Chapter 7

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It became clear almost immediately that this raid was going to be a complete failure.

Sam Harris watched the other mercs falling around him. The ghouls were fewer in number, but they had a better position and more cover. There was a reason they'd survived here for so long.

He found himself backing away form the fight. He hadn't wanted to be here in the first place, and he certainly wasn't going to die for Talon Company. And there would be no one to keep him from leaving if they were all dead.

As he neared the back corner of the plaza, one of the ghouls looked up at him, taking aim with her rifle. Before he could turn to run, she fired. He felt it hit his stomach, then his shoulder. It took a moment for him to feel it, so intense it was almost numbing. He managed to stumble around the corner before falling unconscious.

When he woke up, his entire torso throbbed with pressure and shooting pain. It was quiet. He opened his eyes. He was still in the place he'd fallen, just outside of the museum. Only a few minutes seemed to have passed. He could hear rasping voices around the corner, by the entrance. Breathing caused a sharp pain under his ribs. He tried to ignore it, and pushed himself up with one arm. When he moved his other arm, a shock went from his shoulder down to his fingers and back into his chest. He collapsed. He didn't have it in him to try again.

Less than a minute later, he heard footsteps coming near. They stopped next to him, and he looked up. The woman who'd shot him was looking down at him, the corners of her mouth turned sharply downward. When she saw him watching her, she cocked her head.

"Hey," she called to the others without moving her gaze. "This one's still alive." She looked him over, then knelt down next to him. "You're much too young. What are you doing here?" she asked softly.

Sam couldn't speak.

"You haven't got much left, have you?" she observed, as if he couldn't tell. He rolled his eyes, which made the woman laugh.

Another ghoul came up behind her. He looked at Sam with a raised eyebrow, pausing on the pool of blood that he could feel growing at his side. A lot of good that armor had done.

"He's gone," the new ghoul said.

"Not yet. And if he lives, he can talk to whoever runs the show there for us."

Sam drew another breath, roused by the suggestion that they might spare him. But he did not want to go back to Talon Company. He shook his head weakly.

"You don't like that idea?" the woman said. "It doesn't matter. We'll have plenty of time to talk about it later." She waved to someone behind her, and a taller ghoul appeared next to her. "Take him to the chop shop."

The larger one reached down and picked him up without speaking. Agony spiked through him as he was pulled off the ground, and he gasped involuntarily.

"Be careful," the woman chastised the one holding him, then looked down at Sam. "And you, don't complain. Things could be a lot worse for you right now." They began moving quickly toward the doors to the museum—the doors to Underworld. The pain, coupled with the hope and fear of what would happen once he was inside, was making Sam dizzy.

"This isn't a good idea, Willow," he heard the second ghoul say quietly. "It doesn't look like he's going to make it, and even if he does..."

"Take another look at him," the woman said, and her voice seemed far away. "I think some time with the glowing ones would do him well..."

Sam blacked out.