20 – Smoke-Filled Corridor

Explosions jolt me awake, the cell bars rattling like angry snakes. For a moment, I can’t separate nightmare from reality, my mind fogged with lingering dreams of the baldagaar fight. My eyes snap open, expecting to find the Fat Man looming over me, but there’s only the strobing of bright flashes through our small window. Despite the late hour, the night sky pulses with increasing brightness, each flash illuminating our luxury prison in stark relief. Papa, Isaiah, and Braam are already up, their faces transforming from shadow to harsh light with each explosion, as they peer outside searching for answers none of us have.

The sulfur lights flicker and die, leaving us in darkness broken only by the violent flashes from outside. The comforts of our cell now feel like a trap, the soft cots and fresh fruit forgotten in our rising panic.

“What’s going on out there?” Braam shouts, slamming the door with his fist. “They’re gone.”

“Are you sure?” Isaiah asks, moving closer to the door.

“Your mother was a plugtail!” Braam bellows, pounding harder. “Hugo is a fool and Cyrus is his girlfriend!” His voice bounces off empty corridors. He turns back to us, shrugging. “Nothing. Nobody’s there.”

Part of the ceiling collapses into the corridor, the impact sending vibrations through the floor strong enough to nearly knock us off our feet. Through the gaping hole, a brilliant beam of light sweeps across us, briefly turning night to day.

“It’s cannon fire and spotlights from an airship,” Braam says grimly, his experience as a protector evident in his quick assessment. “We’ll be dead soon enough if we don’t get out of here. Those aren’t warning shots.”

“Maybe we can pick the lock,” Papa suggests, already rummaging through his parts cart. His hands move with practiced precision despite the chaos, testing different tools against the lock.

Isaiah kicks the door in frustration while Braam throws his weight against it repeatedly, muscles straining. The metal groans but holds firm. Then, as suddenly as it began, everything stops. The silence hits like a physical force, broken only by distant screams and the crackle of flames beginning to take hold in the debris.

Static fills the air, followed by a voice that seems to come from everywhere at once, bouncing off walls and rubble. “This is Commander Protector Atwood of the Royal Defense.” The amplicones mounted beneath the airship distort his words into something inhuman, like insects buzzing through metal. The sound makes my skin crawl.

“This settlement has been deemed unlawful and is hereby charged with the following crimes: unpermitted settlement; unpermitted battles for sport and spectation; unlawful imprisonment and destruction of baldagaars which are Lord Solomon’s property; and harboring known criminals of Eden.” The voice pauses for effect. “The punishment for these crimes is complete and total destruction of this settlement and its inhabitants.”

The announcement ends in a burst of static that sets my teeth on edge. Cannon fire resumes with renewed fury, each impact closer than the last. Our time is running out. I launch myself at the door, my newly repaired foot connecting with solid steel, but it refuses to yield. Papa’s expertise with my proths means the door takes more damage than my leg, but it’s not enough.

“It won’t budge!” Isaiah’s voice rises with panic. Braam charges again, his shoulder impact echoing through the cell as he crumples to the floor. The door mocks our efforts, standing firm despite our desperate attempts.

Smoke begins seeping through the bars from the corridor fire, bringing with it the acrid smell of burning wood and something worse – burning flesh. I eye the door’s hinges, calculating angles, remembering every lesson Papa taught me about leverage and impact points.

“Step aside!”

Braam and Isaiah clear the way as I charge, focusing all my power into the first hinge. It pops loose with a satisfying crack, the door tilting slightly. A second kick bends another hinge, progress but not enough. The smoke grows thicker, making each breath more difficult.

“Hit it again!” Isaiah urges, coughing into his sleeve.

I back up for another run, but the jingling of keys freezes me mid-stride. The door swings open to reveal Amari, backlit by fire and searchlights, looking more like a spirit than a healer.

“Healer girl?” Braam groans, rubbing his shoulder.

We burst into the smoke-filled corridor where chaos reigns supreme. Cannonballs continue their assault as fire spreads across the support beams, dripping molten embers around us like deadly rain. The partially collapsed hall teems with panicked people, all running blindly through the destruction. Some crawl over debris while others push and shove, their faces masks of terror in the flickering light.

At the corridor’s end, we find a section of wall completely destroyed, the night air beckoning with the promise of freedom. But our hope dies quickly. A dozen protectors stand outside, methodically firing on fleeing civilians. Their uniforms mark them as Eden’s elite forces – Solomon’s best killers.

