Hopper, alone in the room he had been tortured in the for days, began to give up. He didn't want to close his eyes because he was certain he wouldn't wake up again, but his eyes closed anyway. He drifted. He could have been on a raft floating out to sea. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face. It was peaceful, but he kept seeing El. She needed him. He reached out to her, to save her, but he couldn't.
He was no longer on a raft, but back in the chair. His binds tight around his wrists, cutting through his flesh. His wounds leaking blood. And then El was there. She was coming for him. She wanted to save him, and he felt her giving him her life. He cried as he felt the warmth of her embrace. He loved her like a daughter. She was his daughter.
Sarah.
She had been gone a long time. El was alive. He had to be alive too.
He opened his eyes. Something else was there too. Something terrible and it wanted El. He fought against his binds. It was useless.
Then he heard something collapsing. Glass and concrete falling.
Steve looked across at Dustin.
"You okay?" Dustin nodded. "Robin?"
She smiled. "Still alive," she said. She leaned over Steve. "You're bleeding," she said and wiped a streak of blood from his cheek.
Dustin watched. "I'm bleeding too." He held up his hand. Blood was dripping from his knuckle.
"Sometimes I forget you're just a teenager, Dustin," Robin said sweetly. "Sometimes, it's like you're five!"
"Rude." Dustin licked his blood. "Especially since I was instrumental in saving your life."
"Don't you mean instrumental in nearly killing me…"
"Guys…" Steve was opening his door. A tall thin man was climbing to his feet. He was dressed in what would have been a smart suit, but it was covered in dirt and dust now and he had blood oozing from a tear on his arm. He stumbled. He had blood smeared across his head too.
"Take this," Robin handed a gun to Steve.
"What?" Steve recoiled. "Why do you have a gun?"
"I took it from the mad woman." She waved it at Steve. "I'm not telling you to use it, just to help us get in and out without dying."
Steve put up his hands. "Okay, but please stop waving it around."
The man was looking around confused. Some way off, the motionless body of the woman was sprawled ungainly. She had lost a shoe.
Steve got out of the van, holding the gun as if it were a rotting vegetable. He aimed it, but it drooped pathetically and went off at the man's feet. Shards of concrete flew skywards, and the man hopped back. The confusion fled and he put up his hands.
Dustin and Robin tucked themselves behind Steve.
"Nice shooting," Dustin hissed in his ear.
"Shut up!" Steve hissed back.
"Where is he?" Robin walked towards the grey man. "My friend will hit your foot next time and then your knee, so you may as well tell us where he is."
Steve gulped and tried to get a firmer grip on the gun. It was heavy and his hands were sweating. He tried to look tough, but knew he probably looked terrified.
"He's in there," the man gestured towards the small door.
Robin glanced at Steve. It had been easier than expected.
"Okay, move." Steve was beginning to feel more in charge now. He was holding the gun. He could do this. "I said, move…" He waved the gun at the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dustin watching him. His eyes flicked towards him. "Don't say a word," he said.
Dustin grinned and put up his hands. "Hey, you're the one with the gun."
The man stumbled over the debris to the door. He punched in a number and went inside. Steve followed with Robin and Dustin close behind.
"Down the end," the man said.
"Show us," Steve prodded him in the back and then winced himself. He really didn't want to accidentally shoot him.
They walked along a narrow corridor to a door at the end. The man turned and looked at them.
"He's not in good shape," he warned.
"Open it," Steve said.
The man unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was heavy and he had to lean against it. Inside it was dark with a tiny slit of a window near the ceiling. The smell was bad. Sweat and urine and worse.
"Oh god," Dustin said and pulled his top up over his nose.
The man sitting unconscious in the middle of the room was barely recognisable. His beard was long, and his face was like a road map. Some of his wounds had scabbed over, but some were fresh as if he was being regularly beaten. He looked shrunken. Almost half the size of Hopper and he had fresh blood flowing from a wound on his leg and another on his chest.
"Is it Hopper?" Robin said.
"It's him." The man walked over to him and felt his pulse. "He's still alive," he said.
"That's the best news I've heard all day."
They spun around. Standing in the doorway was the woman. She had a deep gash on her head and blood pouring from her leg. Her pristine suit had been ripped beyond repair. And in her hand, she held a gun much more efficiently than Steve.
"No one's here." Jonathan looked over at his Mom. He saw the fear in her eyes. He knew she couldn't bear to lose Will again. "We'll find them, Mom."
"How about your old house, Mr Byers?"
Max was scared too. She had spent so much of her life alone, never feeling good enough. And then she had come to Hawkins and met Lucas and Dustin and Mike and El. And Will. It was like having a family and she would do anything to protect them. She couldn't lose them.
"That's not a bad idea," Jonathan said.
"But it's derelict now, isn't it?" Nancy wasn't sure.
"Even better," Lucas said. He shrugged. "Trust me." He looked at Max and smiled. "Max is right, we should try there."
"Let's go then." Jonathan led them all back to the car, but he had a terrible feeling that time was running out.
"El! El!" Mike had been calling her, but she wouldn't wake up. "Wake up, El!" He shook her.
He looked around. Will was standing there watching, his eyes wide in fear.
"Is she dead?" he asked. He didn't mean it to sound so cold, but she looked dead. She was so white and so still. He saw Mike was struggling not to cry. "Let me check," he said reaching down. He knew where to find a pulse. He closed his eyes as he put his fingers against her neck.
Please don't let her be dead he said to himself. He waited. He felt a soft thump and waited until he felt it again. Soft and weak, but it was a pulse. He smiled.
"Alive," he said.
Mike's tears rolled joyously down his cheeks.
"Why won't she wake up?"
Will shrugged. "Let's get her out to the car…" He trailed off.
"Then what?"
Will shrugged again.
Outside they heard a car pulling up.
"If we don't find those kids, we will be sent back to Russia and our lives will be made exceedingly uncomfortable."
The man driving the black sedan grimaced. He glanced across at his comrade. He wished he would stop talking. He preferred quiet. He preferred listening to Stravinsky. The power of classical music was able to move him far more than any human interaction.
"I'm glad one of them is dead. Sooka," he said. "Perhaps they'll manage to kill the other one and then we can be free."
Once more the driver glanced at his companion. What did he mean, he wondered? No man was free. They were being paid. Well. They had reason to believe both the Russians and the Americans wanted this 'weapon', whatever it was, and that only one child could access it. They had no loyalty to either side. And now the British were involved too.
Sergei Prokofiev gripped the steering wheel.
"Where now?" he asked.
Dmitri sighed in irritation. "An old derelict house," he said. "That is where we will find them and then this will all be over. And we can take our money and leave, eh?" He grinned at Sergei. "We shall celebrate tonight, my friend."
Dmitiri thought he may well have to kill Sergei before he celebrated.