carrying a small black doctor’s bag. He was tall, had a white handlebar mustache, and wore small round spectacles. He set the bag on the dresser.
“This is Healer Utterback,” Millie said.
The man nodded and gazed at Jethrow. “What happened?” he asked, pulling several instruments from within the bag.
“Sword to the gut,” I replied, trying not to sound as terrified as I felt. “It was deep. Someone tried to patch it, but I think it’s infected. Both Quinn and I used basic healing spells, but they were ineffective. I’ve tried to seal the wound with these emergency packets—”
The Healer put his hand over mine. Then he instructed me to slowly remove my palm from the wound. I slid my hand backward as Utterback pressed hard against the hole in my friend’s gut. There was a wet squish and my bloody hand came free.
The Healer closed his eyes. A muscle clenched in his jaw, and he cocked his head. Jethrow’s movement slowed until, with the exception of his labored panting, he lay perfectly still.
“I need everyone to step out of the room,” the Healer said gravely, his eyes still closed. “Except for the injured,” he added.
I grabbed my cell phone out of the backpack and nodded to Millie. The patroness ushered me, Quinn, Steve, Jones and her waitresses into the hall. She closed the door behind her and directed everyone to the kitchen.
“I think we could all use a cup of tea.” She put on the kettle as we sat heavily at a wooden table.
I placed my forearms on the table and allowed my shoulders to sag. A dull ache thumped in my head to the rhythm of my heartbeat. Tears stung my eyes, and I fought to stamp down the worry and fear that threatened to consume me.
The noise from the diners seemed distant and muted as I stared at my shaking hands.
The blood was dry and cracked already, but the feeling of Jethrow’s life pumping through my fingers was still hot and fresh.
A soft, warm hand wrapped itself around mine, and I looked up. Quinn smiled sweetly and gently pulled me to my feet. She guided me toward the kitchen sink, turned on the water, and scrubbed our hands with mild soap. The metal basin turned a dark red as she rubbed my palm with her thumb. Our fingers were raisins by the time the skin was pink once again.
“There,” she said softly as she dried my hands with a towel. “All better?”
I stared at my wrinkled fingers and nodded.
Millie was pouring hot tea into our mugs when one of the waitresses rolled in. She motioned for her patroness to follow. The two disappeared into the diner. Millie returned moments later.
“Marcus, would you come here, please?”
I glanced at Quinn, who shrugged and took the towel from me.
I followed Millie into the diner and we weaved through tables. Several heads turned to watch my progress, their eyes hopeful for more drama.
“They yours?” she asked, stopping in front of a large picture window. At first I saw nothing through the dirty exterior but steam rising from a vent. As the wisps curled into the air I heard two small “plinks” followed by muted whispers of my name.
I squinted and saw a pair of bees bouncing against the glass.
“Huh.”
Millie walked to the front door and opened it. The bees tore around the side of the building and raced up to me. They buzzed in my face excitedly, their whispers too fast and overlapping for me to understand. I shushed them repeatedly, speaking in even tones until they finally calmed down.
“How’d you find me?” I asked.
“
Search
,” one said and visions flashed in my mind. I saw the flowers and trees around the Homestead through the bee’s ultraviolet eyes and felt her dismay when she ran into a large transparent wall. The other foragers bounced against it as well, but were prevented from returning to their hives. Confused at first, they met with the thousands of other bees facing the same issue. Alarmed, they determined their Keeper needed to know. They separated into pairs and traveled well beyond their three-mile radius to find me.
For all but two, it was a one-way trip.
A new ache rose in my chest.
“
Danger Keeper-Hive
,” she whispered loudly.
“Danger?”
“
Many Not-Keepers
,” the other said, and more ultraviolet images appeared in my mind. I saw human shapes running between trees and smelled smoke.
My confusion was replaced with terror as the meaning of the images dawned on me. “Someone is attacking the Homestead?”
“
Yes!
Keeper-Hive Danger!
”
I jerked the phone out of my pocket, ignoring the dried blood caked on the casing, and dialed my family. An automated message said that the call could not go through. I tried both my parents’ numbers and got a similar message. I cursed, shoved the phone back in my pocket, then ran to the kitchen with bees in tow.
“The Homestead is under attack! Ten bucks says it’s Quaos.”
“Why would they attack your family?” Quinn asked.
“The folks have something they want.”
Steve stared for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, let’s roll.”
“Thanks, but I need you to protect our friends upstairs. There’s a chance Quaos might come after them as well.”
The Minotaur opened his mouth but Millie beat him to the punch.
“No one will harm them.”
“Works for me,” Steve said. “I’m in.”
“Me too,” Quinn added.
“Absolutely not,” I started to say, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand.
“My father is not coming back, Marcus. If the people responsible for that are now attacking your family, then I want payback.” Lightning flashed in her eyes with the intensity of a hundred thunderstorms.
I glanced between the two and gritted my teeth. “Fine.” I turned to Jones. “I suppose you want in on this, too.”
“Oh, hell no,” the Oracle replied. “I’m not much of a fighter, and I had my fill at the Quaos base. You guys can go get yourselves killed if you like, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay here and help our wounded.”
“Fair enough,” I said, thankful for his honesty.
Too many good people have died over the years because they felt compelled to be more than they were. Visions of the future or not, inexperienced people like Jones were usually the first ones killed in combat.
I scribbled my number on a scrap of paper and handed it to him. “The phone lines are down at the Homestead. Look after our friends here and give me an update when you can.”
Jones nodded, but his gaze strayed to the pretty waitress who’d skated into the kitchen. She dumped my stuff on the table, gave me a nod, then rolled out. I slipped into the backpack and heaved Nick’s bag of books onto a shoulder. I held out my hand to Jones.
“Thank you.”
He frowned. “For what?”
“For proving that I was right about you.”
The Oracle smiled and shook my hand. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“I sure as hell hope so.” Then I nodded to my gang. Steve, Quinn, the bees and I bade Jones and Millie farewell and exited the diner at a full sprint.