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After a quick examination, Sam determined the couple had been killed very recently, as the bodies were still warm. The man lay on the ground, shotgun still in hand, unfired, and the woman lay sprawled beside him, a small pistol a few feet away. Both had had their throats slashed by someone—as Sam put it—who hadn’t thought twice. I shuddered to consider who it might have been, and where they might be now.
We passed through the small encampment, skirting clotheslines, broken furniture, and a small stash of food supplies, the group solemn. Will in the lead, we climbed down another level, crawled one at a time through a sewer grate, and finally came out to a large, square, vaulted room, tall enough to stand up straight.
Everyone stretched upright, the men obviously avoiding the urge to groan with relief. In spite of there being several small tunnels leading off in all directions like the spokes of a wheel, this was where we had to climb up to come out in the kitchen supply room. Two of our four soldiers—a man named Decker, who looked as if he’d walked off the cover of an action hero comic book, and another, who answered to Abrams, took to the ladder first. Sam had called Abrams a sharpshooter, which no doubt meant assassin. The burly men removed the heavy steel grate overhead and slipped silently into the room above.
When we’d come in this way before, there had been guards to greet Will and Josh. Had I not had Rudy’s blowgun and the darts dipped in a sedative, we’d have been sunk right then. The loss of Rudy and Josh squeezed my heart, but I pushed the thoughts away to focus on the mission. This time, I had full confidence that the men who had disappeared from view a few seconds before could handle whatever came at them. When Abrams’ large hand appeared and he waved us up, relief rolled through me. It was short-lived, however, when I noted two guards, throats cut, sprawled on the floor in a large pool of blood.
We tiptoed around the bodies and made our way down the hall toward Zeph’s room, but were halted by the bustle of security guards escorting a line of kids of all ages down another corridor toward where I knew the lab was located. Zeph held the back of the line and I caught a glimpse of him as he glanced over his shoulder and disappeared around the next corner. He knew we were here. With no end to how many things could go wrong, Sam signaled us to move, the plan set in motion to confront the guards and free the kids once we reached the lab. There, the soldier among us with the nickname Byter—a comp-tech specialist with wide-set eyes and a lanky frame—would hack the laboratory databases and back up all the files before sparks started to fly.
The launch pad itself would be several more floors belowground, the rocket’s boosters, according to Sam, massively tall. It was up to the fourth man on our team—an explosives expert Sam had called Lefty—on account of the two missing fingers on his right hand—to disable the rocket one way or another and create a diversion while we rescued the kids.
On Sam’s orders, he and Decker split off and ducked into a stairwell heading down to the lower levels to put into motion the next phase of the operation, Decker acting as Lefty’s backup. Abrams, armed to the teeth with weapons and ammo, took off down the hallway in the opposite direction, charged with stopping any other guards from interfering with our mission. That left Byter, Sam, Will, and I to take on the Industry’s security forces. Suddenly Sam’s “less is more” approach had me questioning his sanity—and mine—for agreeing to come back to this place at all. A foreboding shiver crawled up my spine.
A Guardian came up the hallway behind us, its legs clattering along the tile floor. A mechanical voice echoed off the walls. “Intruder alert! Intruder alert!” But as it raised its arms to fire upon us with stunners, lights glowing red, Sam wheeled on it, his SQUID device drawn. The Guardian got off two shots and everyone dodged the lasers before Sam hit his mark. The creature’s core sparked and fizzled, and then its body went limp.
Barely escaping with our hides, Will pulled me to standing and we regrouped before another two monstrous machines rounded the corner. Sam made short work of them before any further alerts were issued or shots fired. He signaled for us to stay behind him as we moved up the corridor. Byter covered the rear, walking backward with weapon drawn. An incoming message lit up Sam’s wrist-com. He stopped to activate the earpiece and listened in silence. A few seconds later, he relayed the message, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Dalton says the penthouse floor has been vacated. He and Simms are on their way down to back us up.”
