Chapter 10: Fuel Showdown
The Fuel Building was dark and the air heavy with moisture, smelling vaguely of chlorine and other chemicals. Just as she had expected. If the lights had already been turned on, it would mean someone else was in the building. And that would have fucked up everything.
"What is this?" Illya snarled, accusingly. "If this is trap, you won't—."
"No trap," she quickly interrupted, turning for the panel on the wall to switch on the lights. "The Fuel Building isn't manned during normal operation. It's a quiet route to get out to the yard – not the most direct, but less chance of getting caught." A low buzzing, humming noise sounded high above their heads as the heavy industrial light fixtures kicked on. Slowly, the room illuminated in pale purple light as the powerful bulbs warmed up, revealing a high-ceilinged bay. The dark blue water of the fuel pool gleamed in the low light, surrounded by the open space of the fuel deck on the lower level below them. The midlevel corridor on which they stood overlooked the deck and ran along the outside of a long concrete walled room to a platform and a set of stairs. The upper level was the HVAC rooms and the catwalks to access the overhead crane.
She brushed past Illya and started down the corridor towards the stairs at the opposite end. The bay continued to get brighter as the lights gained strength, the water in the pool fading from a deep navy to a luminous turquoise. She could just make out the oblong shadows of the reactor fuel assemblies resting at the bottom of the pool.
"It's too hot in here." She turned over her shoulder at Illya's complaint, looking back at him as they kept walking.
"This is normal," she licked her lips, the words coming as a reaction from nerves. "If the ventilation systems weren't working, it would be a veritable sauna in here. Why, without proper heat transfer, the water in that pool will boil in about 75 hours, give or take, depending how recently the fuel was loaded."
"Enough with this science," he growled, stepping up closer to her, raising a strong hand to her shoulder, pushing her forward to stumble a step, "we need to get down there and focus getting out."
"The only set of stairs on this level is at the end of this platform." She loosely pointed to the door they were rapidly approaching. "But to go down, we have to go up." She stopped short as a strong grasp wrenched her arm, twisting her around and pulling her back.
"I warned you once about playing games." She gasped in pain as her left arm was forced back to an unnatural angle, some muscle or tendon threating to give. "But if you insist, you don't need your left arm to walk." She choked off a cry, pain mixing with fear as he twisted her arm again, emphasizing his point.
"It's – it's not a game," she defended, staring him down determinedly. She could do this. "The stairs on this level only lead to the upper level. From the upper level, at the other end, there's a staircase that leads down to the fuel deck." Anger surged in Illya's eyes, the mask of calm patience falling from his face.
"You're lying! This makes no sense."
"It makes perfect sense for event isolation theory. I'd explain it further, but you already said enough science. I am following your rules, dammit! Now, let me go so we can get out of here. It won't be long now before the security guard reaches the vault." He released her arm in a viscous motion, forcing the breath from her as it jerked her body forward.
"Then, we go. Now, and fast." Shaking, blood pounding in her ears, she focused on the door in front of her. Surely, the security force would be here by now. How had no one stopped them yet? She took to the stairs with Illya on her heels, her breath coming in shallow, anxious draws. This was starting to cut it too close.
"Stop. Shh." Illya stopped suddenly, reaching out to grab her arm again as she stilled her movements. The low humming of the light fixtures echoed in the concrete space, the soft sound of water gently moving. The fuel pool pumps must have turned on. "This is all normal…?"
"I don't hear anything else," she shook her head, listening again for anything unusual, a shred of hope. But she couldn't make out anything beyond the faint background noise. "Just the lights, the fuel pool water circulating…did you heard something?"
"Metal clicking…like the click of a latch, or handle." Her heart almost leapt at the implication. Maybe he had heard something? Over her own anxiety and footsteps on the stairs, it's possible she missed it. In fact, she really hoped she had missing something and they were no longer alone.
"I don't think so," she said at last. "If there was someone else in this building, we would know." She hoped she was wrong. God, please let her be wrong.
"Move now. Quietly." His voice had gone deadly calm, racing a chill down her spine. He reached for the guard's stolen gun, disengaging the safety with a soft click as they continued up the stairs. Her stomach sank, her pulse hammering at the implication as they rounded the landing and continued up towards the upper level catwalk entrance.
Eerie silence, accompanied by the steady, almost soothing background noise followed them the rest of the way up. Her stomach dropped as they emerged onto the catwalk, looking down through the grating at the midlevel corridor and the fuel deck below that. They were really high up. Their footfalls against the metal grating were impossible to muffle, but slowly they started to work their way across the network of catwalks to the staircase in the opposite corner of the building.
But then she heard it and her heart leapt in her chest. Measured footfalls. The scraping contact of metal on metal. The dragging of something heavy as it's released slowly, with the intent of being quiet. A door opening or closing. A guttural curse in Ukrainian left Illya as he stepped closer to her.
