Death Takes Wing (26 page)

Striding towards the stairs, Amalia noticing the temperature of the air change.  It was blowing a bit, and it was thick.  Almost humid.  She could smell flowers and plants on the breeze.  Furrowing her brow in confusion, she opened the door to the stairs.  When it was open, she could almost taste the heavy scent of flowers in the air.

“What the hell?” she muttered as she slowly descended the stairs.  The further into the bunker she went, the thicker the air became.  By the time she reached the third level, the level where Jessamyn’s files said the “patrons” were kept, beads of water decorated her hair, sparkling in the dim light.

Brushing a hand over her face, she came away with a palm full of sweat and water.  With a grimace, she stood next to the door, steeling herself to walk through the door.  She cracked the door and didn’t hear anyone.

After walking through the door, she paused again, listening for footsteps, for any sign that there was anyone down here outside of the people she was here to rescue.  Not hearing anyone, she walked to the door that was next to the stairway.  Bingo, she told herself triumphantly.  Just what she needed.  Storage room.  And this one was full of boxes.  Pulling the keys out of her pocket, she used the sharp door key to
slice open a box.  With a grin, she pulled out a pristine lab coat.  No name decorated the pocket, but she didn’t think anyone would notice at this time of night.

After pulling it on, clipping Jessamyn’s ID to the lapel, and buttoning a couple buttons, she left the room.  Hearing footsteps, she cocked her head and nodded at the security guard that strode past her, giving her a perfunctory nod.  Strolling through the floor, acting like she belonged, no one questioned her presence.

The next door she tried was were the flowers and humidity had come from.  One of the laboratories.  Exotic flowers dotted the tables, each one carefully labeled.  Cages of white mice and rats littered the far wall, and each of those, too, had carefully printed labels.  A row of microscopes sat unattended in the center of the room, while a bank of computers lined the wall in front of her.  She stared at the room, wanting to destroy the contents, but knowing if she did, she’d run out of time to save Sam.

She left the room, traveling onward and finding a hallway lined with cells.  She went from cell to cell, looking in through the one way glass that kept the doctors from the prisoners. She found two of the people on the list she’d found on Jessamyn’s desk, but no Sam.  Stopping to stare at the boy, Kent, she felt a wave of sadness come over her.  Dark wings decorated his back.  She was sure that he hadn’t had
wings before.  Perfectly certain he’d been human before this experiment.  Pretty certain they’d all been human before.

She stopped at the end cell, on the left and read the name.  She had to stop a grin from spreading across her face as he read the familiar name she’d been searching for. ‘Samantha O’Mara’. The brunette was lying on her stomach on the small cot, staring at the floor. Her hair was shorn close to her skull, in a short, dark stubble.  She was dressed in a set of off-white, dirty, worn scrubs.

She saw track marks down the inside of her thin arms, and Amalia frowned as she realized how many dotted her thin arm.  With a frown, she saw the cream and peach wings that covered her back.  Donovan’s wings, Amalia thought, not seeing the cream and peach but the auburn wings Donovan had owned.  She felt a stomach wrenching wave of revulsion and had to fight to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged.  All she could see was Donovan.  She closed her eyes tightly, finally erasing the image of Donovan.  This was Sam.  And Sam wasn’t going to end up like Donovan.  Not if she could help it.  And she could.

She touched the butt of the gun that graced her hip, grateful for its heavy presence.

Amalia picked up the clipboard that held Sam’s information, grateful to read that she wasn’t planned for any experiments or tests for the next two
days. To let her regain her strength, and fluid levels, the chart said. Perfect timing, she thought with relief.  She shouldn’t run into anyone trying to stop her.  Scanning the hallway, she put the clipboard back.

“I need to explore some more.  See who else is here, Sam.  Then I’ll be back for you.  For all of you,” she told Sam, knowing Sam couldn’t hear her.

