Landfall (The Reach, Book 2) (42 page)

Emil stopped suddenly as a warning klaxon sounded inside the complex.  A flashing yellow light in
the ceiling began to spin, throwing waves of amber around the room like the blades of a turbine.

“Aksel!” Emil barked.  “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got intruders,” Aksel said, his voice becoming shrill.  “They’ve found the entrance through the workshop.  Look here on the security cam.”

“How many?” Emil said, leaning away to see the terminal.  Talia felt the pressure on her neck lessen, enough to allow her to also observe the terminal
, where dark figures were swarming through the workshop.

“At least five or ten,” Aksel said.  “They–”

Gunfire sounded down the corridor, and then Talia twisted her body with all of her might, slipping out from under Emil’s grasp and knocking his legs out from under him.  His gun discharged and a round smacked into the ceiling, and as he tried to pick himself up
,
she hurled herself over the console and out of sight.  She rolled when she hit the floor and kept moving, keeping low and ducking into the crowd of Skybreach staff who had begun to scatter toward the exits, screaming and crying out in dismay.  There was another gunshot close by, and Talia couldn’t be sure if it was Emil still shooting at her or if it was the intruders closing in.

She made it to the doorway, jostling past those in her way, and then began sprinting down the corridor.  Her hand closed around the .22 in her pocket.

She’d seen enough on the camera feed to understand what she was up against.

Capper and his cronies had finally found her.

The renovated wing did not resemble the rest of the Infirmary in any way.  Under the glow of the tablet
,
Knile could see that it was nothing but a maze of half-finished walls and exposed concrete flooring.  Pallets loaded with steel pipes and tiles loomed out of the darkness, clogging up the corridors, and abandoned construction gear lay scattered around like flotsam.  All around was the cloying, stale smell of paint and plaster dust.

Knile hastened through the twisting confines of the place and eventually found a remote corner in which to hunker down.  He dimmed the display on the tablet, hoping to make his location less obvious should the Redmen pass nearby, and then got to work.

After his years of effortlessly slicing through the Enforcer network, the Consortium system presented a far greater challenge
.  The security protocols were far more
advanced, for a start, and there
were more of them.  Every time Knile tried to carve out a pathway through to central security applications
,
he found evidence of an intrusion prevention system blocking his way.  From experience with other systems, he knew he had to be careful.  He could be locked out or shut down if he triggered one of these sensors, and that would mean
the end of the road for both him and Roman.

It was a dangerous venture and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

He kept one eye on his watch and the other on the corridor outside.  In his mind it only felt like a minute or two since he’d begun his flight, but in reality thirteen minutes had already passed.  The Crimson Shield would surely be here by now.  Had they taken the bait and followed him, or had they gone in search of Roman instead?

He felt nauseous even considering the possibility.  He imagined Roman lying in his bed as the Redmen pumped him full of pulse rounds, his life snuffed out in moments by their brutal efficiency.

I need to go back
, he thought, panicked.  He took an involuntary step back out into the corridor. 
I need to–

Out of the darkness, Knile suddenly saw a swathe
of red light seemingly suspended in mid-air further down the corridor.  As he watched
, it coalesced into a solid shape, not unlike a diamond with rounded edges.

He realised that he’d seen that shape before.  It was the emblem of the Crimson Shield.

Knile turned and practically fell over himself trying to get out of the corridor.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised that the glowing shield must have been some sort of illumination system that had been built into the Redmen’s armour, allowing them to find their way in the darkness.

He crouched in the gloom, terrified at the thought of an unknown number of Redmen stalking about these dark corridors.  How many were there?  Where could he go to evade them?

He had no more time to contemplate the answer to those questions.  The foo
tsteps were close now, the Redme
n zeroing in on his position.  Tucking the tablet under his arm he kept moving, ducking between exposed steel struts and shoving past a trolley, wincing at the noise but terrified of slowing his pace and being struck down from behind.  He turned a corner and, to his horror, saw another of the glowing shields headed in his direction.  He lurched back the way he had come, and a bolt of blue fire lit up the darkness as a pulse round smashed into a wooden beam, turning it to splinters with a deafening crash.

Now Knile was running blindly.  He quickly lost his sense of direction, tripped, fell, got up again.

How am I going to get out of this?
he thought wildly.  Then:
Complete the hack.  Find a way to rescind the order.

But he already knew that was a forlorn hope.  There hadn’t been enough time for him to figure out the nuances of the Consortium system, let alone break into it.  Unless he could
disentangle himself from his pursuers and find himself another ten minutes or more to work on it, there was no way he could get it done.

Over his shoulder he saw another of the Redmen’s disembodied suits appear, and then a spark of luminous blue lit up the corridor.  Knile ran, slamming into a pallet of copper pipes that had appeared in his path, and then he stumbled and scrambled his way over it.  As he fell from the other side
,
the entire pallet exploded, smashed and scattered in all directions by another pulse round.  Seconds later, Knile found himself lying on the floor, coated in dust, dazed, blood dripping from his scalp, his ears ringing.  He fumbled for the tablet next to him and gripped it in his fist, then limped to his feet and began to run again, coughing and wheezing.  He turned another corner and stumbled to a halt.

