The piercing pitch screaming through the implanted radio forces Edward to double-over as he futilely covers his ears with both hands. The noise drills from the radio through his skull, the volume blinding him in pain. He can't hear, he only feels, the cries and groans coming from deep in his throat. Disoriented, he falls against the wall, his weapon slamming hard on the floor.
A deafening pop and, just as suddenly as the noise began, it ceases. Tears blur his vision, the echo of the sound still vibrating in his mind. He just makes out the shape of Jacob ahead of him in the now dark hallway. The soldier's machine gun lays askew beside him as he rolls his head tightly between his biceps, his knees and forearms flat on the bare floor.
"Ah," Jacob cries, his voice distant and broken through the ring in Edward's ears, "Fuck. What was that?"
"I don't know," Edward's own voice sounds alien to him. He forces himself to his feet, the action initiating a slow-down of his mind's raucous twirl.
They're at the exit of the underground tunnel, just below building D-24. The dusty fluorescent lights that guided their progress are gone, casting them in near pitch shadow. With a nervous hand, he activates his radio. It crackles briefly at the touch before going silent. He watches Jacob.
"Can you hear me?"
"Yeah," Jacob says, his voice appearing in Edward's ear with the distortion of a blown speaker.
Turning his lip at the epiphany about their communications, he sighs. "Emmett, come in."
Silence.
"Emmett." The ARMS strapped to Edward's body suddenly feels uncomfortable.
"He can't die," Jacob says, as if he only half-believes it.
"Agent Vejo, come in. Over." Edward's volume grows. Jacob's point does nothing to calm him. The thump of his heartbeat is the only answer in the lingering quiet.
"What'd we do?" Jacob's wide eyes glint like stars in the darkness as he stands ready.
"Let's get upstairs," Edward orders quickly, flicking on the flashlight mounted below the muzzle of his rifle. The yellow circle guides them down the remainder of the hall, their hurried footsteps echoing heavily around them. They enter D-24 into a stairwell, and run quickly to the third level.
With his back just touching Edward, Jacob keeps his rifle aimed the nearby corridor providing cover. A large window, reaching from Edward's waist to the ceiling, opens south, the imposing shape of the cooling tower centered in the frame. The rain is lighter now, the night slightly brighter, as the moon begins to sneak through the gradually dissipating clouds. Everything has a wet, silvery sheen in the light; the pavement, the grass, the storage facilities in the far distance, the concrete curve of the tower. It's a abandoned world coated in silver.
"Bella," Edward says, his eyes trained on the top of the tower, "You there?" He pans the rifle back and forth, the light reflecting off the glass in shifting, unnatural shadows.
High above, Bella grimaces at the broken volume of the team leader's voice in the radio. The vicious squelching through the radio still shakes in her head like a migraine that won't end. She shifts her body, the rough surface under thin pools of water pressing painfully against her palms. She makes out the moving light through the window, each pass giving a momentarily glimpse of Edward. She turns her wings above her, creating the flesh-colored reflector in the direction of D-24, and signals back with the rhythmic flash of her red light.
"Got you," Edward says. A wave of comfort flows from his chest to his feet at the sight of her and he quickly lowers his rifle in relief. "Go to D-23. Find Emmett."
A single quick press of her flashlight is the only acknowledgement she gives before she's airborne. The slowing rain beats against her wings, cooling her skin with a syncopated drumming.
A breeze, like an exhale of the night itself, hits her in the face. The natural, crisp scent of it is tainted with the thick, hard sweetness of burned diesel. The smell makes her divert course, away from D-23 and towards the source, towards D-22.
A billowing blackness rises from behind the building, fading in the sky. She descends, swooping through the smoke in a flash of darkness. The generator, burned and blown, throws out the heavy fumes with the crackle of broken electronics and click of cooling metal.
Something shorted it, Bella thinks. Turning as she ascends, she heads back to D-23. Emmett mentioned a flooded tunnel.
Her monstrous brow furrowed in thought, she is soon above the building. From the sky, it's a long rectangle with a cylinder on the end, roughly half the height of the cooling tower. Open at the top, a cross of massive steel girders seem to glow in the moonlight above the dark cavity. The image doesn't surprise her; the sudden sense of dread when seeing it from above does.
Rifle in hand she lands at a run, her momentum never breaking as her taloned feet grip against the moist grass circling the building. Her wings curl above and behind her like blades, making the wind whistle as it cuts through the gap above her hand. Sprinting, the wet chill on her feet, the steady bounce of her tactical vest and her weapon, fills her with adrenaline. Steam surrounds her face with each heavy, methodical breath.
Her steps slow only when she reaches the door to D-23. The moldy overhang shelters hundreds of cobwebs that cling to Bella's wings as they brush against them. The old metal of the door hinges announce her arrival, screeching through the hall as she steps inside.
The bend of her wings reach just below the drop-tile ceiling in the lightless hall. The shape of her body fills the narrow space, unearthly as she cautiously moves in the direction of the underground tunnel. The stock of her rifle is hard in her crevice of her shoulder, its grip heavy in her hand.
Walking down the hall, her mind revs. Utlunta. Anada. A wampus. The wampus, Vicky was it? doesn't seem to know what's going on. Who is her cousin? Is her cousin a wampus too? No, Clear Water would have mentioned two wampuses. What does she have to do with anything?
Stop, she thinks to herself. Her eyes squeeze together. Think the other way. The utlunta. Skin made of stone. Spearfinger. Shapeshifter. Shapeshifter. Is the wampus wrong? Did the utlunta take the form of Vicky's cousin? And why are the anadas here?
"Em," she absently says aloud. The shredded sound of her voice and the pained pressure of fangs against her lips sends a momentary pang of self-consciousness through her.
