Chapter Forty-Six
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"DRIVE!"

Natasha's foot slammed the gas pedal, and the car leapt forward in screech of burning rubber; the momentum threw us all back in our seats as the sedan took off, and none too soon.

The rockets struck the road where we had been a few moments before — a flash of fire and heat that I felt through the broken windows.

I couldn't look ahead to where Natasha was driving, I was far too focused on the flying city still rising behind us, now clear of the trees in all its glory. I couldn't tell which way was the front or the back, but the base of it seemed more mechanical, built for function and defense. Cannons that looked miniscule from my position but must be huge up close; shield doors opening to reveal missiles stacked like egg cartons ready to launch.

Two more were fired in bright flares, and the best I could do was shout a warning to Natasha, who began to swerve along the winding road.

All around us, the trees still standing whipped back and forth in the wind. Lightning cracked and thunder rumbled, and sharp cold raindrops struck us through the broken glass. The faster Nat went, the more it hurt.

"Hang on!" Natasha called as we whipped around a hairpin turn and I had to grab Antonia before she nearly went flying out the window. Seatbelts hardly seemed to offer any safety at this point, when one after another missile made landfall, shaking the earth and threatening to knock the car off its wheels.

Looking back again, I thought we were making some distance on the flying city, now higher up in the sky. It definitely didn't seem to be moving as fast as us, incapable with its great weight and lack of aerodynamics with its columnar shape. But it sure as hell could reach us with its varied array of aerial assault. A thing like that probably had enough firepower for a small country.

No wonder the villagers here were terrified. One wrong word and Dreykov could obliterate them beneath his leviathan. Crush them like the hand of God flattening the earth.

More bursts of fire and shrapnel. A sideview mirror had gone missing when I wasn't paying attention, and the other disappeared just as I turned, swiped away by a fallen tree branch.

One unlucky traveler happened to be driving the opposite way when he came across this nightmare scenario. Why he didn't turn around when he saw the hulking black clouds, the extremely obvious shape of a flying vessel firing rockets — I'd never know. The other car was blasted off to the side of the road, landing upside down. It looked survivable, but we couldn't turn back around to check.

We had to keep going. No slowing down even for a moment. It seemed just possible we could outrace this thing.

But even if we were faster, I wondered, was it really an escape? That storm cloud had been on the horizon just this morning. It had to have already been heading towards the Dreykov mansion when we arrived; they knew we were coming. I tried not to lose focus and cast a suspicious glance at Antonia. When would she have had the time to alert her father? And how? We were careful not to allow her access to communication devices, and her items and clothing had always been tightly monitored.

No. He must've known where we were going to go. Maybe he was just waiting until we were in one location before deciding to kill us all in one fell swoop.

His own daughter included.

That was enough to tell me maybe Antonia didn't know what was going on. Eating raw meat besides.

"What the hell is that thing!" Yelena cried as another rocket barrage took out the road in front of them and Natasha had to swing wildly around the new crater. Chunks of tarmac rained down on the roof of the car, and a hot piece landed on my leg before I swiped it off.

"It must be his secret base!" Natasha called back. "The one we've been looking for!"

"Where he keeps his widows?" I tried to shout over the wind, but it seemed to suck the very air out of my mouth.

Yelena made a strangled sound. "That's where I've been this whole time?!" She whipped around in her seat, looking out the broken window. "That fucking thing?"

"We're all going to die," Antonia whispered, her body hunched and plastered against the back seat.

"We'll worry about that later!" Natasha said through gritted teeth, as she narrowly avoided a fallen tree from a stray explosion.

The road blistered and cracked with each new volley, sending the car bouncing and banging around like a bumper car as Natasha desperately tried to maintain control of the vehicle. There was nothing any of us could do but just hang on for dear life. At least in a car chase, we could shoot back at other cars. But there was no retaliating against this… thing.

I could only imagine how easy it was for the ship to follow us. They could see the road stretching out miles ahead where we could not; they knew exactly where we'd be going. I could already see the missiles shooting far ahead of us, destroying whatever road we may come across next.

Boxing us in.

And a u-turn would be dangerous. Aside from making us an easier target, I didn't want to think about driving under that thing again. Not when it hovered so close to the gound. Not when it would have plenty of time to pancake us like it did to Antonia's home.

Another explosion. A wave of heat and debris that burned my eyes. The road suddenly disappeared in front of us, and she yanked the wheel and sent us careening off the road.

Our voices raised in unison, jolted by the sudden bounce. Narrowly dodging tree trunks and flying off unseen ledges, the car barrelled downhill in a hectic pell-mell. I grabbed the seat in front of me to keep from being thrown forward, my head bashing against the ceiling of the car in a particularly bad jolt.