With a heavy breath, she left Sam to her solitude and finished exploring the cold, sterile

cells and laboratories that dotted the lower level. So far, she thought uneasily, the only escape was either through the elevator that she really didn’t trust, or through the one set of stairs that she’d come down. Not good, but still, it could work to our advantage.  The stairwell would be easy to defend, at least easier than the elevator.

Sending one last look at the third basement, she stopped at the first, needing to scout the entire underground base as best as she could. All storage, she realized after methodically going through the doors, locked and unlocked, but there lots of hidey holes, even some big enough for Gabriel, wings and all.

“Okay,” she said, walking back into the dimly illuminated hallway, “time for operation ‘get Sam the hell out of here’.”

Holding her chin up, she couldn’t fight the urge to see how Sam was doing, despite having just seen her.  After not knowing if she was really alive for
the last week, Amalia needed the visual of her best friend.

Nodding to a passing solan doctor, Amalia strode to Sam’s cell, having to fight the urge to release her right away when she saw tears slowly running down the girl’s cheeks.  Her shoulders shook in sobs that Amalia couldn’t hear.  Amalia put a hand on the thick glass that separated the two, afraid to do more than that.

Turning around, she walked through the small complex, counting each occupied cell. Over a dozen, she thought unhappily.  Mostly angelus.  Previously human, she was sure.  But angelus now.  No one on the other levels, thank god.  Just laboratories and storage rooms.  But a brief head count left her with almost a dozen and a half bodies to get out of this hellhole.  Gabriel would use them as a distraction to get Sam out safely.  She was sure of that.  Not her.  Donovan had instilled a sense of honor in her that she couldn’t shake.  Not even in a situation like this.

His words rang in her head suddenly; his voice whispering in her ears.  “Sacrifice one to save many.”  Who to sacrifice, though?  Who could decide who was worth saving?  Who would decide?

“Not me,” Amalia heard herself whisper.  Shaking her head, she knew that she couldn’t sacrifice anyone to save Sam.  The words of an old police partner of hers followed Donovan’s.  “Save them all, or save none.”  She didn’t think he was thinking of
this type of situation when he’d told her that, but she wouldn’t think of that right now.  Just that he was right.  She’d save them all.  She was sure of it.

First, though, she had to create a distraction.  The distraction of letting everyone loose would work. That could make for a decent distraction; maybe cause enough chaos for her to get everyone to the stairway.  Not the elevator.  Shaking her head, she was sure that they’d disable the elevator at the first sign of trouble, leaving just the staircase as the only exit.

She’d planned around that, though, and could work it to the best of her ability.  Glancing around for a security guard, she saw him disappear down one of the long corridors.  With a mirthful grin, she found the small booth unmanned.  She stared down at the touch screen computers that handled all of the doors and locks. Password protected, she thought as she touched one. With a hard line for her mouth, she punched in the first password she’d found in Jessamyn’s files. 

“Damn,” she swore viciously.  It blinked “Incorrect password.  Attempt 1 of 3”.  The second password wasn’t any better, leaving her with one more guess.  And it’s just that, she told herself harshly, especially at this point.  Too bad this wasn’t a video game where exiting the field would reset her attempts.  That truly would make it too easy. 

The last one was a word she’d found scrawled on the bottom of one of the many papers that littered Jessamyn’s desk.  “Nascentium”. That did it, she thought triumphantly.  Nascentium, she thought with a harsh laugh that echoed around the small room.  Of course Nascentium.  Unborn.  Just what they were doing to these people. 

Amalia scanned the images that reflected the state of the cells. They were unlocked, but unopened. Must be another function, she thought, getting frustrated.

After scrolling through several screens, she found the one that controlled whether the cells were open or closed. After letting out a held breath, she punched in the second of the passwords she’d been tried.  She saw the doors silently open, and the surprised occupants jumping at the openings.

After messing up the video cameras with another mirthful grin, Amalia forced herself to Sam’s cell in a hurried walk. Seeing her start to leave, Amalia grabbed her arm, forcing Sam to look at her. In a quiet voice, she said, “I’m here to get you out.  Everyone out.”  Looking around, the others were milling around, confusion stark on the exhausted faced.