The building is unnervingly still. Her large silhouette nears the stairwell heading to the underground tunnel. The smokey rot of burned flesh seeps from the opening, and her deformed nostrils flare. She knows the reek.
She peers down the stairs, which disappear halfway down into the shimmer of water. There's something there, floating a top the darkness. The small body, face-down in the liquid, looks like a toy. The waving fan of hair surrounds its head in a black halo.
She swallows hard. Her heart drums heavily in her chest and her head swims. Small ripples glisten along the surface as she takes a step closer, her foot lowering in to the warm water. It causes the lifeless body to rise and fall like driftwood.
The dead yunwi's skin is slimy and cold against her fingertips as she reaches out and nudges it closer. Her mouth drops open in anticipating fear as she wraps her hand around its small form and withdraws it from the water.
Her breath escapes her body as the corpse plops back in to the water. The landing on the steps is hard against her bone as sits, her legs giving out at the sight of Clear Water's dull, blank visage staring back at her. Heaving breaths wrack her. Her blood runs hot as her wide eyes remain on the body, wet strains of hair clinging to his whiten skin. The water stills under his body, and his tiny eyes gaze in to the nothing above. Her talons dig at the concrete below the water, a flush of anger overwhelming the sadness.
She doesn't know how long she stares, nor does she care. Her mind goes blank. Anything she could or would say doesn't matter. She blocks out the assault of questions in her mind and focuses only on him.
It's a while before she realizes her foot is still submerged. She quickly withdraws, causing Clear Water to move with the ripples once more. In helplessness, she swallows as she slides further away, back up the stares and in to the hall. The lingering unease of the anadas builds, from the dampness of her leg, up through her body. Distancing herself, Clear Water disappears behind the edge of the stairs, abandoned to the darkness and shadows.
Clear Water is dead, she finally thinks. A momentary surge of loss takes her and she gasps. The sound is loud, reverberating off the cinder around her. It's echo reminds her of where she is, where her team is. The mission.
Forcing herself to her feet, her muscles tremble with every movement. The sniper rifle is heavier. The hallway longer.
Mission, she tells herself. Mission mission. Find Emmett. Find Emmett. Clear Wat-Mission. Edward. Edward.
For Edward.
The thought of her team leader is a boon, and slows the emotions still attempting to unnerve her. Averting her eyes from the flooding below, Clear Water's body a blurred ghost in her periphery, she ascends the stairs.
A loud click jerks her attention up, away from Clear Water and the pain needling within her chest. Her eyes narrow, darkening as she seethes.
She reaches into a pouch, the small, spherical motion flare reassuring in her hand. Pursing her gnarled lips, she moves midway up the stairs. Her heavy talons tap lightly against the dusty tile with every step.
The second floor hall is black and empty, the window at the opposite end a small slate square. With her eyes peering just over the ledge into the stairwell, she activates the motion flare in her hands as her rifle hangs from her neck. Gently, she rolls the device along the floor. It stops a quarter of the way down the hall, the quiet rumble of its roll ceasing.
Again gripping her weapon, she squats, the small of her back resting comfortably against the wall. Her wings fold over her, trapping her body heat in a tent of humidity as she closes her eyes. The tip of her prehensile tongue rolls against the inside of her fangs in anxious waiting.
Wait. Mission.
The dark of her eyelids fades to a vision of a forest. Bright. Sunny. A chorus of birds surrounds her as vibrant leaves of yellow and orange and red cascade from above. Multiple yunwis climb freely along the trunks. They smile and bound, freely at play. Like before human civilization sent them in to hiding. Amongst them, Clear Water is the loudest. With glistening eyes, he looks directly at Bella and is happy.
A sudden volley of gunfire and chilly darkness returns.. Every muscle seizes as her eyes shoot forward under the protection of her cocoon made of wings. The sound of the rolling motion flare plays in her mind. It keeps her waiting, away from the noise and blinding herself.
Uncountable shots go off, the sound of each blast ricocheting off the walls hundreds of times over. An anxious bounce, off-time with the noise surrounding her, travels through her body as her muscles prepare.
Even through the skin of her wings, the flash of the motion flare is blinding, erasing all shadows for a day-bright moment. She leaps up, bounding over the final steps and on to the second floor. The gunfire stops, replaced with a loud stream of profanities in a familiar voice.
Midway down the hall, Emmett bends over as he furiously rubs his eyes, holding his rifle in one hand. He hears a woosh over his cursing, coming from the steps down the hall. He glances up and, through tears and the ghostly strobe of stars that won't fade, blurredly makes out the shape of... something.
Blind and angry, his rifle falls to the floor as he sprints toward the shape. He deftly withdrawals his sword as he runs, its edge flashing with his movement. His seething breath, his heavy steps block all other noise as he attacks.
Surprised and calm, Bella immediately raises her rifle and squeezes the trigger. The blast encompasses them in deafening reverberations as the .50 caliber round spins through the muscle and sinew of Emmett's shoulder and shatters the window at the far end of the hall. The power of the shot from close range sends him backward, landing flat on his back.
"Fuck," he shouts as the sword clatters beside him.
Bella leaps forward after he falls, putting her full weight down as her elongated foot presses across his neck. With flailing strikes he punches her leg. His knuckles press deep in to her skin. She feels the bruises form.
As her patience wears to Emmett's blind strikes, she gives her wings a solid thrust. The gust of wind stops Emmett cold as dust, dirt and trash rush away from them with her rise skyward. Her back grazes the ceiling as she curls her body before crashing back down. With a solid thud, her knee slams into his chest.
As the oxygen leaves his body from the impact, he smiles.
"Hi, Bella."