Landfall (The Reach, Book 2)
Read Landfall (The Reach, Book 2) Online
Authors: Mark R. Healy
Mark R. Healy
Copyright © Mark R. Healy 2015
markrhealy.com
Cover Art Copyright © Mark R. Healy 2015
Editing by Clio Editing Services
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Terms and Conditions:
The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1
Knile was sweating, and it wasn’t just from the warmth inside the elevator car.
He was afraid that in a matter of seconds he might be dead.
He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Every ragged breath that passed his lips seemed hotter than the last, and as he listened to the air wheezing in and out of his throat
, he imagined the oxygen supply in the compartment slowly ebbing away.
He wondered if perhaps asphyxiation would claim him before the elevator hit home and the doors opened – before those waiting to kill him could have their way with him.
The thought was so ironic that he almost laughed.
Get a grip. You’re losing it.
There was an acrid taste in his mouth, and now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure if the toxins from the outside air had been expunged from the compartment when the doors had closed. He decided there was no point taking the chance. He took the respirator from his pocket and fitted it to his nostrils. Breathing deeply, he filled his lungs until they could take no more, then slowly exhaled. It was a technique that had always calmed his jangled nerves in the past.
Right now it wasn’t helping.
He adjusted the collar of his shirt and tried to wipe away some of the sweat. The glistening sheen that coated his skin seemed to have a mind of its own, returning mere seconds after he
removed it, so he gave up and tried to think of something else.
He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to being scared.
This wasn’t like him. He’d always prided himself on keeping his cool, staying in control. Calling the shots and manipulating the other players in the game so that he could best take advantage of the situation.
But this was different. This was reckless.
The elevator continued its slow descent from the roof, edging inexorably toward
its destination – the Atrium. When it finally got there and the doors opened, he had no idea what was going to greet him.
Although it seemed a lifetime ago, it had in fact been only
a few minutes since he’d escaped the Atrium by stepping into this very elevator. Alec Duran, his old adversary,
had been out there screaming at him and trying to kill him, popping off shots like he had just stepped into a shooting gallery.
Then, minutes before that, Alton Wilt and his army of madmen had been trying to chase Knile down and capture him – or kill him – and Knile had barely escaped their grasp. Wilt would be dead by now, nothing more than a pool of brains and bone and skin lying in the streets of Link far below. His cronies, however, could still be out there. They could be waiting just beyond the Stormgates, unaware that their boss was dead, still trying to carry out his final orders even though now there was no point.
And what if Duran had called for backup? There might be Enforcers all over the place.
Maybe the whole damn menagerie would be out there – Enforcers and Wilt’s men, the Crimson Shield, and who knew what else. Knile might be about to walk into a war zone, a battlefield on which he had no allies.
He sucked in another nervous breath, knowing that he had every right to be anxious about what might be waiting at the end of this ride.
“When all of this is over,” he said to himself, “I’m going to take a very long vacation.”
The elevator was slowing now. He was only seconds away from
reaching his destination.
His fingers snuck along the folds of the secret pocket in his trousers, a subconscious habit he’d developed in the last twenty-four hours. The familiar lump of the passkey was gone, and strangely, that did not upset him. The only thing that mattered to him now was finding Roman and
Talia, the only two friends he had left on Earth, and helping them find safety.
His fingers
followed his belt around to his back where he’d hidden the shiv. That piece of finely honed bone was still wet with Alton Wilt’s blood. As
useful
as it was, it would do him no good against guns and pulse rifles. His hand dropped away again and clenched into a fist.
The elevator’s momentum slowed and then the carriage came to a
stop.
It clicked softly as it reached home, then paused as if drawing out the moment.
Knile spread his feet, clenching
his other hand into a fist as well. He was ready.
The doors opened on the Atrium, and Knile stood deathly still, waiting. The daylight had faded, and now the place was lit not by the red twilight sky, but by circular lamps set into the arches around the perimeter. The citizens who had been wandering around before he and Duran had shown up were now gone, scared off by the yelling and the threats, the gunfire. They’d retreated back down to their homes in Lux like mice disappearing into their burrows at the sight of a pair of hungry foxes.
Now the place was quiet, still. The breeze
continued to blow through the arches, stirring fine wisps of dust that spun into the air like ephemeral ballerinas, turning gracefully once or twice before dying back down into nothingness again.
Cautiously he began to move forward, stepping across the threshold and out into the wide-open spaces of the Atrium.
The two members of Crimson Shield were back at their stations, just outside the elevator doors
on either side. They were not wearing the same kind of armour as those above had been. The
re was no metal plating or full-
face masks to be seen. Instead, these Redmen wore a supple-looking fabric that was a deep red like the twilight of a few minutes before, and which had the appearance of rugged leather. Knile suspected that it was some sort of synthetic armour that was in fact much stronger than it looked. From the bulges in their chests and arms, he also ascertained that they were wearing further protection underneath, possibly Kevlar plating.
On their faces they wore sleek respirators that fit snugly against their skin and which had a finish not unlike burnished copper.
The man on Knile’s right, a dark-skinned Redman who wore a beard and a discontented scowl, looked Knile up and down and then shook his head.
“You again,” he said.
Knile shrugged and gave him an impish grin. “Uh-huh.”
The Redman’s scowl deepened and he glanced briefly across at his partner and then back to Knile.
“I don’t like you,” he said flatly. “You look like trouble to me. However, if you’re travelling on the Wire, you’re a customer of the Consortium, and that means people like me are here to protect you.
And
respect your right to be here.” He turned his body to face Knile front on, his pulse rifle clasped in his hands. “But you’re not travelling on the Wire, are you?”
Knile scratched his chin, doing his best to play the innocent.
“Seems not. Things didn’t work out.”
“Look, pal. I don’t know what was going on between you and that Enforcer, or why you came back down that elevator. I don’t even
want
to know, because the odds are that I’m not going to like what I hear. My only interest is seeing that the right people get past here, and the wrong people disappear and don’t ever come back.”
“About that,” Knile said. “That Enforcer who was chasing me, what–?”