Umbel (Terminal Trilogy #3)

16: The break

It was a couple dull hours before someone came to get us. Micky tried a couple more times to see if I was interested in him, but we both were exhausted, and fell asleep until someone called for us to wake.

To my surprise, it was a particularly gloomy looking Amy. Maybe I should have been less surprised, actually.

"Guys." She said like she was a tad scared to be talking with us. "Come with me."

Micky leapt to his feet and hurried out. I took a bit longer to wake.

"You're not going to kill us, right?" Micky said too excited for his doubting jab of a question to really hit.

"No one is." Amy said quietly. She glanced back and met my eye. "I sort of owe you."

"Speaking of that time back in the tunnels, why do you even have that base if this much larger one exists?"

Amy swallowed. "This is sort of a... mixed group. Two different factions. The one I was in, The Banes, is more peaceful."

"The war crimes tribunal guys?" Micky asked. "Hey, you guys weren't looking to charge me with anything, right?"

"I think the idea is anyone who committed a war crime." Amy said. "I didn't pay that much attention to it. Just liked to hang out there."

"Where are you taking us?" I asked.

"Going to clear you to be let go. I have to talk to Bouquet for that."

"We want to join!" Micky insisted enthusiastically.

Amy broke her morose mood to glare back at him with skeptical confusion. "I don't think they'd like that."

"I bet I could talk them into it."

"If you want to try, be my guest. Martin, you in on this?"

"I need to head home." Micky sent me a worried look. "Hey, I got you in here."

We came to one of the identical white doors near the end, and Amy took us inside. This chamber was a bit larger than the others, and a couple of chairs were arranged around a table. A circle of primarily young men sat in them, eyes flickering between us and Amy.

"Can we let these two go?" Amy said, pointing at us. "Neither of them have done a thing against us."

"Michael Withers there has." One of the angels said. "Who cares about the other? We should have Michael Withers killed."

"Or not!" I jumped in. "He won't do anything. Neither of us will. We'll keep quiet, I'll make sure of it."

"I want to join you guys." Micky said.

A wave of angelic washed across the table, leaving three of those seated to stare in tired patience, presumably unable to keep up.

"No." Said one man. Judging by the others' reactions, he must have been the leader, Bouquet. "Here." He stood up, pistol in his hand, and fired right at Micky twice.

I stood dumbly still. There were a few things happening all at once. The gunshots. The knowledge that Micky was going to get shot. The searing pain in my right arm as I got hit instead.

I fell to the floor screaming, my millisecond of slowed down time up. I had never experienced a severe wound while human, and fuck, it was bad. Screaming is hard to describe besides the obvious, the rolling around and screeching.

My face was coated in tears. At some point I managed to shout out "You're a fucking awful shot!" to the angel I could barely see with my clouded vision.