Above the canopy, the sky lit up with bursts of fire — but no more missiles landed nearby. They'd lost track of us.

For now.

My jaws clacked as we hit rock after root after rock, down and down, before coming to a screeching stop at a twenty foot drop into the Volga river.

"Everyone out!" Natasha called, and we scrambled out the blasted shell of the vehicle. The tree cover was thick here, not easy to spot from above; but the storm was still raging and I knew by the sound that the flying city would be on top of us in only a few minutes.

"Mia!" Natasha grabbed my arm, drawing my attention back to ground level. "Throw it into the water!"

I didn't even bother to ask why; I didn't care. I just did what I was told. The sedan was small, an older model, and easy to move when I had adrenaline coursing through my veins. With one powerful kick, I sent the whole vehicle tumbling over the edge. It hit the water with a great splash; it was already sinking even as the river current dragged it along, the open windows bringing it down faster. In moments, it was completely submerged.

We ducked back under the tree canopy, and Natasha led the way along the river's edge. I didn't know if she knew where she was going, but she seemed to be looking for something, keeping close to the river. I couldn't stop looking up at the sky. It was still dark and cloudy, thundering with sweeps of rain rattling through the leaves. The castle was still up there, that droning so loud it shook the ground, But it seemed to waver, this way then that. Searching.

I didn't want to hang out here forever. Hiding in the trees could work — unless Dreykov decided to start stomping around in a mad attempt to kill us by chance, or setting the entire forest on fire.

Along the river we went, a quarter of a mile we kept to a quick pace, jumping over roots and helping each other over ricks. We went down a steep embankment until we came up to a large metal culvert, its wide mouth opening out onto the river. Here Natasha finally stopped, peering around.

"Storm drains," Natasha panted, wet hair plastered to her face. "They trace all over, feeding into the river. Deep enough they can't follow."

I could only hope that she was right. I led the way while Nat took up the rear; I still had a working flashlight, but didn't turn it on until we were well within the metal tunnel; my eyes could see better in the dark anyways. Only when Natasha was sure they wouldn't be able to pick up the light did I finally take it out and flash the beam around.

The water level wasn't high — up to my shins in certain parts, but usually lower. It was summer, past the spring icemelt, and hopefully no sudden intense storms to drown us in anytime soon. The water was relatively clean, if stagnant. Not sewer, at least. We walked for what I could guess was about half a mile of underground tunnel before we came across a service station, long since abandoned. Just a catwalk with an ancient service panel, just long enough for the four of us to sit on and catch our breaths.

Barely a minute of rest, and Yelena found the target of her ire. While we were all still panting and dripping wet, she rounded on Antonia, demanding, "What the fuck was that back there?"

"What? The castle?" Antonia blinked in alarm.

"No, not that!" Even Yelena seemed to accept the bizarreness of the city. But I knew what she meant before she said it. "The meat! Who the hell eats raw meat like that?"

"I wasn't eating meat!" Antonia snapped back.

"Yes, you were," I said, in a decidedly more even tone than Yelena's. I held Antonia's gaze without faltering as she looked worriedly between us. "We both saw it. You called it muffins but it was raw organ meat."

"Disgusting!" Yelena spat. "And you led us right into a trap!"

"It wasn't a trap!" Antonia protested. "I didn't know it would show up. I didn't know it could do… that…" Her voice trailed weakly, and her face had drained of blood. I doubted there was any delusion that could hide the sight of your childhood home being obliterated beneath a flying city.

"We believe you," Natasha said, before Yelena could raise an argument. "About the castle, at least. Dreykov made an educated guess where we would go next once we had you. And he was right. That, of course, doesn't explain your behavior inside the house."

"It was in ruins," I told Antonia. Seeing the utter lack of recognition on Antonia's face, I paused and asked, "What did you see, Antonia?"

We all turned and looked at her, as Antonia's eyes, one dark and one pale, turned glassy with fear and uncertainty. She looked like she was about to cry, but no one reached out to comfort her. Afraid she'd be too upset to speak, I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. I wasn't good with the touchy-feely stuff, but I also felt like an asshole if I didn't try.

It seemed to be enough. Antonia took a shaky breath and began: "The house looked exactly the way that I left it. White walls, old gray stone, blue shingled roof. The rose bushes are in bloom this time of year. The marble floors are polished, they always draw back the curtains every morning to let in the sunlight. Fresh flowers in every room. Zelda is always in the kitchen baking or cooking something. The muffins are part of my morning breakfast. She bakes them special; I need special nutrients after my… after my accident. It's necessary, Father said."

Natasha hummed to herself; it seemed she accepted Antonia's answer, if not exactly believing her perception.

"The accident," Natasha said, "How bad was it?"

