Page 38

THIRTY-EIGHT

Blaze

The medevac chopper’s downdraft whips across the rooftop as it lifts Charlie and Jon to safety.

Blood from my reopened wounds mingles with sweat, each drop stinging like a thousand needles. Every breath sends shards of broken ribs grinding together beneath bruised flesh.

Ember moves toward the elevator. My hand shoots out, catching her wrist despite screaming muscles.

“Not the elevator.” The words taste like copper, my split lip reopening. “Too easy to trap. Too easy to cut the cables. One thermite charge and we’re dead.”

Her eyes meet mine, trust warring with urgency. The need to protect her burns hotter than the fever building in my battered body.

“Form up,” Jenny orders, her voice carrying the weight of command. “Mac, Brett—rear guard, five-meter spread. Rufis, on point with overlapping fields of fire. Blaze…” Her eyes soften fractionally. “Keep Ember center mass. No one touches her.”

I position myself in front of Ember as we enter the stairwell. The stench of cordite and death fills my lungs. Shell casings crunch beneath our boots like broken promises. Crimson handprints mark our path—our handiwork from the climb up.

Two Rufi units bound ahead, their movements liquid metal precision, their sensors sweeping for threats. Two flank our sides, sensors sweeping for threats. The last brings up our rear, its targeting systems painting the shadows in infrared wavelengths.

“Movement,” Mac’s voice carries quiet urgency. “Two levels down.”

The mechanical hounds adjust their formation. Red targeting lasers dance through lingering gun smoke.

My rifle settles against my shoulder, the familiar weight both comfort and agony. Each micro adjustment sends fresh fire through tortured muscles.

Twenty-third floor—the first resistance finds us. Three hostiles emerge from emergency lighting, desperation making them sloppy. The Rufis react before triggers can be pulled. Mechanical jaws find throats and arteries. Wet gurgling follows. Then silence.

“Keep moving.” Jenny’s voice carries quiet authority. “Watch your six.”

Ember’s breath comes in sharp bursts. Each step brings us closer to those kids. To her past.

Twentieth floor landing—a door burst opens. Mac’s rifle barks twice. Bodies thud against the tiled floor.

“Clear,” he grunts. Fresh blood soaks his sleeve.

The rage still burns inside me, banked but ready. Every shadow could hide a threat. Every corner could bring death. My finger rests light on the trigger, ready to eliminate anything that threatens her.

Seventeenth floor—resistance. Heavy.

“Contact front!” Brett’s warning comes sharp and urgent.

Gunfire erupts, deafening in the confined space. Concrete chips explode from the walls. The Rufis bound forward, drawing fire. Their targeting systems paint the hostiles in light.

I spin, shielding Ember with my body as bullets whip past. Her fingers dig into my vest, but she doesn’t scream. Doesn’t panic.

The team responds with practiced violence. Jenny’s and Mac’s rifles thunder in perfect sync. Brett’s breaching shotgun roars, turning flesh to mist.

“Moving!” Mac advances through the chaos, the Rufis flanking him. More bodies join the dead.

Blood and shell casings rain down the stairs. The smell of death grows thicker.

Fifteenth floor—the lights flicker, casting strange shadows. A hostile rounds the corner, knife glinting. Before I can shift my rifle, Ember moves.

Her elbow strikes his throat. Her knee finds his groin. The knife clatters away as he folds.

My heart swells with pride as I put two rounds in his chest. She’s not just surviving. She’s fighting back.

“Nice moves,” Jenny says, stepping over the corpse. “But stay behind Blaze.”

The tenth floor brings another ambush. Flashbang grenades bounce off the walls. The Rufis’ sensors compensate instantly, and their targeting systems are unaffected by the flash and sound.

I pull Ember tight against me, shielding her eyes as the grenades detonate. The world goes white. My ears ring. But the Rufis are already moving, already killing.

Screams echo through the stairwell. Blood sprays across my face, hot and sticky.

“Push through!” Jenny’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Keep moving!”

Fifth floor—the resistance grows desperate. Wild shots from dying men. The Rufis paint the walls with their blood.

“Almost there,” Ember whispers, her voice tight with tension. “It’s the fifth sub-basement.”

My broken ribs scream as we descend, but nothing matters except keeping her safe. Getting those kids out.

Third floor—more hostiles. They die choking on their own blood, torn apart by mechanical jaws and precise gunfire.

“A few more,” Ember’s breath catches. “The entrance is hidden. Behind the old maintenance room.”

Second-floor landing—a guard emerges from nowhere, rifle raised. Time slows.

His finger tightens on the trigger. The muzzle flash blooms.

I move without thinking, spinning to cover Ember. Pain explodes through my shoulder as the round finds flesh.