There was another Redman coming right at him.

As he tried to turn, he bumped into the wall and something fell out of his pocket and clattered across the floor.  He looked back and saw a small rectangle lying in the dust, and after a moment of confusion he realised what it was.

The diary.  Lazarus’ diary.

In the mayhem of the last hour, Knile had forgotten all about Lazarus and the deal that they had struck.  Seeing the diary brought it all back to him.

He still had to somehow return it to the old woman, Tosia, back in the Infirmary.

Ahead, the Redman was advancing inexorably.  The diary was between
him and Knile, and the distance back to it seemed like an insurmountable gulf.

Leave it.  You’ll die if you go back.

He hesitated, hearing Lazarus’ words in his mind.

My soul is in your hands, Knile.

And then he remembered his own response:
Yes, Aron.  I give you my word.

Knile realised in that moment that he was about to die, that in turn Roman would die, and that everything would be lost.  There were too many Redmen and not enough time for him to escape.  Knile’s luck had run out, and now he had nowhere else to turn, no avenue of escape.

You deserve it,
he thought bitterly. 
For what you did to people like Emil.

Do the right thing
, he told himself as the Redman advanced. 
For this one last thing, keep your word.

That diary was like a symbol, he realised.  It was a choice between integrity and deceit, courage and cowardice.

He knew which one he had to choose.

Knile stumbled forward, sobbing, and fell on the diary.  He clutched it to his chest and held it firm, protecting it as best he could.

I’m sorry, Lazarus.  I tried.

He thought of Roman and Talia one last time, and then the boots of the Redman thudded to a halt right in front of his face.

42

“Arise.”

Knile wormed on the floor, choking in dust and grit, waiting for the Redman to deliver the killing blow.  He looked up and could see what looked like a mountain of armour doused in that strange crimson light, a figure that more resembled a glowing block of granite than a man.

“Arise,” the Redman said again.

Knile coughed again, then lifted himself unsteadily to his feet.  He was shaking like a leaf, exhausted and emotionally spent.

“Just get it over with,” he croaked.  “I’m ready to die.”

“That is good.  One should always be ready for the whisper of death in one’s ear,” the Redman said calmly, and with a start Knile realised he recognised the voice.  As the dust cleared he saw piercing blue eyes appear through the gloom and a stoic expression amid a tangle of hair.

“Lazarus?” he said, disbelieving.

“Indeed.”

Knile shook his head, stupefied.  “What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, Lazarus gripped his arm and hauled him out of the corridor, through an adjoining room and away on another tangent.  There were sounds of the other Redmen behind them, their heavy boots crunching through grit and debris, but soon their noises began to recede.  After hustling for another minute or so, Lazarus finally came to a halt, satisfied that they had slipped away for the time being.

“I told you that I could walk here in ten minutes,” Lazarus said in a hushed voice.  “Did I not?  And here I am.”

Knile glanced at his watch.  Almost twenty minutes had passed since the alert.

“But how–?”

“My apologies, Knile,” he said sombrely.  “I betrayed your trust.”  He reached out and pulled a small metallic sliver from underneath Knile’s collar.  “I planted a listening device on you when we spoke at the chapel.  I’m sorry, I…”  He grimaced.  “I couldn’t be sure that I could trust you.”

“You heard me speaking to Emil.  You heard his betrayal.”

“Yes, and I knew that you would not survive long enough to deliver the diary unless I intervened.”

Knile glanced down at Lazarus’ armour, which appeared to be the same dust-coated suit that had been sitting in the chest in the sacristy.

“You put that thing on and walked all the way here in that time?”

“No.  I had already donned the armour.  I was preparing to leave on my pilgrimage and I intended to wear it out into the lowlands.  It seemed the appropriate thing to do.”  He glanced around.  “Now we must prepare–”

“But I don’t understand,” Knile pressed.  “You said you couldn’t come back here because of your honour.  What about your sentence of Landfall?”

Lazarus stared down at Knile and pursed his lips.  He looked as though a great weight had descended upon his shoulders.  He reached out and gently took the diary from Knile’s hands and brushed his huge fingers across it tenderly.

“I decided that restoring Edyta’s honour was worth the cost of losing my own.”  He held up the diary for Knile to see.  “I saw what you did.  You threw yourself upon this.  You were indeed prepared to protect it to the bitter end.”  He held out a giant armoured hand, and Knile reached out and shook it, still dazed.  “You are a man of honour, Knile Oberend.  A man of his word.”

Knile nodded.  “Thank you.”

Lazarus stared down at the diary for a moment longer, then stowed it away beneath his armour.

“Now we must–”

There was the sound of a metal can falling to the floor not far away, and they turned to see one of the Redmen encroaching across the other end of the room, pulse rifle raised.  He squinted at Lazarus and Knile before allowing the weapon to dip.

“Gomez,” he called, “quit playing with your food and kill that runt.  Then we can get out of here.”