“That means Malevich is either already in the lab or at the launch pad waiting,” said Will, his voice low.
“Or anywhere in between,” replied Sam under his breath, his expression clouded. The success of our plan included having eyes on Malevich. Surprises with that man were never good.
I reached out in my mind for Malevich’s distinctly cold, creepy form of energy, but he wasn’t nearby, at least not close enough to sense him. I shook my head at Sam, who stopped again before peering around the final corner, which had an arrow below the words TRAINING LAB, pointing to the right. He snapped his head back quickly, a finger to his lips. Then he held up two fingers, meaning the door to the lab at the end of the hall was being covered by two guards. It would take little effort for Sam and Will to take out the two men and blast into the lab, stunners and guns blazing, but with the dozen kids inside, the forceful approach could quickly turn into a bloodbath. I sensed more than a few guards, and the odds were not in our favor.
I grabbed Sam’s arm and motioned for him to let me go ahead. He shook his head forcefully and mouthed a clear NO, but I knew the best way to scope out the situation was for one of us to get inside the lab and make sure the kids weren’t caught in the crossfire. Sam and Will exchanged a solemn glance. I didn’t wait for approval from either of them.
Mustering all of my calm, despite a heart about to burst through my ribcage, I stepped into the hallway as the guards turned to confront me, wide-eyed, stunners drawn.
“I’m Lily Carmich...Celia Greyson,” I corrected. “And I’ve come to join my brother.”
∞∞∞
There was no point in trying to lie about who I was any longer. At the very least, my parents deserved to have the Greyson name preserved and honored. Their sacrifice meant something, and today I would make sure it did.
With only a second’s hesitation and a brief nod between them, the guards frisked me halfheartedly, assuming once they’d taken away my stunner, I was unarmed. By the time they finished emptying the various items from my person, the knife I’d moved from my front pocket and slipped into my boot went undetected. Each of the men took an arm and escorted me into the lab and straight to Dr. Bartholomew.
“Lily! What are you doing here?” The doctor’s eyes appeared bug-like behind his thick glasses. His face was a pasty white, and he seemed genuinely afraid for my safety.
“I came for Zeph. I told you before, I won’t let Malevich take him.”
Bartholomew’s face pinched and his brows drew together. Balding and frail, but with sharp, intelligent blue eyes, the man stood his ground.
“Zephron is exactly where he belongs. All of these children are. Didn’t I make our mission clear? We’re preserving them for the generations to come. The earth is doomed, and we have a chance for humanity to live on. These children are our future.” He waved a hand at the EVO kids lined up along one wall near a glass elevator, all looking solemn and waiting to go down to the launch area. I needed to stall and keep the kids here in the lab until Lefty’s sabotage of the launch created the diversion we needed to get them to safety.
“Zeph belongs with me.” My voice came out stronger than my quivering insides should allow, but I realized how true it was. Zeph and I had always been there for each other. There was no way I was letting him down now. I’d made a promise to my father that I would protect my brother and it was a promise I intended to keep. “At least let me speak with him,” I pleaded.
“You do realize,” Bartholomew said, as he checked the time clock on a large comp screen that was counting down from twenty-eight minutes, “I can’t help you escape again. Victor will be here shortly and his supporters are completely loyal to him.” He eyed the two guards who stood a few feet behind me. Each of three exits was guarded by agents. One exit led to the hallway I’d just come from, where Sam and Will were waiting on my signal—or Lefty’s diversion, whichever came first. Another led to a door marked STAIRWELL, and the third led to the COMP-LAB, where I assumed all the files and audio-vids taken of the children and their training sessions were kept.
“I understand. Now let me speak to my brother.”
Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t come alone, did you?”
Keeping my response in check and taking a slow breath, I replied, more relaxed and sure than I’d felt in days. “We’re going to stop you. The question is, will you still be standing when it’s all over?”
