Chapter 54

A Tight Spot

My bloodied fingers sweep across damp, dirty stone as I search out my next hand hold. The complex, it turns out, is made up of a series of prefabricated rooms, stacked three levels high. I know this, because I managed to squeeze my ridiculously vertically challenged body into the gap, and I hafta say, crawling through a space barely wide enough to fit my ribcage has to be one of the most panic inducing thing next to that goddamn clown I had during my sixth birthday.

So yeah, I can confirm from traumatic personal experience that the whole place is only three levels deep, resting inside, from what I can make out in the dim light with my Slayer vision, a fissure not dissimilar to the one that swallowed the Master's church. And with that comes a'flooding back the wonderful memory of finding Buffy drowned.

This feels like the roles have been flipped, and it is me risking my life to save the world. Only… Only, I don't have a Xander coming to my rescue. In Willow's haste to get to Oz, I realise that the only one who knows where we are is Spike.

Crap.

Uhg, whatever this black, oily stuff is coating the walls (personally, I suspect some demonic bat shit) it is making climbing impossible. Besides, it looks to me like the fissure slants back at a sharp angle above me… even if I could hold on long enough to climb, there is no guarantee there is an exit up there. Infact, It's highly unlikely… I am sure holes into gigantic caverns is pretty high on the list of University Health and Safety department's "must fix before frat boys discover" list.

Nobody is coming to save Willow and Oz, except me. Little me. Exhausted, bloody, inexperienced, evil-guano covered, scrappy little me.

I give up on the climb, and drop back to the roof of the prefabricated rooftop as quietly as I can. My ankle turns on the greasy, potentially bat shit slick

cables, and with a double hop on my good foot, I manage to land softly amongst the tin foil air conditioning pipes and wire bundles.

I have some pretty good cuss words lined up, lemme tell you buster… grade A expletives... but I also have the sense to keep my lip sealed with a firm bite. If I were they, and my target had disappeared off the surveillance system, I would be sweeping the halls in teams. Though they wouldn't be able to squeeze through the gaps I can to get into this crawl space… bullets sure could.

I lay back amongst the filthy cables, clutching my throbbing ankle and turn my eyes up at the dark void above me. The void stares back, disapprovingly.

I hear ya dude.

What am I gonna do? Willow is somewhere down there, with a whole mess of army boys armed with high tech weapons that really, really sting, and if I don't act soon, she and Oz could end up Frankenfodder. I need to think.

And needing to think? Not exactly my strength. Okay, Lexi. Remember your training. Keep it simple. Master one dish. Breathe. Breathe.

Okay, I am a Slayer now. Cool. One up for me. I got that.

Slayer healing? Not doing great but I should look like hamburger after going through that armoured glass, so yay me. This ankle will be fine in a few minutes… so I got that firmly in my plus column.

Negatives? Not trained. Well, as a Slayer. As a soldier I am chock of train-y goodness. I mean, I make a damn good Martini and can talk a drunk woo girl down from ordering a row of shots like a champ... but right now I suspect the soldier thing is the skill set I need. Okay, so that's a plus.

But what else am I? What else have I got to offer. I was always support guy… distract the big bad… scream for help guy… breath of life and stitch up the slayer at O'God O'Clock guy.

I just pour the drinks. My idea of fun is home improvement on a shitty rent controlled apartment. That's not exactly helpful. Hey evil military lab, I fixed your aircon and rewired your...

My fingers trace over the bundle of cables beneath me. Cables. Wires. Cameras.

Oh.

Actually… OH!

Lexi Hart, you might just make it out of here after all.


You gotta love good old fashioned Military grade idiot proofing. From the folks that brought us 'Front towards enemy' on Claymore mines comes:

"Surveillance Camera Relay Hub" I smile as I wipe away the grime from label.

"Okay, Mr. Likes to Watch. Here's mud in your eye."

I imagine a hundred little red eyes going dim all over the base as I tear out the cables with impossibly strong fingers. And so nobody can repair it, I boot the socket section so hard it folds the steel casing around it. Yes, sir… reporting this junction box good old fashioned Military grade FUBAR.

