Someone, a deep, husky voice replies, "Yes, Ma'am. Any particular order?"
There's a protracted sigh that cuts through the silence. I don't have to see to hear the boredom laced in that sound. Keran says, "Does it matter? Just get the animals, two by two onto the ark."
"Keep the twins together," Della instructs. "And that pair there that's got their arms snaked around one another." She pauses and there's the sound of boots coming in my direction. "This brute gets to ride alone. Don't think we could fit someone beside him without them suffocating." Someone snorts.
The footsteps pick up, louder as they approach. Someone stops in front of me, pokes my face through the hood. They graze my cheek, though if it'd been Keran, I'd imagine she would have gone for an eye. I'm guessing this little tease belonged to Della. "One-zero here can ride with the Chemist."
There's a shuffling somewhere to my right and then a thud rings out. "As commanded, Sir." Fingers run their way up my arm. "So what's it like?" Della says. Her voice is near like she's leaning in. "Being in the dark?"
I shrug. "It's nothing I haven't weathered before," I say, forcing my voice to come out louder than it needs to be, because I want the others, Rima and Sam in particular, to hear it.
Della chuckles. Her finger pokes my cheek again. "I wonder what you'll do inside the Brights, with all those lights shining on you?"
I gulp and fidget with my hands before shoving them in my pockets. "What's your game here?" I say. "Why go to this length to help us?"
She cackles. "Who said anything about help?"
An icy chill surges through my body. "Keran says we're bodies."
Della's laughter takes on a shrill, maddening pitch. "You'll see when we get there, one-zero." She slaps my back. "That's part of the fun, right? The surprise?"
Footsteps start up again, begin to fade. "Get them situated. We leave in five. Key Forger knows we're on our way."
...
Our Blackholes removed, we still stand in the dark. Della and Keran have gone on, while the Codas stands to watch. There's a pinprick of light in the distance that makes uneasiness settle in my stomach like lead.
The guards who flank us wear some kind of visor, thin, metal half-bands slung over their eyes, that projects a cool, green light from eyebrows to chin. These must be some sort of night vision tech, made specifically for these types of incognito missions. I'm grateful for the soft glow they provide because it allows me to see them
"Why do we have to babysit them?" one of the guards says.
Della called him Dieter. He's a large man, around my age, maybe older, with enough bulk to warrant two of every meal just to keep him from collapsing in on himself. The boy beside him chews on his bottom lip, gaze on the ground. The glow of his visor pools in sunken cheeks, and carves his nose into a fine point.
He doesn't look at Dieter when he responds. "Commander's orders." His voice is as hollow as his face. I don't even think it's registered that he's just spoken.
"Come on, Leeds," Dieter says. "No need to be like that."
Leeds' grimace deepens. He fidgets with his hands, runs them over his wrists and arms. "No need to be like what?"
Dieter sighs. "We're out, and we're fine."
Leeds' fingers turn into claws as he rakes them across his forearms. His pointed jaw clenches. "We're fine, but Emory and Tiggs..." His upper lip quivers.
Dieter shuffles and reaches up to readjust his visor though it hasn't moved since he put it on. "They knew what they were getting into when they--"
Leeds' smacks his chest. "They were preyed upon--"
"L, the Comms are open--"
Leeds slings the rifle off his back, hefts it overhead before slamming it onto the ground. "Fuck," he says. "They grew up in the slums. They were promised a better life--"
"And they had it. Hot food, a warm bed--"
Leeds snarls. "They ended up being drug addicts. Shit man, they had more tracks snaking up their arms than Bangladesh had rivers."
David shuffles, almost imperceptibly in my periphery. Dieter bends over to pick the rifle off the ground. He runs a sleeve along its' length before returning it to Leeds.
Leeds takes it, though the way he's staring at it, like it's a living, breathing evil, gives me the impression he wants to slam it into the ground again. Strip it down to its smallest parts, shove them in a furnace and watch the damned thing melt away.
