Lost Gates (12 page)

They passed the medical facilities and the armory, jumping the discarded boxes that littered the floor, shell casings starting to float past them as the level of water rose. At their backs, the squeal of twisting metal as it was wrenched from the grooves of the automated door frame ripped through their eardrums like knives. It was painful to hear, and painful to think of the consequences should it give before they reached their target.

They skidded around a bend in the corridor, and the sec door came into view. Ryan didn’t want to hope, but it seemed like they could reach it before the other door gave way. Then they would only have one level left before reaching the mat-trans unit.

They ran through the open doorway, Ryan turning to
hit the keypad as they did. With an almost exaggerated care he tapped in the code. The door began to slowly grind shut, the long decades since the mechanism had been in use showing in the almost rusty grind of metal in and on concrete.

Nothing he could do to make the door move faster. He should get after Jak and hope for a little bit of luck. He turned and ran, each step getting harder as it splashed in the gathering water.

Behind him, he heard the scream of protesting metal as pressure took its toll and ripped a hole in the gap where metal met metal. It was only a matter of precious time before the rest of the door buckled and bent out of shape. A red glow from the upper level permeated the light above him, and the sirens wailed as the emergency power cut in, the original circuit now shorted. The water rose above his ankles as he hurried through it. He was racing water under pressure, and racing gravity.

Turning a corner, he could see that Jak had already reached the sec doors for the next level, and was waiting, fingers poised over the keypad.

“Hit it,” he yelled. “Don’t wait—”

The albino youth’s red eyes blazed fury. No way was he going to leave Ryan behind. The sec doors were steady but not fast. He sized up the gap between himself and the one-eyed man.

Swiftly keying in the code, Jak set the sec door in motion then ran back toward the one-eyed man, taking some of Ryan’s weight as he helped him toward the closing door. The increase in pace ripped a searing hole in Ryan’s lungs with every pace, but he gritted his teeth
and grunted through the mist of pain. He knew what Jak was risking, and if nothing else he wouldn’t let his friend suffer because of him.

The water swirled around their ankles and the door was closing too slowly. They would reach it, which was good, but would it close before the other door gave way?

It was only two-thirds closed when they reached it, and the lights above them flickered and went dark, the siren screaming in their ears. It was swiftly followed by a thunderous crash as the weight of water defeated the other door.

One more level, one more sec door and not enough time.

Ryan pushed himself to the limit. Every fiber of his being was screaming for relief. A dark and secret part of his brain yelled at him to stop and give in to the inevitable. Breath came harder now, his ribs spearing his lungs with every inhalation. His chest was tight and constricted, and it became foggy and dark at the corners of his vision, the mists creeping across the corridor ahead of him.

He didn’t feel himself begin to slow, and was only aware of what was creeping over him when his ribs received what felt like a knife thrust. He gasped and turned to see Jak glaring at him as they stumbled toward the final sec door and the last level. It had been the albino teen’s elbow in his ribs, not a blade, but the shock had jolted him back to a level of consciousness where the dark recesses of his mind were driven back.

They reached the next level of the redoubt and hurried through the sec door, which had remained open.
They didn’t bother to stop and trigger the mechanism. What did it matter now? The water was beginning to rise above their feet, and to their rear they could hear the squealing and moaning of metal on metal as the almost-closed sec door above them was hit by the onrushing wave.

The fact that it hadn’t quite closed might just save them. With part of the water pressure relieved by the available gap, the flow had been temporarily impaired. The lights above cut out and went red, the sirens began to blare.

But the mat-trans comp room was in sight. The water hadn’t risen too high, and just maybe the unit would still work. Ryan felt that he was clutching at a distant hope. What if the unit was separately wired, so that escape could be made in just such a circumstance? Surely that was a plan for any eventuality?

They could hear the water start to roar as it came closer. It was beginning to rise to their knees.

Now they were in the comp room. The mat-trans unit was only a couple of yards away, through the anteroom. The water flow was level with the open unit door. If it started to flow into the mat-trans, then it might be too late.

Yelling incoherent frustration, Ryan threw himself forward, his body hitting the edge of the portal into the mat-trans unit with a jarring thud. Jak clambered over him, then turned and pulled at his arms as he pushed himself into the mat-trans.

