Gods Under The Dome

24.2

《Flying Free》

¤

The third door on my right stands ajar, light splashing into the hallway and across the toes of my muddied boots. My boots, battered and bruised, torn, laces shredded and useless. The soles used up and on the verge of cracking - from running. Christ, I'd done so much running.

When will I ever not run?

The light darkens. A shadow of something or someone shifting inside. Bracing, I take an inhale. The air is stale and tinged with gunpowder, no blood though and that's refreshing. Fingers trembling, I push the door wide open.

"One-zero," Della calls from within. I gasp. "You're the last person I thought I'd see." She's sitting on my bed, much the way she had when I'd helped her repair her prosthetic. Her back is against the wall, her legs draped over the mattress. She looks a little on edge, her hair more disheveled than I'd seen it, her shoulders tense and back. Not one but two guns lay beside her.

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't, not until I saw you walking up to the doorstep. Couldn't believe it either. Thought you'd be dead."

"Almost was," I say, striding into the room. I lean against an empty bookcase, my muscles begging for a momentary reprieve.

Della nods to my shirt, where a few spots of fresh blood dot my chest. "I'm guessing someone else did the dying."

I nod. "Yeah, well it was them or me."

She raises an eyebrow. "Them?" She nods. "So how'd you persuade Large to let you--"

"Keran's dead," I blurt. Della pulls her lips tight. "On the last run. We were ambushed and she--"

"I know," Della says. "I already know."

I stumble toward her, chewing over what would be the right thing to say. Though, when dealing with someone's death, was there ever a right way to go about it? Plopping down beside her, I didn't think there was a right way. "Did you retrieve her body?" I ask.

Della shakes her head. "She was burned, ashes discarded on some dumpsite beyond the dome." She clenches her fist. "Nothing special."

I place my hands in my lap and bite down on my lip. "She died fighting," I say. "Though she must have killed at least one before--"

Della nods. "That's how she always wanted to die."

"How's--" I twist the fabric of my shirt. "How's Ellie?"

Della turns to me and tilts her head. "What?" I say, feeling self-conscious under such a stare.

She smiles. "You remembered her name." Turning away from me, Della continues, "She's a wreck, but she puts up a brave front. Doing what a soldier does best."

"And the rest of the Titav?"

Della tenses her jaw. "Scattered. Our HQ was ransacked when you were captured. Guess they knew our locale well before we broke into the Facility and stole its most precious commodities. They just waited until the timing was right, before they attacked. Lost a few men, but most of us managed to get away. Joined up with the smaller factions."

"And that's how you ended up--"

"I'm sure your story's more compelling than mine. So what happened?"

"Nol died." Della shakes her head. "And then less and less of my life seemed to matter. I chose expulsion, got Izzer's chip taken out and was going to be disposed of beyond the dome. But the guard Dove put with me had his own agenda and was planning on killing me beforehand."