Disclaimer: Yep, still not mine. Don't rub it in...
Author's Note: So, life got in the way a bit this week! Sorry for the lack of updates. On we go with Chapter 13. Please read and review as ever. Enjoy!
Chapter Thirteen
There was no plan. What they had, Gregg refused to call a plan. At best, it was a collection of vaguely tactical ideas. At worst, it would likely get them all killed. But given the lack of time they had to piece it together, it was just going to have to do.
The aerial imaging sent back by the drones had been conclusive. Chatsworth was abandoned. Cragside was not. Of course, that threw up problems if its own as Cragside House very literally lived up to its name. On three sides, the house was surrounded by dense and overgrown wilderness. The fourth side was a sheer drop a few hundred feet high – the jagged, craggy cliff face that leant its name to the house. Gregg was sure that it would have made for a stunning view in its hey-day, but it did not lend itself for easy access.
From what they could gather, there were two entrances. The first was the main gate, with its welcoming arch and once grand courtyard beyond. The path to the gate was so densely overgrown with weeds and brambles and all manner of foliage, it would take a machete to hack their way through.
The second entrance was underground and had been built into the cliff as a shelter during the Fourth World War. Cress had found the schematics for the bunker and theorised it was the most likely place for Mallorie to be holding Cinder and possibly even Hanna.
Their main offensive would be focused on the bunker with a small team (Gregg and Iko to be exact) targeting the main gate.
As for Mallorie herself, the consensus was that she would prefer the comforts and luxuries of the main house (albeit they were luxuries tempered with over a century of abandonment and dilapidation). They hoped – wished, crossed their fingers really – that Mallorie would want to keep Rose close to her to better enjoy watching the last moments of life slip away from her.
In all the scheming, Gregg had become more and more dubious of the assumptions that were being made.
"We have fought her kind before," Thorne pointed out. "It's not an entirely wild gamble."
Even so, as Gregg approached the edge of the thicket leading to Cragside's main gate, machete in hand and Iko by his side for back up, he couldn't help feeling the twist of nervous energy in his gut.
"Is this really going to work?" he said doubtfully to Iko.
Iko's expression was somewhere between determination and trepidation as she slowly nodded.
"OK," said Gregg. "But just for the record, this is insane."
"Noted," said Iko. A thin smile reached her lips. "Is the vial safe?" she asked.
Gregg tapped the small pocket located over his heart and felt the small glass vial of antidote shift under his touch.
"Yes," he said.
There had been great debate over who would be trusted with the precious vial. In the end, it had been Gregg's sheer determination that had won out. He was not going to let Rose down again. He would not let any of them down again. If the others found Rose in the bunker, he would find a way to get to her.
Gregg checked his watch. There was still five minutes until the other were due to be in position. He puffed out a breath trying to steady his nerves.
Not long to wait now…
An elite team of UK and Eastern Commonwealth soldiers had met up with them at the base of the cliff. Cress was quite happy for them to take the lead as they made their way through the concealed cave entrance and up the moisture-slicked stairs inside the cliff that led up to the bunker's door.
There was no chatter among the soldiers. And beside her, Thorne and Jacin were silent and serious. Her own heart beat pounded and seemed to echo the march of boots ahead of her.
Before long, the marching stopped and Cress was ushered to the head of the line. They had reached the door. Now it was her skills that were needed.
Bringing out her port-screen to act as a flashlight, she approached the panel on the wall by the door and pried the casing away, revealing a mess of wires beneath.
"Oh," she said with a little surprise.
"What is it?" Thorne asked. He was so close in the tight space that she could feel his breath rustle her hair as he spoke.
"I think this is the original wiring. I don't think the security system has been upgraded since the fall of the second-era."
"Is that a problem?" Thorne asked.
Cress twisted her face, not that anyone would have seen it in the cavern's dim light.
"Well no," she said. "It may take a little longer to crack is all. I've never seen second-era tech up close like this before." There was a hint of excitement in her voice – like a child being present with a new toy to play with.
Thorne's hand came to rest on her shoulder. It was meant to bring her into focus, but really served as more of a distraction.
"Well," he said. "Historical appreciation will have to wait. We need that door busted open, remember?"
Cress cleared her throat and rolled her neck, releasing tension from her muscles. Letting out a steadying breath, she narrowed her eyes and thumbed through the mess of wires before her. She carefully stripped a few of them of their plastic coating and connected in her port-screen. The small screen flashed a few times before the old-style binary code began to scroll over it.
"Oh wow," she said on a breath.
Thorne cleared his throat. "Still on the clock, honey."
"Right, yeah," she said. "Focusing."
Even so, there was a gleam in her eyes all for herself as she picked her way through the code.
The second-era really had been a golden age – or at least parts of it had been – with its elegant but simple tech, and its art, and music, and poetry…
Cress began to hum one of her favourite opera arias as she worked. The rhythm of the song wove its way through her mind and was soon echoed by her light fingers on the screen. She was blissfully unaware of the curious glances from the soldiers around her. Her thoughts focused on the tech and the code and the task at hand.
"One minute, Cress," Thorne informed her.
One minute until the agreed time they would launch their attack. The door needed to be open by then.
"Shhhh," she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen.
As she reached the end of her aria, she gave one last tap to her port-screen. A green light blinked on the panel and the heavy metal door before them began to slide open.
Cress turned and grinned at Thorne.
"Thirty-two seconds to spare," he said glancing at his watch. "Pretty slick."