Antonia looked at the water beneath our dangling feet. "I had third-degree burns across fifty-two percent of my body. Most people don't survive that. Most children don't. Father did everything he could to keep me alive. I was kept on a strict diet for the longest time. It's more lax now, but I still can't stray too far from what I need."

"Do you remember what he did to you?" I asked, thinking back to those notes Natasha found. I didn't want to take them out now, not when we were surrounded by water.

But Antonia shook her head. "No. I was in an induced coma for six months. And I was still in a lot of pain when I woke up afterwards. I remember spending a lot of time in some sort of float tank. The water had special properties, they said. The doctors. Chemicals that would help my skin heal properly so I wouldn't be immuno-compromised for the rest of my life. I had to relearn how to do a lot of things. Eating. Walking. Doing stuff on my own."

She brought up a hand to touch the side of her face, where the skin had been seared many years ago. "It stopped hurting after a while."

"And the house," Natasha said. "Did it always look like that?"

"We only moved there after the accident," Antonia said. "Father said I would love it. And I did."

"And you never questioned what you saw?" I asked, wondering if there was a good way to say it. "Nothing ever smelt or tasted off to you?"

Antonia hesitated. "The doctors said my senses may have been altered after the accident. Things won't taste or smell the way they used to. That's what they said, at least. It was only for certain things, I thought. Not everything tastes different."

"Probably because they were lying to you," Yelena said brusquely, folding her arms in a sullen act.

I threw her an irritated look but didn't refute the idea. Antonia just frowned. "Why would they do that?"

"I don't know," Natasha replied. "But it's clear to us that you are seeing something different than the rest of us. Your father has altered your perception of the world in some way."

"Why?" Antonia asked, looking bereft.

"I don't know," Natasha admitted, shaking her head as she slipping under the railing and splashed down to the floor again. "We might have some answers, but I won't know until later. After we get out of here. Let's go."

Yelena was the first to follow her, and Antonia lagged behind. I made sure she got up anyway, and kept pace with her as we went along. She was quiet for a long time, and at length I felt compelled to break the silence with her. "What did you see when you saw the flying city?"

"Oh," Antonia frowned, as if she already didn't want to answer. "Well… It was beautiful. A shining city. Like… like what I imagine Olympus looks like. All white and gold. Gleaming in the sunlight."

"You didn't see the storm? The black clouds?"

"Well, yes, but…" Antonia pressed a hand to her temple, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't know. It didn't feel scary. Not until… not until it was coming down. Shooting at us. Is it just that, you think? Or is everything I'm seeing a lie?"

She looked so frightened, so disconcerted that I didn't know how to respond. I looked around and said, "Well, what do you see now?"

"Slimy metal walls. Black water. Kinda scary," she replied, then looked to me for confirmation.

"That's what I'm seeing, too." I was a little relieved at that.

"And the motel was… a little dingy. The wall paper was old. The train was nicer. Everything was clean. All the food tasted like it should. Except the muffins, I guess. That's all the same?" At my nod, she continued, frowning. "So it was just the house. The castle. The things my father controlled. Why? How?"

"I don't know," I said, and I knew Natasha wasn't lying when she had said the same. "But whatever he's doing is different from what we were expecting. Worse."

"Worse than what?" Antonia asked, frowning up at me.

I didn't know how to answer that. I didn't know the extent of Antonia's condition, whatever it was, whatever her father did to her. The antidote appeared to have had no effect at all on her; whatever her brainwashing consisted of, it was stronger or different than the chemical method of the Bliss that Yelena had gone through. Maybe Antonia's warped reality was only effective on places her father had designated, but that didn't mean he didn't put other stuff in her head, too.

I knew from personal experience never to take that sort of thing at first value.

The silence hung heavy in the air of my unspoken thoughts.

We caught up with the other two; Natasha had my flashlight now, and when we joined, she said, "I think its safe to say that Dreykov's flying city — Chernobog or Kitezh or whatever you want to call it — is probably where he's keeping all the widows he's taken."

"And the girls he's kidnapped," Yelena pointed out. She wiped damp hair out of her face. "I only know what it looks from the inside. I have no idea how we're going to get in."

"It's alright," Natasha said, the beam catching the faint smile on her lips. "I think I know someone who might."

Despite numerous questions, however, Natasha kept mum on just who exactly this person might be. We walked on for what felt like several more miles before the tunnel started to lighten, ambient light filtering in from a distance source. Another five minutes and at last we came upon another drainage point, a wide circle opening up onto greenery — bright blue sky overhead, not a cloud in sight.

Dreykov's fortress was nowhere to be seen. I couldn't hear the droning anymore.

"Wait here," Natasha said, coming to a stop a short distance from the storm drain. A copse of trees where the ground was dry and the air was warm. "If you see or hear anything, head back inside and stay there. I need to make a call."