It was like the hell of the predark religions that he had heard Krysty, Doc and Mildred discuss. The air
was filled with a piercing, wailing sound. The whole world was red. And the water was everywhere.

Suddenly it occurred to Ryan that water had stopped rising. Wisps of white mist began to rise from the disks on the floor.

Jak had closed the door and triggered the mat-trans.

They just needed the power to stay on long enough for the jump.

They just needed…

They just…

The mantra in Ryan’s brain ceased. With a sickening lurch the world went black once more.

The flash of the mat-trans unit as it flared briefly to life made everyone in the control room look away. It crossed J.B.’s mind that if he and Krysty could find some kind of ordnance in the redoubt that they could hide somewhere on their bodies, then they could bide their time and use a moment such as this to make their move. For if there were any moment during which Crabbe was defenseless, and his sec men were distracted, then this was such a moment.

But for now the only thing that concerned him was Ryan’s and Jak’s condition when they emerged from the mat-trans.

The Armorer started to get to his feet but found himself restrained by a sec man. In a none too subtle manner, the sec man drove the butt of his Kalashnikov between J.B.’s shoulder blades, hitting him from the rear as he tried to move. J.B. yelled as he fell forward, causing Mildred and Doc to scramble to their feet. Mildred helped J.B. up from his facedown position on the floor while Doc faced the sec men who now surrounded them.

“Whoa there,” Crabbe yelled. “Don’t take them out for nothing.”

“He could have been going for you, Baron,” McCready growled, more than happy to back up his men.

“Complete nonsense, you annoying little toad, and you know it,” Doc snapped before the baron had a chance to say any more. “John Barrymore is merely concerned as to why Ryan and Jak have not emerged from the unit yet, as are the good doctor and myself…as, indeed, should you be, if you have any sense,” he added, turning to Crabbe.

“Say, Jock has a point there,” he mused. “Why aren’t they out yet? Kirsty, you go and check it out,” he said slowly, adding, “Not you” to the three companions surrounded by his sec.

Krysty moved cautiously from behind the comp desk, eyeing the baron as she went. She was fearful of what she might find in the mat-trans. Had the jump been successful? She was too well aware of the risks involved at any time. And she’d been keeping an eye on the time as the half hour cut-off time came closer and closer.

With a growing sense of dread for what she might find, Krysty carefully opened the mat-trans door. Inside was dark, shrouded from her by the light that spilled over her shoulder from the room at her back. She could make out little by way of shape in the unit, and there was no movement to give her clue. She wanted to call out Ryan’s name, or Jak’s, but her tongue was stilled by her own fear. The inside stank of stagnant water and burned cloth. Was it just that, or was there some other smell in there that she dare not put a name to?

The sound a human voice, small weak and mewling, was almost too horrible in such a circumstance. She stepped into the mat-trans, her eyes adjusting to the gloom as if almost by act of will, and she zeroed in on
where the noise had come from. Jak was curled into a fetal ball, the edges of his patched camou jacket singed, his hair blackened at the ends. He made another small noise then looked up, his red eyes streaming tears, his head jerking uncontrollably.

As if that weren’t bad enough, it was then that she noticed Ryan, who lay almost beside him, unconscious and unmoving.

“Mildred, get in here,” she screamed as she rushed to check them both. Despite her sense of fairness and camaraderie, it was Ryan whose stillness pulled at her heart.

Outside, Mildred made to move but found herself constrained by the crossed blasters of two sec men, barring her way.

“Dammit, Crabbe, you want us to carry on your mission or not?” she growled, eyeballing the baron.

“Let her go, boys,” he said, signaling her through.

Mildred made her way into the unit and fell to her knees where Krysty was cradling Ryan’s head.

“He’s breathing,” she said tightly. “Check Jak first.”

The doctor nodded and turned her attention to the albino teen. Jak was a hardy soul, with the stamina of men twice his size, and despite puking over the floor once again, he was already on his knees. As Mildred checked him over, he told her haltingly what had happened. She could see that both he and Ryan had been soaked through, and as she continued to examine him, she could tell that the water had gone on, rather than into, his body.

