He looked like he was about to attempt a witty rejoinder when she raised a finger, warning him to silence. The sound of footsteps was faint in the distance, but gradually growing louder. Private conversation would have to wait.
This time it was a group of five who were heading in the opposite direction: two men, two women, and one whose gender Ru wasn’t sure about, all of them clearly inebriated. One of the women waved expansively to Ru and Micah as they drew near, then turned back to her companion, to beg for a swig from the bottle he was carrying. A faint smell of vomit wafted from the group. Ru turned away in distaste as they passed by. She’d be glad to get off this glorified piece of rock. She listened to the group’s footsteps recede behind them, waiting for them to fade into silence. But suddenly the rhythm changed. That was all the warning she had. Even as she started to turn, a heavy rod swung toward her head, its tip crackling with blue sparks.
“Shit!” Micah yelled. Out of a corner of her eye she saw him fumbling for his gun as two of the drunkards lunged for him. They didn’t look nearly so drunk now. Then all her concentration was needed to deal with the one who was attacking her, and he was close enough that it would be hard to dodge his blow. She moved in closer and blocked that arm with one hand, then punched into his gut with the other, triggering the charge on her rings. He tried to back up but wasn’t fast enough; sparks flew as the charged rings were driven deep into his gut. But two others were ready behind him, and even as he fell one of them forced her ring hand aside and slammed his body into hers, the smell of stale vomit filling her nostrils as his full weight drove her back down onto the floor. She tried to bring her weapon around, but the third assailant—a woman—slammed a foot down onto her arm, pinning it to the floor. Pain shot through Ru’s wrist as she tried to shift the body that was crushing her chest into a position where she would be able to breathe, but even as she struggled the man reached up and covered the lower part of her face with a foul-smelling cloth. In a panic she tried to twist her head out from under it, but he had too firm a grip. The weight on her chest eased, and she reflexively gasped for air, drawing that vile smell into her body. Deep into her body. The tunnel began to swim around her. The pain in her arm filled her universe. She struggled against darkness, against death, but to no avail. She couldn’t even turn her head to see if Micah was still alive, but was forced to stare into the dirt-encrusted eyes of her attacker as the darkness sucked her down, deep down, into that place where all thought—and all hope—was extinguished.
A man cannot know how much he would be willing to sacrifice until sacrifice is required.
DUAEN CORREN
On Human Nature
HARMONY NODE
HYDRA COLLECTIVE
SILENCE.
A pinpoint of light in the distance.
A distant drumbeat: like the rhythm of a human heart, but slow, so slow.
A thin beam of light breaking through a bank of black fog.
Faster drums. Almost a real heartbeat now. The light burns more brightly. The fog dissipates . . .
Ru opened her eyes. The light that was shining into them was so blinding, she couldn’t see where she was. She turned her head to one side and saw Micah’s body lying beside her. His face was covered in blood.
They were alone.
Groaning, she tried to sit up, but when she touched her left hand to the floor pain shot through her wrist. She took a few deep breaths and then tried again, gritting her teeth against the pain. That bitch who had pinned her arm down must have broken something. When she finally managed to get herself up, she felt the bones gingerly with her other hand; even though the slightest touch sent shards of hot pain shooting through the joint, nothing felt out of place. Probably a fracture. She still had a decent range of motion, though it hurt like hell. It could have been worse.
Blinking to clear her eyes, she tried to make out the shapes surrounding her, despite the glare of the light fixture she’d been staring into when she woke up, illumination in the rest of the space was dim, and it took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust. Slowly her surroundings came into focus, and she could see they’d been dumped in a narrow tunnel—big surprise—but one that was different from the others they’d seen. Its floor was pitted and irregular, its walls ragged, its ceiling so riddled with faults and jagged protrusions that it looked like it might break up and collapse at any moment. The single domed fixture overhead offered just enough light to cast jagged shadows along the walls, like monstrous black teeth.
With her right hand, she felt for her weapons. They weren’t there. Not the shock rod, not the charge pistol, not the taze rings. She’d been stripped of all armaments, and from the look of him, so had Micah. Her shoulder bag had been taken as well, which meant the Frisian K-1 was gone. Not to mention their emergency medical supplies. She felt around in her pockets to see if anything was left; they hadn’t taken everything, it turned out, but they’d taken everything that could be used aggressively.
Carefully, trying not to put any weight on her injured hand, she moved over to where Micah was lying. He was pale but still breathing, albeit shallowly. The blood on his face was from an ugly impact wound on the side of his forehead. The blood was mostly dry now, with thin streaks coursing from the wound down the side of his head, to the floor. So he must have been lying there a while. Gingerly, she ran her fingertips over the damaged spot, feather-light, to explore the condition of his skull. It seemed intact and was still the proper shape, so whatever hit him hadn’t cracked it open. But he was still out cold, and that was worrisome.
“Micah.” She nudged his shoulder gently. “Time to get up.”
He didn’t move. Bad sign. If he’d suffered a concussion she might not be able to wake him at all. “Come on, Micah.” She pushed harder at his shoulder. “Come back to me. You can do it.” Still no response. She shook him harder. “Damn you, say something!”
Slowly his lips parted. His chest drew in a long, gasping breath, and as he exhaled he struggled to produce words. They came out as a whisper: “Worst. Hangover. Ever.” His eyes opened. “Where the fuck are we?”
“No clue. Chrono says it’s been four hours, so we’re still in the core. Not enough time to take us anywhere else.”
He reached up and felt his face, wincing as his fingers touched the wounded area. “Shit.” His hand came away sticky with blood. “Shit.”
“Something hit you pretty hard.”
“No kidding.” He wiped his hand on his jacket. “I don’t remember anything.”
“They took our weapons. And just about everything else.”
Elbowing himself up to a sitting position, he methodically checked all his pockets. But the only things left were small items, unlikely to be useful. He did find the stub of an energy bar he’d started eating earlier in the day, which he held up for her to see. “At least we can have dinner.”