Elei's Chronicles (Books 1-3) (32 page)

Oh, he wished.

He glanced right and left at the crumpling buildings. The northern gate of the hospital loomed on his left — a metal door with a watchtower where a Gultur stood guard. Thank the gods he didn’t have to pass through there, and — lightning pain through his muscles, his bones, his head, his legs —
just hold on, hold on
. He spotted the graffiti and the trash container Jek had shown him and forced his legs to carry him there.

Darting glances around, he stumbled behind the container and dropped to his knees, his vision narrowing to a tunnel. He examined the wall with his fingertips. Where was the passage? His felt along the uneven surface, fingers slipping on slimy mold and lichen, and the cold intensified, clearing his head.

Nothing.

Restraining himself from putting a fist through the wall, he moved to his right, fingertips brushing over the graffiti, searching, seeking the opening. A meow jolted him and he cursed as a cat appeared in his line of sight, purring and trying to look cuddly.

Piss off.

More small forms appeared, meowing and rubbing themselves on the trash container — arched backs, fluffy tails and perked ears.

And take your friends with you.

His blood rushing in his ears, he worked on and ignored the stupid animals. Time was running out. He swiped his hand farther.

His fingers snagged on something. He tugged. It moved.

A piece of concrete detached itself from the wall and fell out, Elei’s desperate lunge barely saving it from clanking thunderously to the street. Heart in his throat, he held onto the concrete chunk and eyed the opening.

How in the hells would he fit through that? The girl, what was her name —
Shona
— she was much smaller than him.
Shit
.

He put down the concrete chunk and leaned forward, trying to see if his shoulders fit. Deciding they would, he unslung the two machine guns and passed them through first, then followed with his head, glancing right and left, checking the field was clear.

Grunting, he shoved himself through the hole, scraping shoulders and arms on the jagged edges and tumbling into the hospital yard. He hoped the distraction of the street kids would work, because he had to cross that yard under cover of darkness, a darkness any Gultur could see through.

So I’m in danger
, he thought, his mouth sour with fear.
Will you help me now,
Rex?

One machine gun on the ready, the other slung over one shoulder, he rose, a motion at a time, in case Rex decided to bring him down again; though what good that would do the parasite he had no clue. A sharp pain went through his head and he braced for more, but it faded, leaving a throb behind he was well familiar with.

The yard lit up in colors; bright, neon hues that pulsed. The Gultur in her watchtower glowed a lichen orange, and more orange forms were visible at the hospital door and behind some of the windows. Blue flashes showed him guns — metal, cold — and a multitude of sounds battered his ears — a bird chirping, an aircar passing outside, a helicopter in the distance.

The info-pole stood in the center of the parking lot. That was a good twenty feet he’d have to cover in one go and he glanced again up at the watchtower, his stomach in a knot. He tensed, ready to sprint across the lot, and Albi’s voice echoed in his head, wishing him luck.

With a deep breath, he set off. He ran for Kalaes, for Hera, for the street kids, for Albi and Pelia. For himself. Everything blurred, his boots hitting the concrete like gunshots inside his head, his heart keeping double rhythm.

Faster. Go faster
.

Muscles clenched and released in his legs, his wounded thigh stinging, the stitch in his side a twisting knife, and sweat dribbled into his eyes, blinding him. The info-pole was now so near he could see the concave screen.

Almost there
.

His leg buckled and he went sprawling, hitting the concrete hard. His breath hissed through his teeth. He pushed himself up, back on his feet, his head ringing. He scooped up the gun and limped on as fast as he could and — he heard very clearly the click of a gun loading from the direction of the gate.

Elei threw himself to the side and rolled, tasting dirt, glad he hadn’t unlatched the safety of his gun. A bullet hit the ground where his head had been a moment before. Another click and he rolled again, cursing as more bullets slammed against concrete and ricocheted, one zipping by his ear.

Another shot and he scrabbled back, then heard glass breaking. The Gultur in the watchtower toppled out of the window and dropped to the ground with a dull thump.

Jek
. Jek had shot her. The damn kid had saved Elei’s life.

Elei pushed himself to his feet, blinking hard to clear his eyes, and stumbled to the info-pole. Waves of cold and hot went through him, and his pulse thundered in his throat. Running steps sounded from the hospital entrance, converging on him.