"What have you done, bitch? Lead them right to us!" He brought the gun up between them, her eyes widening to fix on the black metal. "You continue to play games – well, here's my own game. They shoot me, I shoot you." A startled cry left her as he wrenched her to him, pulling her backside tight against his chest, the cold metal of the gun brushing her temple.
"I don't see anyone – I didn't tell anyone!" She pleaded. "I told you a guard would check the vault – you can't blame me for that."
"Shut up." He pressed the gun tighter against her head, watching her bite her lip, trying to move away from it. "No, no…you're not moving from this until we are safe outside the gate. Come on, slow steps." Spurred by fear and adrenaline, she moved with him in a shuffle, walking backwards as they continued out. They were both watching the stairwell and the door, waiting. Her stomach tightened in anticipation to see a shadow moving up the stairs. Someone else was here. She fought down a nervous swallow, the gun tight against her temple, both her and Illya's gazes transfixed.
The door started to open and her knees threatened to give out at the sight that greeted her. Tears spilled unbidden from her eyes to see Lucas standing there, so calm, so sure, the light from overhead reflecting off the metal of his own gun pointed right at them.
"Let her go – you've threatened my life since the beginning. Not hers." His steady voice, cold and dangerous, echoed in the otherwise still bay.
"You have gun on us, I have gun on her...," she felt Illya shrug as she stayed still, trapped by him using her a shield, "we are matched, so I don't think so. I think she stays with me until I leave. And who knows? Maybe I'll just keep her. Find out what you've been enjoying." Lucas' gaze darkened as a lewd smile crossed Illya's face. "She's strong and a bad girl for breaking the rules like this. Punishment might be just what she needs." She shuddered in his grasp, disgusted and trying to hide away from the gun forced back to her temple. "That is, if she lives long enough."
"She'll live," Lucas countered, taking slow, cautious steps onto the nearest catwalk, "because if she doesn't, you sure as hell won't." Illya laughed at that, the vibrations rumbling against her back.
More scraping metal sounds echoed in the space, the harsh bright of daylight breaking the unnatural glow of the overheard lighting as the yard door on the fuel deck opened. A string of grumbled Ukrainian sounded in her ear as she struggled to see around Illya and through the grating. A security team, six, maybe seven strong had swarmed on the fuel deck, assault rifles all trained up at the them. She forced a nervous swallow as another anxious tear streamed down her cheek. How was she ever going to get out of this?
"Hold your position." Lucas called down, his deep, commanding voice filling out the cavernous space. "He has Gordon – hold until she's clear." Illya nodded with a slightly amused chuckle as he took another step back, dragging her with him.
"Yes, yes…so sentimental for your lady. You and those men could take me out right here, right now, but you won't – and all because you value the life of this woman so much."
"Her life should have never been something for you to gamble with."
"True. This is true. But then, matters of the heart don't make sense." Illya's hand moved so fast, a scream tearing from her lips. His gun fired as he moved, pinging and clanging metal ringing in her ears as he dragged her around with him and all too late, she realized what he had done. He had fired at the lock on the catwalk safety gate, which now swung open, leaving no barrier between the catwalk and the fuel pool, a good 10 meters below. In the struggle, she felt Illya's hand grasp her neck tight, forcing her head down, bending her body over to stare down at the glowing blue water below. Her hands instantly scrambled for purchase on the surrounding railing, pushing back against his grasp that threatened to propel her forward. This was it. This was how she was going die.
X
"Now you see," Illya started again, his tone smug and knowing, still shielding himself behind her. "Now you see what I will do?"
Lucas didn't lower his gun, remaining as he was, watching the situation unfold. With most of Illya's body still shielded behind hers, any attempt to shoot him now would likely end up in her taking a dive. But that might be a fair compromise. At least, she would be free of Illya and likely to live. Lucas had a good line of sight on the man's shoulder, if the man just shifted a little – even to redistribute his weight – it would be enough for Lucas to get off a good shot. Patience. That's what this was now.
"Yes, I see." He answered at length, waiting. Watching.
"Good," a victorious smirk flashed across Illya's face, "then go back down those stairs you come up. Tell those men on the deck to stand down – or better yet," he tightened his grip on her neck, a pained, startled gap sounding from her as her toes hung out over the edge, "tell them I want them as my escorts out."
There it was – just enough of a target opened up above the man's heart. It was simple enough for Lucas to pull the trigger, the shot deafening. Blood flew from the man's chest on the impact, a harsh, agonized cry tearing from his throat. The shot threw him off balance and he staggered forward, ramming into Celia, the hand at her neck tightening in a forward driving, downwards direction. In horrifyingly slow motion, Lucas could do nothing but watch as the man's weight crumpled onto Celia, propelling them both over the edge of the catwalk and falling through the air. He sprinted down the catwalk at her cry of sheer terror even though it was far too late to pull her back.
He reached the middle of the catwalk only to see them both hit, sending a fantastic spray of blue, radioactive water into the air as they disappeared beneath the surface.