Winter's Warrior: Mark of the Monarch (Winter's Saga 4) (6 page)

Even when he looked away to reload his gun, the image of his golden-green, worried eyes were imprinted in Sloan’s mind.  She tried to watch his hands as he
smoothly slipped the used magazine free, reached into a pocket, retrieved a fresh cartridge and slammed it into place, but all she could see was the look in his eyes.  He protected her with his body; pulled her aside and shielded her from the gunfire flying inches above their heads.

“RUN!”
yelled a familiar voice.

Without thinking, Sloan followed the movements of the boy beside her.  He leaped to his feet, and though she felt his hand pull her up, she didn’t need the encouragement.  She wasn’t leaving his side.

Footsteps echoed through the corridor as everybody ran for their lives.  Alik and Farrow vaulted over fallen bodies and burst through the front doors of the Research Hospital with such strength, both doors hung wide on shattered hinges.  Their soldiers’ eyes scanned the shadows for threats, even as their legs carried them directly toward the van glowing white in the moonlight.

Three of the four metahumans running toward the elevator kept their guns at the ready.  Sloan was unarmed.

Meg reached to press the button that would open the elevator doors.  Even as she futilely jabbed the unlit button, she realized the problem.

“Oh, God!  The electricity’s out, so the elevator won’t work!” Her voice sounded shrill with desperation.

“How are we going to get to the children?”  Sloan gasped.

Evan and Creed frowned deeply, feeling responsible.  “Maybe I could rig it to work.  It is probably a standard hydraulic or cable mechanism.  If it’s hydraulic I could jimmy it to lower, but…”

“But what?” Meg snapped impatiently.

“But I wouldn’t be able to make it lift back up without electricity.”

“Shit!”
Creed cursed under his breath.  His eyes darted frantically around the corridor and in the dim red light a metallic box hanging on the wall glinted.  Rushing to it he used the butt of his gun to break the glass.  Shoving the gun in his holster to free his hands, he reached in and grabbed the emergency axe stowed there next to a fire hose. 

Meg locked her jaw in single-minded approval. 

“Back up!”

Creed ran to the closed doors of the elevator and crammed the blade of the axe into the seam before yanking the handle up and to the left, twisting an opening wide enough to fit his strong fingers.  With tendons stretching beautifully, he forced one side of the elevator door wide.  Then he braced his back against that opening and used his powerful leg to kick the other side of the door open.  He did the same to the second set of doors, forcing his way into the elevator car.

Creed and Meg stepped into the silent cube and scanned it only to see an emergency rooftop exit.  “That won’t help,” Meg seethed, but Creed wasn’t looking up.  His crisp blue eyes were studying the elevator’s flooring. 

Without a word, he leaned down to pick up the axe and held it like a lumberjack.

“Evan, there was a ladder in the facilities closet.  We’re going to need it.”  Creed’s voice was calm, calculating.

“You’re not going to try to break through the floor, are you?” His green eyes glowed in awe at the realization of Creed’s impromptu plan.

“Meg, you’re going to have to step out—I’m going to need room,” Creed glanced at his dark-eyed angel. 

She obeyed immediately and turned to Evan.  “Do you need help getting the ladder?” she asked, prompting him to move.

“No, I got it!” Evan shook himself before sprinting down the hallway and around the corner and back to the room in which they had destroyed the electrical transformers.   He didn’t even notice Sloan on his heels until he was dropping his duffle bag so he had room to squeeze into the small alcove that housed the six-foot ladder.  He yanked the old metal ladder off its wall brackets and was maneuvering it in the small space back toward the door.  Sloan held it wide for him, worry etched across her beautifully dainty face.

“It’ll be okay, Sloan.  Creed and Meg know what they’re doing,” he whispered as he hurried passed her, hoping he wasn’t lying to the girl.  She ducked back into the room and came out with Evan’s duffle bag wrapped around her tiny frame.  The bag was nearly as big as she was, but she ran with determination to keep up with Evan’s fast pace back to the elevator.  They could already hear what Creed was doing.  Metal on metal screamed with every solid
thwack!
 

When they rounded the corner they saw Meg standing guard, gun raised and ready as Creed stood in the doorway of the elevator and beat the heck out of the metal floor.  He had already removed one of the metal sheets that had been riveted to steel beams beneath.  Nothing was stopping the powerful swings of his axe.  Within three minutes, Creed had chopped the elevator floor to hell and a gaping three-foot hole was left in his wake. 

“Get ready to pass me the ladder,” He said only partially out of breath from his efforts.

He peered into the blackness of the elevator’s shaft. 

“I’m guessing it’s about a ten-foot drop,” Meg said aloud as she remembered the approximate height of the basement ceiling from her last excursion down there.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too.”  Creed scowled.  “Okay, so I’m going to jump down.  Once I’m there, you’ll need to lower the ladder to me so I can set it up.  Got it?” 

“What if you land on one of the shaft floor pistons below?"

“
I'll jump near the corner of the shaft, away from the pistons.”

“
Are you sure?  You're bleeding." Meg looked worried as she motioned to the fresh blood oozing down his right side causing the black T-shirt to stick against him. 

Creed glanced down at his side as though just noticing his gunshot wound compliments of Williams’ spy, Slider/Miro.  “I don’t even feel it, but it must have opened up when I used the axe.”

“You switched off your pain,” Meg said matter-of-factly.

“What?”  Creed asked then shook his head dismissively.  “Never mind.  We have work to do.”

With the grace of a panther, he leaped into the jagged-edged hole and disappeared.  A second later, they heard his feet land firmly onto the ground far below. 

“Are you okay?” Meg was on her hands and knees, trying to see into the musty blackness below.