"They fought," Leeds says, his voice low, quick, as though he'll trip over the words if he doesn't speak them fast enough. "They bled and now they're dead."
Dieter's wide mouth curves into a smile. "We can avenge them."
a radio clicks on. There's a crackle of static and then Della's voice. "He's agreed."
The Codas guards nod at one another, though they manage to avoid eye contact, and then look at us. "Time to go. Key Forger's probably looking forward to meeting you," Dieter says. He places a hand on Sam's shoulder, a bold move considering Sam had been shaking from fighting back his instinct to deck the both of them, take their guns, and get us all in very big trouble. "He's got a thing for wayward weirdos. Will take to you lot, I imagine."
Leeds pushes Marava forward with a lot less geniality than Dieter. She lets a low hiss escape her, but Leeds doesn't seem to notice or care. We all step forward, that pinprick of light getting bigger.
Was this what it felt like to die? Was the light slow to encroach upon you, giving you enough time to reconnect with the conjured ghosts of family and friends? No one came to mind. I'd only known six people consistently throughout my life, and we all trudged as one toward the light.
It's blinding as it engulfs us. Sin blinks more than I've ever seen him as his eyes struggle to adjust. When things take shape, I realize we're in a freight elevator, ivory in color. Dieter closes the gate behind us, while Leeds operates the lever.
With a rusted cough of gears and a jostle that pushes me into Jonathan's back, we start upward. The light, some kind of glassy, impressionist chandelier, dangles back and forth overhead. It looks like a dying octopus that'd been dolled up in mommy's pearls before being strung up on the rafters where it could rot while looking pretty. Whoever this Key Forger was, his taste in interior design was abysmal.
"Where do you think we're going?" Sam whispers.
Sandwiched between him and Marava, Rima struggles to breathe. Her face is hot and red. Her stuffed companion is pressed into her chest,
"I know the same as you." I say.
Sam nods. A thin red line traces the circumference of his neck where the bag had been cinched. Keran had done it too tight. On purpose, I'm sure. His fingers scratch at the mark, inflaming the skin more. Rima watches him
Leeds stops working the lever. He falls back against the wall, drenched to the bone. His breaths are little more than hiccuped wheezes. Dieter moves to open the doors. Della's there to greet us, Keran standing at her right, and beside her, a dwindling line of Codas guards. They haven't bothered with their guns and their boots are missing. Toes jiggle under black socks, shuffle along the polished marble floor.
The room is like one of those swanky penthouses New York elites liked to call home, despite the outrageous price tag, and pointless amenities, because they were testaments to their wealth. A legacy that could be left behind, that said they'd been here, been alive, and had made out like bandits. Those penthouses don't exist anymore. Steel melts. Stone crumbles. Wealth can be gambled away.
"Get your head outta those files, Key. The guests are here!" Della yells.
Keran slams a foot onto the floor but frowns at the lack of a hard thud to convey her irritation. She folds her arms over her chest. "The only thing he's got his head in more is his ass." She stomps her foot again.
Della jabs her in the gut. "Not another word."
Keran nods and places her hands back at her sides. A shadow eclipses the light escaping through the open door. Then, the door peels back and a man, tall with thinning blond hair and a frown slinks into view. I gape. Rima gasps. Sin's eyes go wide. Marava's hand squeezes around Jonathan's bicep. David frowns. Sam hasn't placed his face just yet, but he will. We've all seen it a hundred times before.
"Izzer," I say.
Della grins and smacks her thigh. "I told you surprises were the best."
The man steps toward us, his polished loafers ringing out against the hard surface. At least some things never change. He'd always worn shoes like that in all the vids.
"The new batch," he says. He thrusts two wrinkled, tanned arms out wide at his sides. "Welcome to the Forge."
His cracked lips peel back into a smile. Blindingly white teeth peek out of blood-red gums.
I gulp. "Councilman."