"When we win," Cress said quietly to him. "Can I keep this as a souvenir?" She pointed to the panel.
Thorne laughed. "Anything for m'lady," he replied.
The soldiers began to file through into the first corridor of the bunker. It would not be long before they split off into two groups to cover more ground. Cress and Thorne would go with one team and Jacin with the other.
As Jacin came up the stairs, he stopped and gave them each a short nod.
"Good luck," he said. "Stay in contact."
With that, he followed his team down the corridor and turned right.
Cress and Thorne went left. Once again, silence fell between them as their search began.
"It's time," Iko said.
Gregg glanced at his own watch. 06:00. Right on schedule.
He gripped the machete in his trembling hand and, steadying himself, he began to hack away at the dense overgrown mess before him.
At first, the plant life gave way easily to him, but the further in the got, the harder it became. The brambles had grown higher and thicker than they could have imagined from looking at the surveillance photos. Darkness loomed over them as they carried on – the trees growing so high and so close together, the thin breaking light of dawn did not reach them here. Iko brought out a flashlight and held up, trying to find the best angle to light their way. It cast long, sinister shadows ahead of them, like fingers and hands reaching into the darkness.
Gregg's arm quickly began to ache as he continued to hack away at the obstacles in their path.
"You look very heroic like that," Iko said. Gregg smiled briefly despite himself. Despite the fatigue building in his muscles.
"Thanks Iko," he said between laboured breaths. "But it's really… not as… fun… as it… looks."
With each swing of the machete, he could feel his jacket and the back of his hands and his cheeks and his neck catching on thorns that jutted out in every imaginable direction. He felt his skin open as they racked over him. He felt heard the rip of fabric as a rather large branch took hold of his right knee and opened a hole in his trousers. He stopped for a second to inspect the damage. His leg under the trousers was not bleeding. Yet.
"You know," Gregg said as they carried on. "If you wanted to feel useful, you could always take over for a bit."
"I've got the flashlight," Iko replied. "I am useful."
Gregg rolled his eyes and carried on swing away and hacking at the branches. He had no idea how long he had been at this. Or how much further it was. He hoped it wasn't far.
When the trees finally began to thin and the dense foliage started to give way to stone and mortar, Gregg couldn't help letting out a sigh of relief. The gate came into view, the arch standing over it, guarding, waiting. Their footsteps echoed as they walked underneath it and emerged into the courtyard.
Gregg stood and turned in a circle, taking in the surroundings. The house towered over them, its beige stones mottled with grime and bullet holes from the end of the war. The half-timbering was cracked and sagged with age. The red tiled roof was riddled with holes and he could see some of the brambles pocking through – nature reclaiming the house as its own.
The courtyard itself opened out over the cliff. Gregg had been right. The view was stunning. He could see for miles across the woodland, the dense see of green broken only by a stream running through it. It caught the light as the first rays of sun began to edge over the horizon. He imagined the house before it was abandoned. Before the war. Before the damage and decay had set it.
It would have been beautiful.
A sudden noise from above them drew Gregg's attention and he spun round to follow it to its source. One of the grand windows on the second floor stood wide open. Mallorie watched them in the courtyard below. She clapped slowly, the sound echoing around them, bouncing off the old buildings.
"Well," Mallorie said with a malicious smile. "This is a pleasant surprise."
The sound of bullets tore through the air and pounded off the walls. Cress crouched low on the floor, Thorne hunched over her for added protection. Her hands clamped over her ears, trying to dull the din that raged around her in the narrow corridor. The soldiers had not stopped firing for a full three minutes now as more and more wolf- soldiers clambered into the corridor to attack. Mallorie didn't just have the handful they had seen at the farm. She was building her own army here.
Slowly – very slowly – Cress began to crawl forwards. All the time, Thorne remained with her, his arm over her shoulders, his own gun raised and ready to fire at anything that came too close for comfort. They stopped again as a new rain of bullets bounced dangerously around them.
At last, Cress reached another corridor branching off to the right. Thorne looked down it first before nodding to her, signalling it was clear. Cress made it ten feet down the corridor before she stopped and leaned against the cold concrete wall. She breathed heavily as adrenaline pumped through her veins. The sound of gunfire was still loud, but already muffled slightly by the distance they had moved away from it. She took out her port-screen and briefly looked at the schematic map she had downloaded of the bunker.
"The main living quarters should be this way!" she shouted over the battle noise.
Thorne nodded and led the way down the corridor away from the fighting. A pang of guilt clung to Cress' chest as she glanced back the way she had come, leaving the soldiers behind.
It wasn't long before the shouts and snarls and gunfire blasts of the fighting became a distant echo to them as they made their way through the labyrinth of corridoes and passages. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered and strobed slightly, lending a sickly, pale, dim light to the bunker. As they passed doors on either side, Thorne would throw each one open and quickly search the room. Empty. Deserted. Silent. Not a soul around them.
"How far to the main house?" Thorne asked as they carried on passed another empty room.
Cress checked the port-screen. "Still a way off," she said. "It looks like Jacin will get to it long before us."
Thorne nodded and pushed open another door. As Cress put the port-screen back into her pocket for safe keeping, she collided with his shoulder as he stopped still in the doorway, his gun still raised. Cress followed his gaze into the room and gasped.
In the middle of the room, strapped down to a gurney with wires and attached to her forehead and, but the looks of it, the back of her neck, was a familiar figure.
Cinder.