Brett’s shotgun thunders. The guard’s chest disappears in a red mist.

“Blaze!” Ember’s hands press against the wound, coming away slick with blood.

“Keep moving,” I grit out. The pain is distant, unimportant. “We’re not done.”

The Rufis lead us through maintenance corridors. Their sensors map the hidden passages Ember remembers. The air grows thick with mold and decay.

“Here.” Ember stops at a false wall. Her fingers find hidden catches. “Help me.”

The panel slides away, revealing stairs descending into darkness. The stench of fear and hopelessness rises from below.

“Rufis, night vision protocols,” Jenny orders. “Breach and clear.”

The mechanical hounds bound down the stairs, red targeting lasers cutting through shadow. Their sensors sweep the space below.

“Clear,” Mac calls from behind us. “But we’ve got movement ahead.”

We descend into hell. The basement opens into a maze of corridors. Chain link cages line the walls. Small faces peer out from the darkness, eyes wide with terror and desperate hope.

“Oh God.” Ember’s voice breaks. “There’s more than before.”

A dozen children. Maybe more. Some no older than six. All wearing the hollow-eyed look of the forgotten.

“Get them out!” Jenny’s voice carries steel and fury. “All of them.”

The Rufis stand guard as we move from cage to cage. Bolt cutters make quick work of the locks. My hands shake with rage as tiny bodies press against me, seeking protection.

“It’s okay,” Ember soothes, gathering the smallest ones close. “We’re here to help. You’re safe now.”

A boy, no more than eight, shrinks away from the Rufi units. I kneel despite the pain, keeping my voice gentle.

“They’re here to protect you,” I say, letting him touch the mechanical frame. “Nothing’s going to hurt you anymore.”

“Incoming,” Brett warns from the corridor. “Multiple tangos approaching.”

“Rufis, defensive protocol seven,” Jenny orders. “Brett, Mac—funnel them into killing zones. No one touches these kids.”

The mechanical hounds bound away, taking up positions. Their targeting systems paint the darkness red.

Gunfire erupts above. Screams follow.

“We need to move.” Jenny’s voice carries urgency. “Ember—you know another way out?”

“No.” She gathers two small girls in her arms.

“Mitzy,” Jenny calls over the comms. “You got us a route out of here? Preferably one that doesn’t involve going up again?”

“You’re deep underground. I show drainage tunnels. They lead to the river.”

“Show us.” Jenny checks her HUD while Mac, Brett, and I guard our rear. Then we move out on Jenny’s order.

We move through the darkness, a parade of broken innocence. The kids cling to us, to each other. Some cry silently. Others are too shell-shocked to make a sound.

The Rufis guard our flanks as Jenny leads us deeper into the bowels of the building. Every shadow holds potential death. Every corner could bring disaster.

My shoulder throbs with each step, but I keep my rifle ready. Nothing will touch these children. Nothing will harm them again.

A drainage tunnel opens before us, cool air rushing in. Water drips from rusted pipes. Rats scatter in the darkness.

“Two hundred meters to the exit,” Mitzy calls out, her voice tight. “Then you’re out.”

The children move faster now, hope driving tired legs. The smallest ones we carry. The others help each other, showing strength beyond their years.

“Contact rear!” Mac’s warning echoes through the tunnel.

Gunfire thunders in the confined space. The Rufis respond. Bodies splash into dirty water.

“Keep moving.” Jenny pushes us forward. “Almost there.”

Light appears ahead—pale and weak but promising freedom. The tunnel mouth opens onto a service road near the river.

“Transport’s two minutes out,” Jenny says into her comm. “Everyone stay tight.”

We emerge into the pre-dawn air. The children blink in the gray light, faces turned toward the sky like flowers seeking the sun.

Ember stays close, her body trembling against mine. The adrenaline begins to fade, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

Black SUVs appear, rolling to a stop with precision. Doors open. Medical teams emerge.

“Get them loaded,” Jenny orders. “Priority on the children. Then our wounded.”

The kids go quietly, helped by gentle hands. Some look back, seeking reassurance. Ember smiles through her tears, her strength never wavering.

“Time to go,” I murmur, my arm tightening around her waist. The world spins slightly, blood loss taking its toll.

She turns into my embrace, her face pressing into my chest. “I thought I lost you.”

“Never.”

We load into the last vehicle. The Rufi units bound into their specially designed crates. Their job is done.

As we pull away, I hold Ember close. Her breathing evens out, exhaustion finally claiming her. Behind us, Wolfe’s empire lies in ruins. His legacy of pain ends tonight. These children will know safety now.

Know love.

Know hope.

And Ember …

I press my lips to her hair, ignoring the pain that comes with every breath.

Ember is free.