Uriel: The Price (Airel Saga Book Six)

Chapter XIII

MICHAEL WOKE WITH A killer headache.

But he was alone in an empty room, and when he looked around, he found that the door had been left open.

He knew his only chance was to run, to get out of there and hope Airel didn't come within a thousand miles of this area. His heart was that of a 12th round heavyweight fighter. All he wanted was to have a spare moment to cry for Ellie, to weep for the loss of Airel's father. There were fates worse than death, and being the Seer of the Brotherhood was at the top of that list.

Flexing his toes and fingers to be sure everything still worked, he struggled to his feet and crept to the door. He slipped into a painful run in the hallway. Through the tears that streamed down his face, he saw a bank of elevators. He pushed the DOWN button over and over again.

After a lifetime, the elevator "bong" went off. It was here.

The doors slid open too slowly. Still no one in the hallways. It was now or never. Michael practically leaped into the elevator and the beckoning safety of its capsule.

He pressed the button for the ground floor. It was time to get out of here. The excruciating second or two that elapsed in the interim between his floor selection and the eventual closing of the doors, he could hear the creature's growl rising in pitch and volume. It stood every hair of his body on end.

Somethings coming. The doors slid shut.

* * *

I COASTED TO A higher altitude as I watched the airborne remains of the Devourer collide with the tower. The explosion was immense, and it shook the structure to its core. Clear fire issued forth in fountains like water, erasing everything in its path, dissolving and blackening the things on which it landed like sulfuric acid, turning them to wrung-out charcoal.

The carcass had impacted the tower at its upper reaches, just below the spire. The collision split the creature in half along the cut I had made. The effect was akin to watching a stream pour around a stone deeply embedded in the ground. On the opposite side of the impact, there would be much destruction once the beast and the pieces of its unique chemical weapon finally touched down 150 stories below.

Higher up, where it had struck the building, I watched the spire sway under its own weight.

* * *

AS SOON AS THE doors closed, Michael felt everything explode. The building shook. The whole building, Michael thought. God help me.

Everything was very hot suddenly, and smoke was pouring downward through the gap in the doors. He had been thrown down onto the floor of the elevator, and he could feel it bounce on its cables. Now more than ever, he was acutely aware of the sheer height of his position. The meaning of the 150th floor was driven into his understanding like a 16d nail.

Then something dripped onto the floor of the elevator car, splattering and hissing. A drop flecked onto the skin of his forearm, and it stung bad. He swiped at it, making the pain worse. He looked up.

Something was dripping from the corner of the stainless-steel trim overhead. He made up his mind instantly that the elevator had outlived its usefulness. He resolved to get out of it.

He put his fingers in the seam between the doors and pulled. Something overhead groaned moving the elevator downward—he could see the floor of the lobby outside rise by a foot or more.

He pulled on the doors harder. He could now just barely fit through their width if he went one shoulder at a time.

More groaning—it sounded like the whole building was coming down around him. The lobby floor rose again, this time by three feet. His window of escape was now about twelve inches wide by twenty-four inches tall. He groaned one arm and shoulder out, his elbow cocked like a wing against the lobby floor, now at chest height, the fingers of his other hand hooked onto the piece of floor trim that, only a few seconds ago, he had walked right over as he'd gotten into this death trap.

The foremost fear in his mind was that he would get partway out only to be sliced in half by an elevator in sudden freefall. But there were worse ways to die. He knew that much from experience, especially lately.

He pushed off the floor and pulled himself upward and out, like getting out of a pool without a ladder.

He landed in the lobby, and just as he did, the elevator let go, taking one of his shoes with it. The tug of war hurt badly, and as he backed away from the edge it occurred to him that his ankle might now be sprained, if not broken.

He looked around in a panic. Was this the same place? Everything was different now, destroyed. The lights were out. Auxiliary lighting had come on, casting evil shadows. There were red letters on exit signs, emergency beacons were sounding off, and a few fire sprinklers above his head were spewing water. Everything was filthy—adding water to it just made thin mud. He leaned up against the opposite wall and tried to breathe, getting soaked.

Then it occurred to him: What is chasing me?

But he had an idea who or what it was. He didn't like his idea at all.