Ten

"It's suicide, Nance," Lucas complained. They were somewhere between Fort Wayne and Indianapolis. The rusted orange snowmobile Lucas had pulled from his shed was beneath him, cooling off for the fifth time in fifty miles. He propped himself up on his knees, watching her as she stood in the middle of the road gazing into the endless waves of snowy farmland. He made an impatient noise and snapped, "Are you even listening to me?"

Twelve didn't look away, but said quietly, "Yes."

"Then you agree that this is suicide?" he asked.

Twelve shifted her weight and twisted to eye the snowmobile. Beneath its engine, the snow had almost completely melted, revealing a tar and chipped road. "Is that cool enough to get moving yet?"

Lucas glared at her. "Don't dodge the question, Nancy."

Twelve pursed her lips angrily. "Where was the original gateway?" she asked. When Lucas didn't respond, she answered: "In Hawkins Lab. And where did you see the Demogorgons dragging people when you were trapped in Hawkins eleven years ago?" She didn't wait for Lucas to refuse a response again. "Hawkins Lab," she stated.

"So what?" Lucas replied. "Knowing where it is and actually getting to it are two completely separate things." He pushed himself off of the snowmobile and faced her stoutly. "If you even survive in the Vale long enough to get to Hawkins, you're talking about breaching their lair. I mean, this is superhero-villain dynamics one-oh-one. You can't just break into the villain's hideout. It's not possible." He stopped and stared curiously at Twelve's amused grin. "What?" he asked bemusedly.

"Lucas," she chuckled. "Did you just call me a superhero?"

He rolled his eyes and began refilling the gas to prepare for departure.

As Twelve slid onto the cracked vinyl cushion behind Lucas and grabbed the metal bar that ran along the back of the seat, she said, "Don't worry about me. I've been training for this for five years."

The engine roared to life, echoing across the landscape and, just before they took off, Twelve noticed Lucas shaking his head.

As it turned out, Dustin was holed up in the rather cozy office of a massive warehouse located in an old industrial park just outside of Indianapolis. The warehouse was obscure enough—surrounded by dozens of identical structures—making it ideal for Dustin's needs. It was the de facto black market and Dustin was the conductor of the entire operation. The warehouse, Twelve noticed, was also just a scant three miles from the Vale barrier.

Lucas cut the engine of the snowmobile a few blocks away and they walked the last bit. Twelve kept her eyes locked ahead, but noticed the signs of life in a few of the other warehouses they passed. Footprints wore through the snow on the sidewalk and the inch or two of melted ice in front of a few doorways indicated heat was spilling out. She wondered if they were workers or travelers or if Dustin was actually building his own colony just outside of the Vale. Biting back the urge to ask Lucas, she turned at an intersection and they found themselves face-to-face with two guards.

Lucas immediately grabbed Twelve's arm and pulled her back behind him. "It's okay, Kane," he said to one of the guards. "Just here to see Dustin."

The guard didn't relax his stance. Instead, he narrowed his eyes on Twelve. "You know the rules here, Lucas," he said gruffly. His thick black beard barely moved when he talked. A faded black turtleneck was rolled just low enough for Twelve to make out the top of his 'X' scar. She wondered if this was an exile sanctuary.

"She's with me," Lucas explained.

Kane tightened the grip on his gun. "That's not how things work here, Lucas. Who is she?"

Lucas cast an apologetic look over his shoulder before sighing exhaustedly. "This is Twelve."

If Lucas had been aiming for a response, then he nailed it. The effect his words had was instantaneous. Kane's jaw hung open and the second guard actually dropped her gun. She scooped it up and, in an attempt to regain control, challenged Lucas. "No way," she said. "Twelve's dead. She died over a week ago."

Kane nodded, turning back to Lucas. "It's all anyone's been talking about," he confirmed.

Twelve pulled back her hair, displaying the 'X' and replied, "I just struck out. The death rumor is…" She struggled to come up with an excuse that didn't involve Holly.

"...irrelevant," Lucas finished. "What's important is that we need to see Dustin."

Kane exchanged skeptical looks with the other guard. "I need proof that you are who you say you are," he insisted.

Twelve held up her hands helplessly. "How? I don't exactly have a photo I.D."

"I know he's Lucas," Kane said, tipping his head. "If you actually are Twelve, then you two are the only known survivors of Demogorgon attacks and you've both got scars to prove it."

Twelve scratched the back of her neck and let his suggestion settle. She raised one eyebrow and replied, "You expect me to take off my shift in the middle of the street to prove I have a huge scar on my back?"

Lucas wedged himself between Twelve and Kane. "How about instead of provoking a notorious Slayer you just escort us inside? Dustin will recognize her immediately and if he doesn't, then you can kill us and your operation here won't be compromised."

Kane checked with the other guard who shrugged agreeably.

Inside, the warehouse was a maze of partitions and a flurry of movement. Twelve was immediately bombarded with unintelligible noise as the door slid shut behind them. Voices shouted over the distinct rumble of engines and machinery. Here and there she caught a word or two: price checks and status updates and delivery dates. It was a fluid operation of illegal trade working beneath a cacophony of clatter.

The guards skirted them along the perimeter, breezing quickly past cubicles and aisles filled with large canvas carts. They reached the staircase and Twelve paused for a moment when she saw a teenage boy pass beneath them carrying an armful of semi-automatics. She exchanged uneasy looks with Lucas, but continued when Kane nudged her in the small of her back. On the second floor, they passed through a dented metal door into a wide corridor that ran the length of the warehouse and had been converted into a bar. A dozen or so patrons were lounging around old cable spools that had been turned on their ends to act as tables. It had a certain rustic appeal, but Twelve didn't imagine the spools were chosen for their aesthetic appeal. She assumed they'd been salvaged from the warehouse when Dustin's crew had taken over.

Down the adjacent corridor, they found an entirely different scene. In place of the bar and cable spool tables were four classic metal desks and hunched over each was someone pouring over piles of ledgers.

"Accounting department?" Twelve muttered under her breath.

Kane jabbed her in the back again.

At the end of the second corridor, Kane stepped ahead of them and knocked on the office door. The window looking in was heavily warped and Twelve couldn't make out anything more than vague shadows and subtle movement. But a moment later, a voice from inside called out, "Come in."

Kane swung the door open and stepped inside, holding his gun flat against his chest. Lucas entered and then Twelve. The office was large, but messy. The walls were lined with bookshelves and filing cabinets and a desk set in the middle was surrounded by towers of papers. Standing at the desk was Dustin: mid-twenties, still sporting jaw-length curly chestnut hair, still mildly overfed and eyes still curved in a permanent smile.

Dustin passed a cursory glance over Lucas and nodded approvingly; then his eyes fell on Twelve. There was a tense moment of silence and she could almost feel Kane's hand tighten on the trigger of his gun. Then Dustin broke into a wide smile and said, boisterously, "I knew you weren't dead!"