He needed to reach the entrance, no matter what.

Clutching his gun, he left the cover of the info-pole and ran in a crooked lope, ignoring the shards of pain grinding in his thigh. To his left, orange silhouettes blossomed in the dark, guns already firing — and he was rolling and finding his feet, clicking off the safety and pressing the trigger.

Two of them dropped, twitching, to the ground. Blood spread in a black pool around the bodies, and the other pursuers hesitated. His path to the door was still blocked, and the Gultur raised their guns again. More steps approached from inside the hospital. Overhead, the hum of a helicopter was nearing. He inched back, toward the wall of the hospital, hoping to hide in its shadow.

I’m screwed.

A meow sounded behind him and he knew the stupid cats had followed him inside. He tried to focus, decide what to do.
Decide or die
. He would go down fighting, at least.

Then his ear caught the beeping of a communicator, and he dared to hope. As he took another step back, his back melding with the wall, he clearly heard a Gultur whisper, “On the other side? What do you mean, many? How many? Sobek’s balls.”

And he grinned savagely, because the kids hadn’t let him down.

“What about this one?” one of the Gultur muttered, motioning with her longgun toward him.

“We’ll take care of him. Four of us should be enough. You go, help the others.”

With relief, Elei watched the Gultur leave and enter the building, leaving behind the indicated four.

“Bring the dogs,” another one said, and Elei’s elation evaporated. He slumped against the wall.

Shit.

He pressed himself farther back, eyeing the door only thirty feet away, but it might have been on the moon. If he threw a grenade, he might kill the Gultur, but he’d probably get caught in the blast. If he threw it farther away, it’d only serve to give away his position.

Three bright red shapes appeared at the hospital door, moving on four legs. Police dogs, so tall they almost reached his shoulders, and just as wide as him. A scent of deep musk and unwashed fur tickled Elei’s nose and their growl raised his own hackles. He took a deep breath and aimed down the barrel of his gun, ready to shoot as soon as they moved.

An electric current went through his body, raising goose bumps. A spot beneath his ears burned, then his wrists and every pulse point on his body started to itch and ache. Frowning, he kept his eyes on the target, his finger on the trigger.

The dogs hesitated at the entrance of the building, growling and sniffing, and Elei’s finger caressed the trigger, aiming at the largest of the three that drooled a puddle on the floor. That sucker, at least, was going down with him.

The dog raised its muzzle and whined, a plaintive sound that made Elei wince. The Gultur guards’ aim wavered.

“The dogs refuse to attack,” a blond Gultur said, her voice muffled behind the visor. “I thought it was a man, but could it be one of us instead?”

“Come out with your hands in the air!” called another.

Elei cowered in the shadow, panting.
Rex
. Had it changed Elei’s scent to imitate that of the enemy? Despite himself, Elei was impressed.

“It cannot be.” The Gultur stepped forward. “Hera would not be so stupid as to show up here.”

“It does not have to be Hera. Maybe more Gultur have joined the rebels,” another said.

The itching in his wrists was fading, and the dogs stirred. Breath cut short, Elei wiped the sweat from his face, pouring in spite of the cold, and knew that this time he had to shoot. His heart lurched inside his ribcage like an animal trying to escape.

Then dizziness hit him and his knees buckled. He sank heavily against the wall and slid down, barely feeling his hands on the machine gun.

“Why can’t I see him?” The other Gultur raised her visor. “Where is he?”

Blackness tried to eat at his vision and he kept blinking his eyes to clear them.
What’s happening to me?

“I get no heat signature,” he heard a Gultur say, her voice echoing as if from a great distance. “Like he simply vanished. We need a torch here.”

The dogs were growling again, the sounds like splinters inside Elei’s skull, and they shifted, their claws scraping on the floor. Why couldn’t the heat-sensitive vision of the Gultur pick him up? Dammit, everything was fading and his head was so heavy it bowed forward until his chin bumped against his chest.

No
. He forced his gaze up, wisps of darkness swirling across his eyes, and saw small silhouettes dancing on four legs. He couldn’t be seeing...

Cats?

A pack of alley cats in all colors, hissing, their backs arched. A snort escaped his lips and he tightened his hold on the gun. Hallucinations were surely a bad sign for his mental state.

