I’m on the guard in two steps, aiming a knee right for his groin. He sees it coming, manages to half turn, but he’s not even close to fast enough. My knee crunches into him, and he doubles over, wheezing. I shove him sideways, and his head bangs off the corridor floor.
“Shit,” Koji says, his voice curiously breathy.
“No choice,” I say as I get to my feet. I’m amazed that I can speak, even more amazed that he hears me over the blood pounding in my ears. But if he’d used the gun, it would have brought others running.
“No, I mean, shit!” Koji is pointing down the corridor. I look up–and that’s when the bullet buries itself in the wall next to me.
There are two more guards by the stairway. One of them is already turning, using the rail to swing himself around, shouting for help. The second is raising his gun again, taking careful aim.
I don’t turn to see where the bullet ended up. I run with my head and shoulders tucked in, zigzagging in the narrow corridor, presenting as small a target as possible. I can hear Koji behind me, hear his panicked breathing and stumbling footsteps. Another gunshot: this time, the bullet ripples the air above my head.
“Go right! Go right!” Koji shouts. Another corridor branches off the one we’re in, and I have to dig into the turn hard to stop myself from crashing into the wall. I scrape my shoulder along it, barely feeling it through the thick coat.
We crash down another steep stairway, tumbling into the corridor beyond. “Where’s the generator room?” I shout.
“Just ahead,” Koji says. He can barely get the words out.
Another left. Another right. The pumping noise is louder now, coming from all directions. But then another sound eclipses it. Gunfire. And it’s coming from in front of us, from further down the corridor.
“There,” Koji says. The corridor ahead of us opens up into a larger space, terminating in a vertical drop of a few feet. The floor is slightly curved where it meets the wall, the metal racks of equipment stretching beyond my field of view. I can smell engine oil, and, over it, the sharp stench of gunpowder.
There are two guards hugging the door on either side, their backs to us. One of them is blind-firing into the room, but the other–a man with powerful upper arms and thick dreadlocks hanging down his back–is picking his targets, aiming carefully. He squeezes off a shot, and there’s a howl of pain from inside the room.
These guards aren’t shooting at us. They don’t even know we’re here. What is this?
I don’t waste time trying to find out. If that’s the generator room, then it means the guards are firing on the workers. I don’t know why, or why it’s happening now, but something tells me I’ve got a much better chance with the people in that room than I have on my own.
The two guards haven’t seen us yet. I go faster, sprinting right for the entrance, pumping my arms from side to side, head down, eyes up, muscles on fire.
Dreadlocks whips his head round, finally noticing us. There’s no time for finesse here. I stutter-step, closing the distance, and launch myself towards him.
The first thought is to lead with my elbow, or my knee. But I launched a little too late, with no time in the air to line up the strike. The man’s head collides with my torso, the impact spasming through me, and then he and I are tangled up in a confusing embrace, everything spinning, my leg knocking into the door, smacking my head on the ground, trying to tuck into a roll, not quite doing it. I come to a stop, skidding on my back in icy water
The floor is under an inch of it, foaming with muck, and it immediately soaks through my clothes. The air above me is full of gunfire and angry shouts and screams of pain. I try to get up, propping myself on one elbow, then have to throw myself down again as a gun goes off. In the dim light, the other people in the room are nothing but silhouettes.
The gunfire has stopped, and now people are shouting, talking over each other. I can’t see Koji at all. What I can see is the other guard, the one who was blind-firing. He’s slumped over the edge of the door, blood trickling into the water.
“Get the door! Shut it!”
“Can we lock it from the inside?”
“Anybody hurt?”
“They’ll be more coming. Hurry.”
We’re in a chamber with rusted walls, bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Generators squat on low tables, looking like alien artefacts, all black piping and tarnished silver blocks. Tools are half-submerged in the water, spinning in place: wrenches, screwdrivers, welding goggles, something that looks like a primitive plasma cutter.
I look from face to face: men and women, less than a dozen, all dirty, all thin. Workers–have to be. I don’t see Carver, or Prakesh. I spot Koji–he’s managed to get inside, but whoever these people are, they’ve identified him as a guard. They’ve got him pinned to a wall, an elbow at his throat.
“No no no!” I shout, forcing myself to my feet. I can’t have them shoot Koji. I still need him. “He’s here to help.”
The workers look between me and Koji, suspicious, not sure how to proceed. I open my mouth to speak, and then feel a hand on my shoulder.
I’m still too wired from the run, and I spin round, my body moving before I can stop it, bringing my arms up, ready to fight.
Aaron Carver puts his hands on top of mine, and slowly pushes them down. There’s the strangest expression on his face–like he’s expecting me to vanish, like I’m a dream that he’s about to wake up from. His face is mottled with bruises, his lip split. A dried crust of blood marks his forehead like warpaint.
He reaches out, his fingertips brushing my face.
He’s going to say something smart, like he always does. He’s going to make a crack about always having to save my ass, or about me making an entrance. He’s going to—
Then he pulls me towards him, wrapping his arms around me.
And just for a second, I’m safe.