“Yeah, lower the ladder.”

Together, Evan and Meg slipped the folded ladder feet-first into the blackness as far as their arms could reach lying on their bellies.  They felt Creed grasp the weight of the metal frame and take it the rest of the way. 

Squeaking sounds echoed softly up the shaft to the sensitive ears of the metahumans still waiting above. 

“Okay, Meg,” Creed voice commanded.

He didn’t have to finish his sentence.  Meg was already spinning and lowering her legs into the black hole, trusting the ladder to be there to catch her.  Her strong hands grasped the jagged metal edge of the elevator’s floor and felt her skin slice just before her feet touched the top of the ladder.  Grimacing, she adjusted her grip and used her feet to find the next tier of the ladder before letting go and slowly crouching atop the ladder.  Once she started down, she called up to Sloan and Evan.  “Be careful not to cut yourself on the jagged edges up there.”

She felt Creed’s strong hands grab her hips and lead her safely to the ground. 

Creed smelled Meg’s blood before she could hide her injury.  "Okay, whoever is coming next brings the axe," Creed called even as he was ripping off a swatch of his own shirt. 

“I’m coming,” Sloan’s small voice echoed down the darkness.

Creed helped her down before tending to Meg’s cut, remaining confident Evan would manage.

“Give me your hand,” he said in the darkness.  Meg offered her gouged hand and felt his strong fingers touch her with such gentleness in the pitch dark until he found the torn flesh and felt it oozing blood.  He grimaced sympathetically.

“It’s deep,” was all he said before he started wrapping the cotton strip around it tightly to stop the blood loss.

“How did you know I cut myself?” Meg spoke only to distract herself from the pain in her hand. 

“I can smell it—copper and strawberries,” he said simply.

“Strawberries?” Meg repeated, sure she misunderstood him.

“Are you badly hurt?” Evan asked, worry in his voice.

“I’m fine, Ev.”  Meg shook off the pain even as she balled her fist around the makeshift bandage.

“Pass me the axe,” Creed turned toward Sloan.  Her hands were trembling, but she forced herself to unzip the duffle bag and feel around for the wooden handle. 

“Step back,” Creed warned before repeating the steps he used earlier to pry the elevator doors open, this time from the inside and blinded by darkness.

Seconds later, they were stepping across the threshold and into the corridor.  Retracing her steps from earlier, Meg led the group down the basement corridor and into the supply closet.  Without hesitation, Meg slipped her hand behind the cabinet to hit the lever that would open the hidden door.  Before she did, she turned to the others and nodded solemnly at their weapons warning them to be ready.  Evan stepped directly in front of the unarmed Sloan, obviously willing to take on the responsibility of protecting her, again.

They stepped to the side of the opening and braced themselves for gunfire.
Meg silently mouthed the words—
three, two, one
then pulled the lever. 

When the door slid open, they were looking into the room that had housed the children no more than thirty minutes before.

The room looked empty.

“Oh, dear God!  Where are they?” Meg wailed in anguish.

“Check the beds, look everywhere!” Creed called to the others even as he ran from bed to bed patting the rumpled sheets looking for someone, anyone to rescue.

While the others frantically searched the room with their eyes, Meg held still and closed hers.  She pulled out her
empath senses and felt herself reach around the room.   Almost immediately she found what she was searching for and started running toward the farthest end of the room.

There, she saw a tiny form barely lifting the sheet off the bed.  The others hurried to follow Meg. 
They were all looking on as she carefully pulled back the sheet from what surely was a child’s face. 

A little boy, no older than three, l
ay as still as stone.

His lips were blue.

His face was gaunt and pasty white, even in the glow of the red light.

“They left him,” Meg whispered, eyes watering out of equal parts of fury and anguish for what was done to the little soul still strapped to the bed that would have been his tomb.

Evan and Sloan stepped around Meg and with the efficient movements of doctors, they began taking his vitals.

“He’s alive, but he won’t be for long without medical attention,” Evan fumed angrily at the injustice done to the baby beneath his fingertips.

“He’s severely malnourished, dehydrated—he’s very sick,” Sloan shook her head sadly.

“He comes with us.” Creed’s voice was tight with determination.

“I’ll carry him,” Meg reached out and began to quickly but carefully pulls the straps off the baby boy’s wrists and ankles.  She gathered his tiny body in his sheet, bundled him carefully and draped his fragile frame against her shoulder.

The moment she felt him
, light and barely breathing in her arms, time held still.

His little face nuzzled Meg’s muscular shoulder and for the first time in her life, she wondered if she was soft enough to hold a baby.   But he didn’t seem to mind her wiry muscles and athletic build.  He did seem determined to turn his head as he was smashing his little nose into her sharp collarbone.  With a gentle nudge, Meg helped the baby turn his head the direction in which he seemed insistent. 

His little face was now pressed right against Meg’s neck.  He seemed to take a deep breath and shuddered with a sigh of contentment before reaching up and tangling his small fist in her long locks.

“Meg, I can carry him for you,” Creed offered when he noticed her flinch at the pressure she put on her
wounded right hand supporting his small frame. 

“No, he needs my help immediately and I can do it better if I’m touching him
.” Meg turned and started back across the room with fast feet even as she mumbled gentle words of encouragement into the child’s unconscious ear.  The others ran to keep up. 

“Meg,” Evan called, “is he the only child left down here?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.  “Williams ordered them moved.”

“Where?” Sloan asked.

“He’s sent them to someone off-site.  They’re not even at the compound anymore.”  Her voice was bitter but she stopped elaborating on what her empath skills had divulged wanting to focus on the baby in her arms.

“Let’s just get him out of here,”
she said, her voice gruff with emotion.