Shouts, growls, barking. More hissing. The cats looked real. They leaped
en masse
on top of the Gultur and the dogs, a scratching and biting swarm, tails swishing, ears flattened against their heads. A gun went off, and a bullet tore into the wall above Elei’s head.

I’ll be damned
. Using the machine gun as a crutch, he pushed himself upright, biting back a groan. Wondering if he was still hallucinating, he made his slow, staggering way along the wall toward the hospital entrance. He tuned out the hissing cats, the screams, the barks, the shots fired randomly, ducking once to avoid a bullet —
still hallucinating?
— and focused on his feet which felt oddly cold and numb, as if they weren’t his, as if he watched them move from a great height.

No heat signature
. Elei stilled, fingers clenching hard around the grip of the gun. Had Rex lowered his body temperature so much he was invisible to the eyes of the Gultur?

No wonder he felt like shit.

A chuckle tried to make its way past his lips but he shoved it back down ruthlessly. He still had to enter the building, find Kalaes, set him free and get him out — alive. As if there was a chance in all five hells he’d make it.

He reached the double glass door and peeked around it into the hospital. A wide hallway stretched ahead, empty of life signals. The sharp smell of disinfectant hung on the air, mingling with the characteristic scent of Regina — ripe fruit and
como
flowers — but also that of dogs and humans, laced with a faint whiff of blood.

His pulse accelerated.
I can’t do this
. The thought hit him out of nowhere, and he squashed it like a bug.
I can. I can do this
.  

Raising the machine gun, he stepped inside, his stomach knotting. No steps running toward him, no whiff of burnt dakron from a gun. Releasing a pent-up breath, he slid along the smooth wall as fast as he dared, the squeak of his boots on the linoleum floor far too loud for his liking. He spotted the stairwell and hastened that way.

The grenades hanging from his belt grated on the doorframe as he slid into the oily darkness, toward a golden ray of light spiraling down from the second floor. Taking a deep breath — scent of Gultur and humans, antiseptic, fresh paint, blood, above all blood — he raised his gun and started up the stairs.

Chapter
Five

F
acing
the eastern wing of the hospital, Hera huddled behind a parked aircar. Her palms were clammy on her longgun and the multitude of scents made her head spin. There was the Gultur smell, of course, though she was so in tune with it she barely noticed, and the musk of the
molosse
dogs. There was also the metallic tang of blood and the bitterness of burnt dakron. Shouts reverberated on the street around the corner, and a shot rang, the twang and then smash of the ricocheting bullet making Hera wince.

What in Sobek’s name was going on?

More shouts on the southern side, and a helicopter’s whine approaching from the west, its headlights cutting white cylinders into the night. They were chasing someone. Had Kalaes made an attempt to escape? Elei would not be able to run on his wounded leg any time soon; the bone had not yet healed completely, despite his swift recovery.

Growling, she shifted, pointed her gun around the aircar and stepped out into the open, wishing she had a visor behind which to hide her identity.

A squadron of Gultur ran out of the gate, steps synchronized and rhythmic, their boots pounding on the street, long ponytails bouncing on their backs, shields and guns at the ready. She followed them with her gaze, ready to step back behind the aircar or shoot if the need arose, but they vanished down a side street and never took notice. A dog barked ahead, in the maze of alleys, and Hera strangled the curious voice in her head demanding she go and investigate, see who they were after. In any case, she had to formulate a plan. Even if it was Kalaes they were after, she could not stand against the squadron alone and could not leave Elei behind.

First, she ought to check out the hospital, make sure the boys were not locked inside, then take it from there.

Wing it, Hera
. She chewed on her lower lip.
There’s fighting going on. Show them what they expect to see
.

Decision made, feral smile in place, she inched toward the gate. Knowing the guard in the watchtower would see her, she shook out her long hair and feigned a limp. She approached slowly, waving. Surreptitiously, she reached up and unglued her uniform at the neck, allowing a glimpse of her cleavage, and that, she decided, should be enough.

She’d never been very good at acting. She only hoped the guard would be tempted to come down from the tower to help her.

When nothing happened, she waved again, pretending to stumble. She dropped to one knee and raised her hand in a distress signal, glancing up through her fall of dark hair.

Ah, there
. The guard was coming down the ladder.

“Damn them,” she called out as soon as she judged the guard within easy earshot. “They run like demons from the deep.”