Raising her voice, she said, “I’m here to get you out.  Everyone.”

Faces turned to her, the murmur of voices rose.  “Who are you?” was the predominate question.

With a sigh, she knew that they were wasting valuable time.  “My name is Amalia Walker.  I’m a retire police officer.  I came here for my friend, Sam.  But I’m not leaving without all of you.”  She briefly thought about mentioning that she was working with an angelus, but she was sure that it wouldn’t go over too well.  Probably pretty badly, actually.

Turning to Sam, in a low voice, she said, “We need to hurry.  There’s one exit.  And they probably won’t let us go that easily.”

Offering Amalia a shaky smile, Sam responded, “no, I don’t suppose they will.”  Sam adjusted her wings uncomfortably, the weight obviously unfamiliar on her slender shoulders.  “Where to first?”

Pointing, she explained, “up the stairs. To the first basement. It’s the first level underground.  I’ll tell you more when we get there.  I need everyone to follow me.”  Pausing after most of the prisoners were gathered around her, she asked loudly, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd, “does anyone know how to use a gun?”

She saw a hand raised near the back.  A voice accompanied the hand.  “I do.  Former Air Force, ma’am.”

“Here then,” Amalia said, offering one of her three remaining guns to the brawny man.  Dark sapphire wings hung off his muscled back, strands of gold glistening through the dark feathers.

“Anyone else?” Amalia said.  After a moment, a small hand raised on the outer edge.

“I do.  I hunt with my dad,” came the small voice, from a person Amalia couldn’t see.  The girl moved away from the person she’d been hiding behind.

A child, Amalia realized.  Just a little girl.  Bright blonde hair.  Dandelion yellow wings went with the hair.  Nodding silently, Amalia offered her spare weapon to the girl.  “Are you sure you can shoot it?”

She wasn’t surprised when a hard look came across the girl’s thin face.  “I’ll use it.  I promise,” the girl practically spat, rage turning the placid face into a disturbing caricature of anger.

“Where are we going?” the Air Force asked as he checked the Glock over, giving it a satisfied nod.

“Up three flights of stairs.  We’ll  need to stop at the one right above us,” Amalia said, stopping as the rush of protestations grew.

“Why?” he asked, staring at her.

“There are more cells.  I don’t think there’s anyone in them.  I couldn’t see in them, though, and I need to make sure.”

“You unlocked them all?”

She nodded, then gave a harsh smile. “And totally fucked up their security system.”

“Then we’ve got twenty minutes before they sound the alarm,” he said.

“What about the security guard?” Amalia asked, realizing that she hadn’t seen him since she entered the guard booth.

“Knocked him out myself when he came to investigate.  Right now, he’s hogtied in my cell,” he said with a smirk.  “Name’s Paul,” he said, offering her a brief salute.

“Good.  Then we can start up.  You bring the rear.  What’s your name?” she asked the girl with the small Beretta.

“Kasey,” she replied in a soft voice firmed with a length of steel.

“Kasey, you stay in the middle.  Guard us,” Amalia ordered.  When Kasey saluted her, Amalia turned to Sam and gave her a half-smile.  “Let’s get to our doom.”

Starting down the length of hallway that would take them to the stairs, she could hear the elevator.  It was going up, she realized.  She did a quick mental head count of the followers and came up four short.  So, she thought, four people on that elevator.  Four distractions.  Four more she’d have to rescue.  She led them up the narrow, twisting stairs.

On the second floor landing, she could hear a siren going off, some announcement, but the thick cement walls blocked most of it. Brainless gits, she thought, didn’t put a speaker in the stairs. Judging by the cobwebs, they didn’t get much use, either. Oh well, she thought, better for us this way.  Getting trapped in the elevator wasn’t her idea of a good time, and at least in the stairs, she could fight back.  Seeing Gabriel try and move in cramped areas, she knew she’d have the advantage.  But being the only human, she was the only one with that advantage, unless Kasey and Paul actually used the weapons she’d provided.