She went off to make this call in private; I was happy to lay out and dry off a little, checking the contents of my backpack to make sure everything was where I left it. Nothing had gotten wet or ruined since the mad escape from the Dreykov house. I flipped through the pages of scientific notes, written in Russian, reading a bit here and there.

…Since initial submersion, Subject shows rapid improvement in health…

…Preliminary blood tests show that the compound from the water has been absorbed, possibly as deep as her bone marrow…

…Since waking, Subject has shown increased signs of suggestibility. A function of the compound in her system…?

…Synthesized extractions have shown to have a noticeable effect on lab animals tested…

…Dreykov wants to increase production. Attempts to implant bone marrow in other subjects failed. She is our only source…

There were diagrams of chemical compounds, old photos clipped to papers showing faded-color images of before/after a healing injury — what looked like a child's hand — vials of dark liquid. Highlighted elements of the brain. Descriptions and an image of the Dreykov house, from the early 1900s I thought, and greatly resembled the description Antonia had given us.

There was more there I hadn't yet parsed through, but I could see why Natasha thought this was important. Antonia's name wasn't written anywhere, but Dreykov's was, and there were enough images for me to know the subject was a young girl with many burns.

She'd called it an accident. Is that what Dreykov told her?

Still, there was enough here I thought worthy of bringing to attention. But just as I was about to alert her and Yelena to what I found, I heard a distant thwapping, the rotors of a helicopter. I looked up, but saw nothing, and soon the sound stopped. Not faded, necessarily, but as though the helicopter had landed nearby. The other two had heard it as well.

"Should we hide?" Antonia asked, perhaps wondering if this counted amongst the things we should fear.

"I don't know," Yelena frowned, holding up a hand, though she sat in a tense crouch, just in case. "Let's wait."

Her instincts were right on that one. Ten minutes later, Natasha returned, gesturing for us to follow without further word. We did, a little wary, as she led us out of the woods and into a wide field, where sat a helicopter that seemed about twenty-years old, with a paint job from the USSR. Nearby stood a man, about mid-forties with dark complexion and curly hair, looking a little exhausted and windswept.

"You've seemed to have adopted some strays," The man commented wryly. "Look at you, Romanov, being so generous."

"Very funny," she said, walking past him. "I wanted a jet, Mason."

"And you might have got one if you'd given me more time," the man, Mason, replied, hands in his pockets, all too casual about this situation. I had a feeling that, despite his casual appearance, he wasn't a civilian. "I can do fast, cheap, and good, but you can only pick two. And you picked fast and cheap."

Natashs drew back the bay door with a large heave, throwing a baffled look over her shoulder. "It wasn't cheap!"

"It was for me," Mason replied, as she reached in and yanked out a duffle bag and dropped it onto the heath. "Call it inflation."

"You're such an asshole."

"And you're one of my best customers," Mason said. "But not my only customer. Keep this up and Ross will be after me too. What the hell is with that cloud of dust ten miles out? I saw it coming in. Looks like a comet landed."

"Long story," Natasha said, frowning as Yelena dived for the bag and what food laid inside. "That stuff's five years old, Yelena."

Too late; she was already eating what appeared to be a very dry granola bar.

To Mason, Nat continued, "Just stay out of the air if you can help it. And if you see a really big thunderstorm — turn the other way."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Alrighty then."

Inside the bags, as Yelena pulled them out, wasn't just food, but gear. What appeared to be white jumpsuits, not unlike what Natasha wore as the Black Widow. Mason said, "That's all I could find. Sorry, I couldn't find anything extra large."

Seeing my look, Natasha said, "It's alright, I've got something else for you."

"What else do I need?" I asked, still at a loss for the plan here. Even Yelena looked doubtful, as she studied the jumpsuits, the gauntlets and other weapons inside. It was clearly Widow gear, and I wasn't surprised that Natasha wouldn't keep anything in my size around. Not that I needed it.

"You're our point woman," Natasha said, and after blowing an ironic kiss at Mason for appreciation, climbed into the old helicopter. She continued, "Your job is to look as scary as possible."

Yelena stood up, bag in one hand. Looking me up and down, she said, "Well, you're already halfway there."

"Am I going, too?" Antonia asked, approaching the helicopter warily. "I don't know how much help I can be."

"You're sitting in the back," Natasha told her, peeking out to help Yelena inside. It was a big leap from the door to the ground. "Out of the way. And alive."

Antonia looked around her, at the surrounding field, the trees and the mountains beyond. There was nothing here but wide open wilderness for miles. Great place to hide from your father's flying death machine, but not so much if you actually wanted to survive. Not for a girl who's lived in the same house her entire life.

"I guess it's better than staying," She finally said, and took Natasha's offered hand. "There's nothing left for me here, anyways."