Penult (The Liminality, Part Four)

Chapter 25: Outside

Olivier and I made our way across the settlement, wings packed and bundled and slung over our shoulders. I caught a glimpse of Bern’s garden and was pleased to see a patch of perfect zinnias that only an hour ago had been Brussels sprouts. The door to the cabin was open, but I noticed that the tweed suitcases were gone form the porch.

We found the expedition party waiting for us at the far edge of the bubble, near the portal that Kitt had led me through when I had first come here. Olivier’s assistant, Trent, kept watch over Petros away from the main group, the Seraph hobbled by shackles on his ankles and wrists.

“Got your wings? Awesome!” said Kitt sharing a high five. “Yo Det! Everyone’s here. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Hang on,” said Detmar. He went up to the wall and pressed his ear against it.

“What’s he doing?” I whispered to Kitt.

“Checking for Reapers. They sometimes like to pounce on us right outside the bubble.”

Bern pushed through the group, rattling the pans and tea kettles that dangled from his pack frame. He presented me with a long bundle wrapped in chamois.

“My … sword?”

“We tucked it away for you when you faded.”

“Thanks!” I said, taking it from him. I had forgotten that I even owned a sword. Somehow the dang thing kept finding me no matter how much I neglected it.

Bern moved back to be with Lille, who was busy adjusting a young woman’s footwear, fixing a bad weave job.

“Hey Bern!” I shouted.

He glanced back at me.

“Nice zinnias!”

He tossed me a wink.

“All clear!” said Detmar, and he slammed his palm against the dark spot in the center of the wall. The roots peeled back, revealing criss-crossed layers increasing in thickness and density out through the outermost shell.

Detmar and Tyler hopped through and took flanking positions as the rest of us rushed through the aperture.

“Keep it moving!” said Olivier as we rushed through the tunnel. “No stopping till we reach the surface.”

Kitt kept at the head of the column. She knew all the routes topside, having made the climb every day since Luther had led his flock back underground.

We passed through tunnels narrow and wide, took shortcuts through the interstitial spaces and some smaller bubbles some other enterprising residents of root had used as encampments and settlements and subsequently abandoned.

A hiss and a groan greeted us at a juncture between two tunnels. We had surprised it and it drew back and lunged, arresting its charge when it realized how many of us there were ready to impale it with sharp objects. It backed off, slithering off into a side tunnel to let us pass.

Kitt stuck her tongue out and waggled her fingers at it as we passed.

“Chicken!”

Before long, we were charging up a ramp into a space where the fetid emanations of the tunnels mixed with fresh breezes.

“Nice. It’s already getting dark,” said Kitt. “That should keep the Cherubim off our backs.”

“Weren’t we guaranteed a safe passage?” asked a woman, pushing a small wheeled cart the size of a wheelbarrow.

“That was never confirmed, ma’am,” said Kitt. “If so, that’s great, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

Rumbles of displeasure passed through the group.