I slash open Vixus’s throat. And as he slumps to the ground pulsing out his life, I know he is afraid because nothing waits for him on the other side. He gurgles. Whimpers before he dies. And I feel nothing.
Beyond the heartbeat of the room, alarm sirens begin to wail.
“Shit,” Holiday says. “I told you we didn’t have time.”
“We’re fine,” Trigg says.
We’re together in the elevator. Victra on the floor. Trigg, helping her into his black rain gear to give her a semblance of decency. My knuckles are white. Vixus’s blood trickles over the inscribed image of children playing in the tunnels. It drips over my parents and stains Eo’s hair red before I wipe it from the blade with my prisoner jumpsuit. I forgot how easy it is to take a life.
“Live for yourself, die alone,” Trigg says quietly. “You think with all those brains, they’d have sense enough not to be such assholes.” He looks over at me, brushing hair from flinty eyes. “Sorry to be a prick, sir. Y’know, if he was a friend…”
“Friend?” I shake my head. “He had no friends.”
I bend down to brush Victra’s hair from her face. She sleeps peacefully against the wall. Cheeks carved out from hunger. Lips thin and sad. There’s a dramatic beauty to her features even now. I wonder what they did to her. The poor woman, always so strong, so brash, but always to cover the kindness inside. I wonder if any is left.
“Are you prime?” Trigg asks. I don’t respond. “Was she your girl?”
“No,” I say. I touch the beard that’s grown on my face. I hate how it scratches and stinks. I wish Danto had shaved it off as well. “I’m not prime.”
I don’t feel hope. I don’t feel love.
Not as I look at what they did to Victra, to me.
It’s the hate that rides.
Hate too for what I’ve become. I feel Trigg’s eyes. Know he’s disappointed. He wanted the Reaper.
And I’m just a withered husk of a man. I run my fingers against my cage of ribs. So many slender little things. I promised these Grays too much. I promised everyone too much, especially Victra. She was true to me. What was I to her but another person who wanted to use her? Another person her mother trained her to be prepared against.
“You know what we need?” Trigg asks.
I look up at him intensely. “Justice?”
“A cold beer.”
A laugh explodes out of my mouth. Too loud. Scaring me.
“Shit,” Holiday murmurs, hands flying over the controls. “Shit. Shit. Shit…”
“What?” I ask.
We’re stuck between the 24th and 25th. She punches buttons but suddenly the lift jerks upward.
“They’ve overridden the controls. We’re not going to make it to the hangar. They’re redirecting us….” She lets out a long breath as she looks up at me. “To the first level. Shit. Shit. Shit. They’ll be waiting with lurchers, maybe Obsidians…maybe Golds.” She pauses. “They know you’re in here.”
I fight back the despair that rushes up from my belly. I won’t go back. Whatever happens. I’ll kill Victra, kill myself before I let them take us.
Trigg is hunched over his sister. “Can you hack the system?”
“When the hell do you think I learned how to do that?”
“I wish Ephraim was here. He could.”
“Well, I’m not Ephraim.”
“What about climbing out?”
“If you want to be a skid mark.”
“Guess that leaves one option. Eh?” He reaches into his pocket. “Plan C.”
“I hate Plan C.”
“Yeah, well. Time to embrace the suck, babydoll. Unpack the heathen.
“What’s Plan C?” I ask quietly.
“Escalation.” Trigg activates his comlink. Codes flash over his screen as he connects to a secure frequency. “Outrider to Wrathbone, do you register? Outrider to—”
“Wrathbone registers,” a ghostly voice echoes. “Request clearance code Echo. Over.”
Trigg references his datapad. “13439283. Over.”
“Code is green.”
“We need secondary extraction in five. Got the princess plus one at stage two.”
There’s a pause on the other line, the relief in the voice palpable even through the static. “Late notice.”
“Murder ain’t exactly punctual.”
“Be there in ten. Keep him alive.” The link goes dead.
“Goddamn amateurs,” Trigg mutters.
“Ten minutes,” Holiday repeats.
“We’ve been in worse shit.”
“When?” He doesn’t answer her. “Should have just gone to the goddamn hangar.”
“What can I do?” I ask, sensing their fear. “Can I help?”
“Don’t die,” Holiday says as she slides off her backpack. “Then this is all for shit.”
“You gotta drag your friend,” Trigg says as he starts picking tech off his body except his armor. He pulls two more antique weapons from his pack—two pistols to complement the high-powered gas ambi-rifle. He hands me a pistol. My hand shakes. I haven’t held a gunpowder weapon since I was sixteen training with the Sons. They’re vastly inefficient and heavy, and their recoil makes them wildly inaccurate.