Maybe it's my imagination too, but I can feel the sudden change in the atmosphere. Like a buzzing like distant bees as urgent messages are interchanged. They know they are blind now. They know bad things are about to go down.

I gotta move quick. My position should be obvious to them if they consult a schematic. I gotta take this advantage.

I crawl on through the darkness.


"Here piggy, piggy" the soldier says to himself from three feet directly below me. I hear the buzz of webbing against his gun strap. He isn't alone, I think I can hear three sets of boots, but it is hard over the hammering sound from my rib cage.

"Where the hell is it?" Another voice comes, low, raspy. Through the headset I hear a burst of static and a tinny voice.

"Squad 3 sound off."

"Still nothing." The soldier below me says, one hand to his ear. "You sure the perimeter is sealed as good as you say?"

"Focus on your own orders." Comes the voice, which I suspect is Riley Finn. "Once you are done, sweep it again. Leave no stone unturned."

"Sir, with respect, shouldn't we fall back to defend 314."

"You have your orders." The line cuts out.

"Dick." Mutters the soldier. "He's doing this to us on purpose. How can we show The General how deeply we love him if Finn hogs all the limelight?" Okaaay, that wasn't in my training.

"Ain't right." Another voice says. I flinch as a teeth shaking bang travels through me, and for a moment I fear I have been shot… but a series of lesser bangs and clatters follows, and I realise it's one of the soldiers rifling through a steel locker or something. "Ain't right at all. I mean… I love the General. So much, man."

"Me too. Man, He is the way." Says the third voice. "But what the hell are you doing?"

"Vents."

"What?"

"Air vents. Like in the movies. I think that bitch HST has to have gotten into the vents."

"Dude, the air vents here are half a foot wide, ain't no way anyone can get through them."

"Anyone. But what about any thing."

"Yo, he's right man. What kind of powers do these Slayer things have? Like… you ever see that X-files with the dude who can… like squeeze through a toilet?"

"Can it. Both of you. We finish the sweep, and fall back to 314."

"But Finn said…"

"Screw Finn. My love for The General is greater and purer than his. We should be protecting The General. He is the way."

"Fucking A man." Says the second. "Fuck-in-A."

I let out my breath as I hear them moving away, but I gasp again when I process what they where saying. Somehow, they know I am a Slayer. Which opens up a whole can of worms about how they know, and what they plan to do about it.

But one ray of light? The jugheads gave me 314. Level three, room fourteen. So that's the other side of the complex. And all that loving The General stuff? Stinks of major wiggins, and I feel that pinch of deja vu I cannot pin down.

If I get to this general, I could have a barter chip. That's the way. And wouldn't you know? The camera cables also lead thattaway.


The passage I have to pass through is ridiculously tight, so tight I have to empty my lungs to crawl in. I panic and pull back.

Crap. It's so tight, I just… I hafta breathe all the way out and hold it if I am gonna make it through… and it's like… six to eight feet.

I think I can make it… but praying to whoever or whatever is up there that I don't get stuck or have a panic attack… oh crapohcrapohcrap.

I hate this. I hate this so much. Move the fuck over Clown, I am putting claustrophobia firmly in your place as my number two phobia. Willow made me watch a documentary once, it was by that French deep sea guy… I wanna say Clouseau but no, That's Pink Panther. Anyway, I know you don't take one deep breath… you take a row of quick tiny breaths to oxygenate your blood and then you try to relax. But as I start to huff the oily, sour air, I feel a metallic clunk vibrate through the floor beneath me. I hold my breath. Shit.

"Team delta, reporting in."

"Go ahead." This voice is Riley Finn for sure, no more than six feet below me. My body comes over in goosebumps as my senses register those beneath me. Shifts in the air, breathing, the faint rustle of straps, the click of metal on metal. Troops. Lots of troops, I can feel their impatience, their tension. This must be the place.

This must be 314.

I look over at the gap through which I have to crawl. The thin metal floor, slick with oily black soot, the painfully low roof. It's gonna pass directly over them.

Which means I have to go slow, else I alert them.

Me? Afraid of clowns? Glaring at what I must do, I don't even remember what one looks like right now.