“Are you hurt?” asked the guard, not in a hurry to come closer.
Wise girl
.

“Shrapnel in my leg,” Hera said, straightening and making her voice a little mournful —
not too much
, she told herself,
do not overdo it
— “and they took my visor.”

“How inconvenient,” mumbled the guard, taking another step closer, her eyes traveling down Hera’s half-hidden face to her cleavage. Unfortunately, she was not wearing a visor for Hera to steal, but entering the hospital was even more important.

“We’ll catch them,” Hera said fiercely, and then took a gamble, which came to her as naturally as pulling out her own teeth. “They’ll never escape again from these walls.”

“Escape?” The guard snorted. “These did not escape, they came from outs—”

Hera saw the moment the guard realized she’d been tricked and reached for her gun, but Hera was faster. She swung up her gun and clocked the guard a good one on the jaw. The Gultur crumpled to the ground, and Hera hit her one more time to make sure she wouldn’t wake up any time soon. She took the keys from the guard’s belt and unlocked the narrow side door, before dragging her inside the yard and depositing her beside the wall.

She was inside. She gripped her gun in both hands and strode toward the hospital entrance.
And may the gods help me
.

***

Elei smelled the Gultur before he saw her. Vaulting over the rail, he landed on top of her and sent her crashing to the ground, his weight cutting off her cry of surprise. Ignoring the screaming pain in his leg, he pressed his gun against her windpipe until she passed out. With the handcuffs he found hanging from her belt, he secured her to the rail, then ripped off a strip of his shirt, wincing at the sound, and gagged her as best he could. Not that he had any hopes of saving Kalaes without killing anyone, but he didn’t even have a silencer and a gunshot would give him away.

The gun weighed down his hands as he climbed the stairs. He didn’t immediately enter the brightly lit corridor he found on the second floor, resisted the urge to barge in and shoot everyone on sight. His pulse beat so fast it sent sourness up his throat. Instead, he hid and watched, trying to gauge how many Gultur were there and where Kalaes was kept.

Four stood guard in the corridor, longguns cocked and ready, checking every entrance and window. Two flanked a closed door, and it wasn’t hard to guess who was locked inside. Elei’s leg muscles quivered and the gun handle creaked in his clenching hands.

Wait.

Another door opened and two Gultur stepped out, deep in conversation. Elei caught the tail of it, something about checking the database for certain chemicals. They stopped in the middle of the corridor, heads bent toward each other. One of them held a data-rod up, reading an entry.

“Yes, Commander,” she said crisply and turned to the guarded door. The guards inclined their heads to her and let her through.

A muffled cry sounded from inside the room before the door closed with a soft thud. A faint scent wafted out,
ama
cigarettes, musk and blood.

Kalaes
. Elei’s heart jumped inside his chest and he ground his teeth together.
Enough with waiting
.

He unhooked two grenades from his belt, pulled the pins and tossed them into the corridor, as far as he could. A bullet zipped by, leaving a line of fire on his forearm before he managed to take cover. More bullets zipped by, slamming into the opposite wall, at least two ricocheting and burying themselves on the wall above his head.

Then the air exploded into noise and fire. Objects and shards blew through the door, and a glass shard burnt a bloody furrow into his hip, the blast scorching his side and face. With a gasp he huddled down, arms held protectively over his head, until the flames died out and quiet returned.

Surprise was his only advantage and with each passing second he might lose even that.
Now
. Leaning his back against the wall, he inched up, blinked the black spots from his eyes and lurched into the smoke-filled corridor. The stench turned his stomach — burnt flesh, excrement and fresh blood. For once he was grateful for his battle vision, filtering reality through a kaleidoscope of colors. Still, he gagged when he saw the bodies, or what was left of them, scattered limbs and chunks of flesh.

Swallowing convulsively, he stepped over them and finally, at last, stood before Kalaes’ door. He let out a hissing breath.
Here we go
.

He kicked the splintered door in and entered, taking aim.

Two Gultur flanked Kalaes, holding him up by the armpits. Blood painted a crimson mask over one side of his face and dripped from the tips of his braids to the floor. His eyes were shut.

Elei almost doubled over, the breath knocked out of his lungs.