“We have to take the tunnels,” Amari says, her voice steady despite the chaos.

“She’s right,” Papa agrees, pulling me back from the opening. “We’ll be target practice out there.”

“Back down the main corridor, through the prison entrance,” Amari directs. “We can cross the arena to reach the tunnels. The airship’s moving east anyway, away from there.”

We retrace our steps, passing dead guards whose faces I recognize from countless trips to the arena. Isaiah snatches up a spear while Braam claims a fallen club, both weapons still warm from their previous owners’ hands. The arena doors hang open, swaying like grotesque pendulums in the hot wind.

As we sprint past the cells, screams from our former cellmates pierce the air. Hands reach through bars, faces I know begging for help.

“We can’t just leave them,” I say, stopping short. These men might be criminals, but no one deserves to die trapped in a cage.

“We don’t have time,” Braam argues, already moving toward the arena.

Isaiah glances between me and the cells before shrugging and following Braam. Something in me breaks seeing their retreat.

“Goatnuts!” I shout after them. “You cowards!”

“Do you have keys?” Papa asks Amari. She lifts the ring of metal keys with trembling hands, dozens of potential saviors or dead ends dangling before us.

“Do it,” I order, kicking futilely at the bars while she tries key after key. Sweat drips down my face as explosions rock the building. Each failed attempt feels like a death sentence for those trapped inside. Finally, the lock clicks and prisoners pour out like water from a broken dam, scattering in all directions without a word of thanks.

“Come on, girls,” Papa urges, pulling us both toward the arena. The smoke is thicker here, making every breath a struggle.

We find the arena entrance partially collapsed, with Braam and Isaiah waiting beside it. Their faces show a mix of annoyance and relief at our delay.

“How sweet. You waited for us,” I say acidly, though part of me is grateful they stayed.

“Just hurry up, girl.” Braam braces himself under the fallen beam, his muscles straining as he holds it up while we scramble through. The moment he follows, the entire structure crashes down behind us, cutting off any chance of retreat.

The arena has become a killing field. A man runs past us, his body a living torch before he collapses into a smoldering heap. Blunderbuss fire and cannon blasts create a hellish symphony as people fall randomly around us. The outer walls crumble with each impact, ancient stone and mortar reduced to dust.

“There!” Amari points to a rough opening across the arena. “That’s where we need to go.”

Braam grabs a sheet of metal for a shield, testing its weight. “Stay close.”

“I’ll distract them,” I say, already tensing for the run. “Go straight across. It’s exposed, but it’s the shortest distance. I’ll keep their attention.”

Before anyone can argue, I explode into motion, my proths propelling me faster than any normal human could move. Amari’s voice follows me: “Neeka! Be careful!”

The first protector never sees me coming. My heel caves in his skull before he can register the threat. The second falls to a kick that snaps his head back with a crack that rivals the cannons. They begin firing at me, but I’m too fast, already gone before their weapons discharge, leaving them shooting at shadows.

I leap at a third protector, but he falls before I reach him, two holes in his chest from his own side’s crossfire. I snatch up his blunderbuss, squeeze off two wild shots, and miss completely. Disgusted, I discard the weapon and launch into a new attack, using my speed and proths to maximum effect. One protector goes down with a shattered knee, another with a crushed chest.

Taking cover behind a boulder, I check on my friends’ progress. Papa and Braam wave from the tunnel entrance. It worked! I signal them to go ahead, then spring from hiding, crossing the distance in seconds, my heart pounding with triumph.

We dive into the tunnel’s darkness, the air cool after the arena’s inferno. Isaiah creates a makeshift torch from his shirt, and Braam collapses the entrance behind us with his club. “Only one way out now.”

The tunnel trembles with each impact above, showering us with dirt and small stones. The sounds of destruction fade with each step forward, replaced by our labored breathing and footsteps. Victory feels close enough to taste.

“I feel a little dizzy,” I mumble, suddenly aware of a strange warmth spreading across my side. The world starts to tilt sideways.

Papa catches me as I stumble. “Neeka, are you okay?”

Amari’s hands move quickly over my body, pushing up my shirt. Their faces blur together, voices becoming distant and strange. The last words I hear echo through the darkness:

“She’s been hit!”

The tunnel spins away into blackness, and I fall into nothing.