Shakily, he rose to his feet and indicated that she should attend to Ryan. Nodding, she switched her atten
tion to the one-eyed man. While Krysty cradled him, and Jak hovered nervously, she checked him over. Jak’s initial assessment had proved correct—Ryan had a couple of cracked ribs and some torn ligaments. The pain and strain of pushing himself to get back to the mat-trans had caused him to black out. She’d give him a couple of painkillers from her meager supply and bind his ribs, which would help. The fact he would have to undertake another mission shortly worried her, though.

“Doc, get me some painkillers,” she called.

“My dear lady, I would. But I fear that I will not be allowed to bring them to you,” Doc called back to her.

“For crying out loud,” she growled between her teeth. “Keep him steady here, Krysty.” She let the Titian-haired beauty take care of him while she exited the mat-trans.

Doc looked apologetic and shrugged. She could see that he had little choice in his actions, as both he and J.B. were being held at blasterpoint.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you pull a little trick like that, did you?” Crabbe grinned.

Mildred couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Just let me get some painkillers, for fuck’s sake or you won’t have a mission to lose us on anyway,” she snapped.

There had to have been something about the steel of her tone that persuaded Crabbe she wasn’t joking, for he indicated to McCready that she should be allowed to collect items from their gathered belongings.

“Jak, can you help Krysty carry him out?” Mildred asked. She didn’t need to add that he should take care: Jak was more aware than any of them what Ryan had been through.

“Sure,” the albino teen’s voice came from the mat-trans. It was hoarse, but there was an inner strength that inspired confidence. And when he emerged a few moments later, supporting Ryan’s feet as Krysty had his torso, he seemed to have fully recovered from the mewling wreck of a few minutes before. They carried the one-eyed man across to the part of the room where they were being contained and where the other three were waiting for them. As soon as they set the man on the floor, Mildred started to work on him, using a disposable syringe to pump him full of hydrocodone, hoping the predark drug had retained its potency, then binding his ribs. He needed time to recover, but she doubted that Crabbe would allow him that. Instead she knew she would have to get him as tightly bound as possible, to avoid further damage, then bring him back to full consciousness and let him know he was in bad shape. The rest was in the hands of fate.

She worked frantically on him, feeling the baron’s gaze penetrating her back. She could feel his impatience, and knew that he would be itching to send Krysty and J.B. on their mission.

“Krysty, help me bind this rib,” she said.

Although she could almost feel the baron’s palpable impatience, Crabbe said nothing to her until she had finished her task. Ryan was now conscious.

“When the hell’s one of you motherfuckers gonna tell me what went on there?” he rumbled. “Better make it quick, or else you’ll have been patching Brian up for nothing.”

“Nothing to interest you,” Jak snapped. “Bastard re
doubt flooded, looted long before. Nothing but dry shit and empty blasters.”

“That right, Brian?” Crabbe asked shrewdly. He could see that Ryan was still a little disoriented as he came around, and would find it hard to back up anything that wasn’t the truth, the first thing that would pop into his head.

“’Bout all there is,” Ryan stated. “Don’t know what else you expect us to find when a place has been opened up. Figure they scavenged the place but never came back ’cause of some kind of landslide. There’s nothing there now but water and shorted-out old tech.”

Crabbe looked disappointed. If he had any doubts about the veracity of their account, this was negated by the condition in which they had arrived. He would just have to take the bitter pill, ignoring all the while how much more bitter it had to be for those who had so nearly lost their lives. A person didn’t become a baron by showing that level of concern.

“Ah shit,” he said in a murmur that was almost to himself, then added in a louder voice, “Guess it’s your turn to get going, Kirsty. You, too, J.T. And you’d better start getting some results.”

He couldn’t realize that they felt exactly the same way as they collected their ordnance and headed for the mat-trans unit—though the kind of result they wanted was very different.

As they walked into the unit, which still stank from the return of Ryan and Jak, they turned wordlessly to watch Mildred take Krysty’s position by the comp desk. Her eyes fixed on them in turn. They told J.B. to be careful and Krysty that Ryan was in good hands. It was
little enough by way of consolation, but all she could offer.

It didn’t make the mat-trans unit any the less cold as Krysty closed the door and they waited for the white mist to rise.