The two guards held their guns to Kalaes’ head, while a third guard, at the side, aimed at Elei. The trajectories of the bullets shone in his mind’s eye, white, simple lines. Two bullets into Kalaes’ bowed head, one into his own chest.

Stalemate. Death. The end
.

“Drop your gun,” said the Gultur standing apart, her gaze a cold and furious green. She was beautiful in a clean, surgical way, with her chestnut hair caught in two buns and her wide-set eyes; the symmetry too perfect. He noticed her body, her soft curves. Why was he focusing on them now? His thoughts were oddly distant, as if he weren’t the one standing there with a gun pointed at him.

“Drop your gun,” she said again, voice clipped and dry like a machine’s.

“And if I don’t?” He started at his own words.

She grinned and he knew she wouldn’t mind shooting him and then carving his heart out as a keepsake.

He’d have to break her focus. He lowered his gun and bent to place it on the floor. Poised, his hand still on the gun, his heart booming, he blinked. All color seeped out of the room, the only hue the bright yellow flashing over the Gultur’s booted feet.

Hit her feet, bring her down, distract the others, shoot them
.

Exhaling, he placed the gun on the floor and let his second machine gun swing forward. He sent the gun skittering across the floor with a jerk of his hand and threw himself sideways just as the Gultur gasped and fired. The bullet missed him, but another shot cracked and a bullet sliced through his upper arm as he crashed to the floor.

Dazed, he lifted his other gun and shot the Gultur who stood aside. He missed her chest, hitting her instead in the leg, and she went down with a cry. More bullets zipped by, barely missing him, ricocheting off the floor. Sharp pieces of concrete hit his legs. Pushing himself up on his knees, he whipped the gun to his left hand and narrowed his eyes, Rex marking the targets with fiery red.

Time slowed. He shot the other two Gultur in the chest, one after the other, the recoil of the gun jolting him time and again. Blood sprayed, bright red drops hanging still in space before they splashed the floor and walls.

The Gultur guards fell backward, their guns flying through the air, and landed on the floor, twitching. Lakes of crimson spread around them.

Kalaes collapsed to his knees and fell on his side, dark hair spilling on the yellow floor, face slack and streaked with blood.

Gods dammit
. Panic crushed Elei’s chest and still he found his feet moving forward. He fell to his knees next to Kalaes and turned him over.
Don’t
. He swallowed hard.
Please don’t be...
He couldn’t even think of the word. He thought he saw Albi’s mutilated body, then Pelia dying in a pool of her own blood.

Must check
. He pressed a trembling finger to Kalaes’ throat, holding his breath, and a faint pulse leaped beneath the skin.

Alive, Kalaes was alive. Elei slumped over in dizzying relief and fought to gather his wits. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the gun before slinging it over his shoulder. Something glinted in the belt of one of the Gultur, and he reached over to extract it.

His Rasmus.

He sheathed it. Kalaes’ pendant lay on the floor, bloodied, as if someone had flung it away. He gathered it and got up just as footsteps sounded from outside, somewhere down the corridor, perhaps on the stairs. He grabbed Kalaes under the armpits, debating how to lift him. Clenching his jaw, muscles burning in his arms and legs, Elei grunted as he slung Kalaes over his shoulder.

His knees buckled, tendons trying to pop out of his neck, but he managed to straighten. It wasn’t a small feat; Kalaes surely outweighed him by at least forty pounds. He shouldn’t have been able to lift the older boy, but for Rex.

I owe you one, you bastard.
 

Shouts. Gultur were coming. He stumbled out of the room and started down the corridor the moment shots rang out behind him. A bullet sliced a burning furrow in his already wounded leg, but the pain faded in the adrenaline pumping furiously through his veins. More bullets slammed into the walls over his head and he expected any moment the shot that would end it all, a bullet in the head, in the back, but it never came.  He hoped Kalaes wasn’t hit. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard cries of pain and wondered numbly what was happening behind him.

Not sure how he was supposed to pull this off, past caring, he staggered in the opposite direction of the stairs, worried that Kalaes wasn’t waking, worried he’d drop him, worried he’d screw up. All his focus was on his feet, moving forward, step after step, afraid his legs would fold beneath him, spelling the end for them both. Securing Kalaes with one arm, he kept his other hand on the machine gun, holding it loosely, wondering all the while what in the hells he’d do with it if they were fired upon — use Kalaes as a shield?