Chapter 4
They had kept walking silently but swiftly down the corridors without finding an exit or any sign of where they were. Paint was peeling from the broad whitewashed hallways that went on for long stretches only to branch of abruptly later. Skye led them forward with grim determination, checking every door they came across, but most were locked and the few rooms that weren't were mostly empty. Some still had iron frames standing around that probably had once been beds, indicating that the building had once been a hospital.
When she heard voices up ahead, Skye slowed down. Around the corner she could see light falling through an open door into the corridor. Slowly she stepped closer.
"... looks pretty dead."
It was the deep, booming voice of the bear man, coming from inside the room.
Skye felt a knot of bad premonition forming in the pit of her stomach. She inched closer to the door and peeked inside through the thin gap. What she saw made her blood run cold.
She started when she heard someone whispering next to her ear, but relaxed when she realised it was Brandt: "We've got to go."
Skye nodded silently, and they quietly retreated back down the corridor, until Luther, who was now up front, suddenly stopped. There were shouts and footsteps up ahead, but behind them at least one pair of steps was coming towards them, too, and they seemed to be speeding up.
Hastily, they tested the few doors in their vicinity, but all were locked.
"What now?" Luther asked, but his question was superfluous a moment later, when four men rounded the corner.
Brandt was closest to them and charged at one, slamming him into a wall. Luther picked off another one in a similar manner, but they all had had handguns at the ready and while Luther tried to disarm number three, a shot went off.
Brandt flinched when the bullet clipped his leg. It wasn't enough to throw him entirely off balance, but enough that his second opponent managed to land two blows in close succession. He managed to half-block the first, still the second hit him hard against the temple and he staggered backwards.
He regained his balance before his opponent had caught up and managed to keep the goon away with a kick to his kneecap. But in the meantime, his first attacker had rejoined the fight, and hit him hard in the back, knocking him over. With both of them on him, Brandt had no means of defending himself and could only try to deflect the punches, as the fight turned into a brutal beating.
Luther had so far managed to fend off his attackers, but their stalemate was also starting to shift in their favour, when a whistle echoed.
All fighting seized momentarily, and the whistle was followed by a shout. "Stand down," a deep growling voice bellowed. "Or she dies."
The voice belonged to the bear-like Dorian, who was standing in the middle of the corridor. Four of his minions had accompanied him, of whom one was leaning against the wall, not entirely conscious, one was holding his face, the other two had Skye by her arms. Dorian's gun was pointed at her head.
Skye was shaking her head vigorously at her fellow agents, her gaze angry and pleading, but Brandt had already lost his capacity to resist. And faced with the overpowering force of their opponents, Luther surrendered.
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
"Hi, Benji."
Benji stared at the face hovering over him, trying to decide what was wrong. He closed his eyes, hoping it might just go away, but when he opened them again, it was still there.
"You're dead," he finally stated.
"No, I'm not," the face answered. Somehow it seemed to find this very amusing.
Benji blinked, less slowly than be fore. Then he reached another conclusion. "I'm dead."
"No, you're not either," the face replied, somewhat less amused.
Benji decided to just accept that for now. "Alright," he muttered. Then he assumed a position of half sitting up, half rolling over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the bare concrete floor.
"Are you alright?" Ethan asked, concerned.
"Getting there," Benji said sitting up somewhat more straight. He threw one glance at the acidic puddle next to him, then carefully inched away. "So, how is it we're not dead?"
"Bray is on a covert op," Ethan explained. "She had to protect her cover."
"Alright," Benji replied again, trying to get up, but then decided halfway through that probably he should stay down a little longer. He still seemed very much out of it.
Benji rubbed his face, trying to get the still hovering mist out of his head. Then he stared at his hand. A folded sheet of paper, rather crumpled up by now, was stuck to his hand with tape.
Carefully he peeled it off and tried to straightened out on the floor. On the other side it said in swirly, uneven handwriting:
'Sorry about the hangover. Had to spike your cocktail.'
"Well, that explains the state of my head," Benji muttered and handed over the paper.
Ethan regarded the writing for a moment, then folded it open and spread it on the floor. It was a regular letter-size page with a crude hand drawn map on it, showing a maze-like structure of rooms and hallways.
Only one room was marked, in the same messy handwriting:
'7412
Supplies
6059'
From there a series of arrows followed a winding path of corridors. Alongside them small letters spelled 'WAY OUT'.
"Supplies sounds good," Benji commented.
Ethan nodded his agreement, then gave him another worried glance. "Can you make it there?"
"I'll manage," Benji decided and pushed himself up, still shaky, but more successful than before. He took a deep breath to battle the onset of nausea, then declared: "Let's go before I change my mind."
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
"I think you have already seen that running away is a futile endeavour. Still, I am willing to give you an incentive," Nestor stated. He turned to go and casually addressed Elaine, who was standing on one side of the door: "Kill one of them."
"I thought you didn't like it when I mess with your subjects," she retorted unmoved.
Gladiola stopped halfway out and turned back. "You will make an example of them," he hissed. "Or I will make an example of you."
"Alright," Elaine replied defensively. "Can I at least have my gun back, or do I have to use my bare hands?"
Nestor nodded at Dorian, then finally left the room, followed by his minions. The bear produced her firearm, then resumed his position of leaning against the door-frame.
"Thank you," Elaine said with sarcastic sweetness as she took the gun. Calmly she looked over the weapon and checked the magazine. Then she shoved it back in with an audible click that echoed from the wall and loaded a bullet into the chamber.
She didn't dare to look up at the agents who stood lined up against the wall, their hands tied behind their backs with duct tape. And she didn't have to, she had already made her choice. All three were standing up straight in a bid to look defiant, and she couldn't help but admire their apparent composure.
But Brandt was obviously in bad shape. He was leaning heavily on one leg, one side of his trousers sported a growing blood-stain and a thin and steady stream was continuously trickling from a cut on one side of his forehead, among the beginnings of thick bruises.
Elaine didn't look up as she stopped about two meters away from the group. She didn't look up as she carefully took aim. For a split second her finger froze on the trigger, hesitating out of reflex, but then her willpower won out and she pulled the trigger twice.
She kept her gaze fixed ahead as she lowered the gun, focused on slow, controlled movement. But when her victim sank to the ground and accusing eyes met hers for a split second, full of intense disbelief and confusion, she turned away quickly, jaws clenched.
Then a body hit the floor with a numb thud.