K
RYSTY GROANED
as she surfaced from the unconsciousness brought about by the jump. She felt terrible. Her limbs ached, her muscles felt like they had been torn out and roughly shoved back into place and she was sure a part of her brain was missing. Her vision was blurry as she opened her eyes, and she could feel that her hair was plastered to her scalp, as though wet.

To her surprise, J.B. was already on his feet. The Armorer was shaking himself, arching his neck and shaking loose the torpor from his limbs. The sight of him, ready to move and already preparing himself, made her push harder. She forced herself to her feet, and could feel her hair begin to relax. Her morale had been boosted by the sense of determination that J.B. exuded.

“You ready?” she asked—a rhetorical question, she thought—as she moved toward the door. He stopped her with a gesture.

“No, wait. There’s only two of us, and we don’t know what’s waiting when we open the door. Best to use a few minutes to be triple red and frosty,” he said.

Krysty was taken aback, but after a moment she realized what he was saying. Was it possible that part of the reason Ryan and Jak—and Mildred and Doc before them—had succumbed to such physical rigors could be down to them taking too much notice of the time limit?

She breathed long and hard, taking oxygen into her body. Tinged as it was by the ionization and tang of the ozone left by the jump process, it was still something that she could feel flooding her body with energy and relaxing tensed muscles.

J.B. looked at her, and then at his wrist chron. She checked hers—three minutes of their precious time had ticked by.

“You feeling right?” he asked her.

She nodded, and he studied her face hard before nodding himself.

“Give me cover,” he said simply, moving to the door.

She followed, and was in position when he pulled the door open with the soft sucking sound and buried click that was part of the sealed mechanism.

J.B. opened the door enough for them to exit. She swung into position at his back as he slipped out, keeping low. The door gave her cover, but the aperture also allowed her enough of a view of the control room.

It wasn’t the view that was the first thing to hit her, even though it was well-lit. The smell was a stench like unwashed humanity, shit and rotting meat. Her hair coiled defensively, and she felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach that told her this wasn’t going to be good.

“C
LEAR
,” J.B.
SAID
in a coughing, choked voice several minutes later. As Krysty moved through the anteroom and into the control room she could see why. If the smell had been bad enough creeping into the mat-trans itself, out here it made it hard to breathe without wanting to gag on the stench.

“Gaia, what the hell has been going on here?” she
whispered as she joined J.B. behind a comp desk that provided them with cover.

“I don’t know,” he replied haltingly, “but I’ll tell you one thing—that smells fresh to me, whatever it is. Not long since it was kicked up.”

Krysty nodded. Something that bad was still rotting, which meant that someone or something had been here recently. Chances were that it might still be here. She took the time to survey the room in the same way that the Armorer had on his exit from the mat-trans unit. It was a small room compared to most of its type, with the armaglass grayish now that the light had faded from the inside. Apart from the desk behind which they now crouched, there was precious little else in the room. A table with clear Plexiglas maps and diagrams fixed to the wall above it. To one side was a wall monitor and some old laminated sheets that were pinned to the walls, which had been ignored by whoever had created that unholy stench. There was nothing else.

The room was silent, with no place for anyone else to hide. Nonetheless, Krysty still indicated to J.B. that he should cover her while she went over to the laminates. They might tell her something about the purpose of this redoubt, and give some clue as to what they might find when they left the control room.

As Krysty walked over to the wall, J.B. straightened warily, his eyes fixed on the door to the control room. Krysty was adjacent and to the left. If the door opened, she wouldn’t be immediately visible—he would. The Armorer was prepared to draw any fire that might come his way. He decided not to use the M-4000, as the load of barbed fléchettes would spread too wide in such an
enclosed space. The last thing he wanted to do was to take out Krysty when he was supposed to be covering her. No, this was job for the mini-Uzi, set on single shot. If the door opened, the first person through would get a gut shot. Any questions would come later.

As that ran through his head, he was aware that the smell and his suspicions about what was causing it were making him edgy. J.B. made a conscious effort to keep it frosty.

Krysty, meanwhile, was scanning the laminates. A lot of what they said made little sense to her. Not because she couldn’t read them, but because although they were typed and legible, they used a long-since-disappeared jargon that had no meaning in this world. However, there was still enough that made sense for her to work out the basic meaning.