Chapter Twenty-five

If Esther had been in her right mind, she probably would have noticed that the trail the Methuselah had left behind was strikingly obvious. But of course, she wasn't. She was blinded by rage and fear so profound that her body shook with adrenaline. Methuselah, two very strong, incredibly fast Methuselah, had come into the city, right under their noses. They had come and taken Tres away from her, dragging him off to God knows where and doing God knows what to him. But they hadn't harmed anyone else. No one in the entire city knew of their intrusion. Hell, they hadn't even left footprints.

So when she left the town and their trail become incredibly obvious, she should have been suspicious.

Deep boot marks were in the earth, blood dragging across the grass and staining it. Tres's blood. That knowledge only infuriated and frightened her more. She knew it was actual blood per say (life-sustaining fluid, as Professor Wordsmith put it), but could he still die if he lost too much? Go into shock? Could androids go into shock?

She was unsure, but if that should occur while she was with him, Esther didn't have the tools with her to stop the bleeding. All she had was her shotgun and Tres's Berettas strapped to her belt.

They were heavy, but it hardly slowed her down. If she ran out of ammo, they were her only back up. But, again, the recoil itself would dislocate her shoulder or worse, break her arms. And she couldn't be a rescuer with a broken ulna and radius, now could she?

Then again, she hadn't actually tried firing one while holding it with both hands. Maybe if she braced herself against a tree or a wall, she would be able to take it. At the same time, she wasn't planning to find out anytime soon, and if she did, it would be in a dire situation.

The air was frigid as it began to grow dark. She couldn't be able to see the path soon, and she had been walking all day. God, how far had they gotten? Esther could only hope that they hadn't gotten onto a ship and left for Albion. She would never be able to find them then.

She kept walking as the sun set and the moon came up, and she could barely see the path anymore. Guided by the moonlight, she squinted to get hints of blood and footsteps to track.

Once it was near midnight, she noticed a door. It was built into the side of one of the shallow hills, the path leading right to it. Heavy and wooden, and she suspected it was locked. It didn't matter either way. She would break it down with her bare hands if it came down to it. Pulling her shotgun from her holster, she inspected the door closer, jiggling the handle experimentally.

To Esther's surprise, it was unlocked and swung right open with a heavy creak. A cold wind ruffled her hair, bringing the smell of mildew and blood along with it. If there was a doubt before, there wasn't now. The Methuselah and Tres were definitely here.

It was just a matter of where.

Esther had heard of these types of bunkers before. Illegal smugglers used them all the time to get it from the docks into the Kingdom of Franc without having to pass through screening for drugs or illegal weaponry. The tunnels stretched for miles, with endless twists and turns designed to get the police lost because they didn't know the secret passages and switches on the walls. Storage rooms lined some halls, others lined with cells designed to hold people until they starved to death.

She hated thinking this, but she hoped, morbidly, that the blood trail continued so she could find Tres.

It was pitch black inside, so she brought out one of Tres's guns and turned on the light on the underside of the barrel. If she was faced with one of the Methuselah, she would either have to fire or be attacked. Either way, she would be injured.

Swallowing, she went into the tunnels, keeping a keen eye on the blood smeared along the floor.

"Tres?" she asked loudly, listening to her voice echo for what seemed like miles. She didn't know whether or not she expected an answer, but she didn't have much else to do beside explorer the tunnels further.

The moonlight cast a pale shadow of her legs until the door shut behind her. She whirled, her arms shaking to hold Tres's gun level. The light only showed the heavy wooden door and nothing more. No Methuselah. She was the only one in the tunnel.

Esther sighed, settling back into the rhythm of following her trail. More endless, fearful steps, a left turn. A creak, far off. "Tres?" she called again, and once more, there was no answer. She continued, her fingers tightening around Tres's gun nervously, her palms sweaty.

A right turn and then another right, before she took a left down a staircase. Once at the bottom, she tried again. "Tres!"

Far away from her current location, said priest opened his eyes sharply in alarm. Cora was nestled into his lap, and she couldn't hear the voice even if she tried. Even with his heightened sense of hearing, it was still hard to hear.

Please, tell me she didn't come, he pleaded to no one in particular. He waited for a long time, fear eating away at him. Hopefully he just imagined it. He was half asleep anyway. But no, he couldn't be so lucky.

"Tres!" Esther called out again, louder, closer this time. He sighed, unsure of whether or not he should answer. The Methuselah could be waiting, just outside the door in the darkness for her to find him. He couldn't stand to see her hurt, to see her bleed, because of him.

A long stretch of silence, and Tres heard the groaning of a door close to his own. "Tres? Can you hear me? Are you here?" she asked desperately, so close Cora roused from her sleep and sat up. Tres practically begged God not to let her open his door. Don't let her find me, don't –

All his begging didn't matter. She opened the door anyway.

At the sight of her, all her beautiful blue eyes, red hair and pale skin, clothes in disarray, one of his guns in her hands, Tres wanted to be relieved. He wanted to be able to see her and be happy that she was there, that he could see her again.

Esther, in the meantime, was shocked. Cora was there, too. Dried blood was on her temple, but she could see it didn't belong to the little girl. Tres looked worst of them both. His clothes were torn and bloody, from the wound she had seen him receive and more that she hadn't. His hair was tousled and messy, and his amber, puppy dog eyes looked up at her from where he was chained to a wall with something… almost like…

Fear?

She didn't have the time to process that thought, however, because she felt hands grip at her arms and yank all her guns away, practically throwing her in to the cell. The ground was rough and scrapped her elbows and palms, little rocks digging into her skin and remaining there as she sat up and craned her neck to see her assailant.

It was the two Methuselah. The man who had hurt Tres and the woman who had attacked them first. Esther scowled at both of them, roaring as she stood up quickly and aimed to hit them with her first. The man easily caught it with a scoff-like laugh, bending her wrist back enough to make tears prick her eyes and pushed her onto her back.

"Well, this was easier than I thought," he remarked offhandedly to the woman beside him. "Now that my audience is here, I suppose I can finally introduce ourselves. I am Seth, and this is my… coworker, I suppose you could say, Lamia. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He bowed mockingly to the three inside the room.

Esther glanced back at Tres, who merely lowered his gaze to the ground before closing his eyes. Looking back to Seth and Lamia, she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" Seth laughed, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you tell her what's going to happen, Hound? Go ahead, don't be shy." Tres didn't say anything, but when Lamia took a step closer to Esther, menacingly, he relented.

"They're going to hurt you and Cora," he murmured, not looking up from the ground, his voice soft. "To get back at me for killing Jezebel. They left a trail for you to follow so you would come right here, to this spot, so they could get you."

"Precisely," Seth said, grinning. He stepped into the room, kneeling just in front of Esther. His fingers thread through her hair almost lovingly before yanking, hard and painfully, to pull her mere inches from his face. His breath reeked of blood and his gleaming eyes held an insanity there that made her quake with fear. "So, Miss Blanchett," he whispered, so close their noses were almost touching.

"Welcome to the show."

A/N: Another chapter out, wow. Seems like taking exams equals more down time. Is that weird? …no definitely not. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or faved or followed this story. It really lights up my day to see that :)

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