Kudos for my faithful – but unfortunately only – reviewer KLCtheBookWorm. Now, I have no problems with doing private shows if they get me the sort of feedback the BookWorm is giving me, but FFnet keeps telling me that there's more than one reader. So step closer, folks, I won't bite, honestly! I might do nasty things to the people in my stories (if the plot demands it), but never to the ones commenting on them.
Sneaking through the underground compound with the ex-general at his side was a dance on the razor's edge, Jeb Cain found.
As long as he was only peripherally aware of the other man, the former Longcoat might have been any of the older rebels with military experience that the young captain had worked with before. Someone moving in a certain way that subconscious routines identified as a fighter who could hold his own in most confrontations and – even more importantly – someone who could be trusted to spot any threats approaching on his side, meaning that Jeb only had to worry about half of the environment.
As long as he kept the train of events that had put him in this situation at the forefront of his mind, he could cope, too. But every time he caught sight of the other man's profile unexpectedly, or, worse, heard his voice when Zero commented on something under his breath, the young captain had to clamp down on a sort of reverse flinch. Not flight but purely fight response.
Not that the latter happened very often. The expressionless goons were silent to the point of muteness – making Jeb wonder if the quartet they had taken down at the beginning had died so quietly simply because they were unable to give tongue, at all – and so, in order to impersonate a pair of those, they had to stay silent, too. At least, as long as there were other people within hearing, and in the echoing tunnels of the converted mine, every noise carried quite far.
Like now, for example. Several sets of footsteps and more than one voice heralded a larger group, approaching from a tunnel perpendicular to the one they were just marching down.
The young captain threw a sidelong glance at the ex-general, trying to make out if the man felt like trying their flimsy disguise on so many people at once – not that he liked to follow the other man's lead, but Zero had spent more time down here and therefore should know a bit more about the locals.
Instead, Jeb watched the older man grow pale to the point where his faded grey tunic held a more healthy color.
A moment later recognition set in, and when the former Longcoat veered off sharply, to almost stagger through the nearest door, the young captain stayed right at the older man's heels. Meeting Creepy once had already been too often.
As soon as Jeb was sure that (a) their sudden move had not created a noticeable disturbance in the corridor outside, and (b) Zero wasn't going into shock on him, the young man tried to determine what sort of room they had walked into, this time.
At first glance, he had assumed that they had stumbled into some kind of storage room: a long, low, gloomy hallway, walls lined with tightly packed shelves.
On a second look, however, he wished the first impression hadn't been so close to the truth.
It was just, the things were called bunks, not shelves, when you put people on them. Even when they were stacked up like so much firewood. Silent people, motionless people, that showed absolutely no reaction to their sudden entrance.
Skin crawling with apprehension, the young captain took a closer look.
"Are they alive?" The ex-general was leaning against the wall behind him like it was the only thing holding him upright, but his question was as sharp as anything.
"They breathe," more couldn't be said about them in good conscience. Further on, there seemed to be some with open eyes, but Jeb didn't feel like investigating things any closer.
"Hm." The former Longcoat frowned. "Recognize someone?" was the next sharp question.
Recognize?! But on second thought, the man had a point. Just because the last thing Jeb remembered had him returning from a scouting ride alone, didn't mean that the Alchemists had never nabbed anyone he knew. Swallowing heavily, he set out to scan the silent rows as far as the poor light allowed.
It was a measure of the room's uncanniness that he actually felt safer when he heard Zero push off the wall and come up behind him.
When the sickly glow emanating from a lamp set in the wall above the entrance had finally run out, the young man had still found nothing that looked familiar.
"No one's here that I know." Jeb didn't bother to hide his relief.
"Anyone y…" he started to ask, before a sudden tackle drove him to the floor, a hard hand clamped over his mouth.
The creak of the door opening stilled his struggles. Light flooded in, from the well-lit corridor outside, but for the figure silhouetted in the opening the shadows around their position were still impenetrable.
"You, you, you, you. Up!" an imperious voice demanded, and four silent figures rose in unison from the first row of bunks.
"Follow me!" was the next order, thrown over the shoulder as the intruder turned on his heel and marched out, the four newly roused goons trailing obediently behind him.
The door clanked closed behind them, and the young captain silently counted to fifty, to make sure there would be no sudden return. He had barely made it to twenty, when a soft rustling put him on high alert.
All along the gloomy hallway, the still forms started to move.
Without conscious thought, he found himself back-to-back with the ex-general, weapons ready, and backing towards the door as fast as possible.
In the better lit part of the storeroom – no point in calling it otherwise – Jeb could make out a wave-like motion running through the rows of bunks, every single occupant of them creeping a bit sideways – without bothering to turn over from lying on their backs – one after the other. Then again. And again.
By the time the they had reached the door, the vacancies left by the four summoned goons had vanished without a trace, and with those gaps refilled, the silent figures resumed their inhuman stillness, the rustling receding towards the gloomy end of the hallway and then dying away.
Neither of the two men cared whether the corridor outside was clear.
Leaning against the solid wood of the door, heart racing as if he'd run a hundred times the distance he had just hurried down, Jeb Cain took a deep breath and turned towards the man beside him.
"What you asked for before – if this," a flick of his knife towards the hallway stretching beyond the door behind them, "is the alternative, I want the same."
Face a white mask in the glaring light, Zero nodded grimly. He gripped Jeb's proffered hand so hard it hurt.