CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

“Franc, what the hell?” Mitzi hissed.

“I’ll lead them away,” he replied through the headset, his voice tight but exhilarated. “It’ll give you all the time you need to get to the reactor.”

He was deliberately making noise, Mitzi realised, running as loudly as he could, slapping his hands on the walls as he passed them and kicking any rubble that got in his way. Mitzi’s blood ran cold. “They’ll catch you.”

“Don’t worry about me. We can keep in touch through the headsets. I’ll find a way to lose these guys, and I’ll meet up with you before we leave.”

Mitzi didn’t dare reply. She could hear the Cymics rolling through the hallways, gaining on her hiding place. She held her breath, her gloves tightening on Eoin’s and Mir’s arms as though that could keep them safe.

It was a terrible sound; scratching and slithering, like a lizard slinking across leaves. She tried to guess what form they’d taken to make noises like that. Probably merged. She could picture them, their human skin limp and disregarded, desecrated in the worst way, reduced to a flap of useless flesh hanging off the creatures’ true bodies.

The monsters were right outside the window. She could hear their slinking, scratching motion, punctuated by the wet sticking sounds as their black flesh touched the walls. Something heavy hit the window above her head, and it took all of Mitzi’s self-control not to gasp. Mir’s arm twitched under Mitzi’s hand, but her companions maintained their silence.

Mitzi’s body ached from the tension as her trembling muscles screamed to be shaken out. She was terrified that one of the creatures might pause, push open the door, or even press its hideous, corrupted human head against the glass to see inside. She and her three team members were sitting ducks, trapped in close confines, where the grenades were just as likely to hurt them as help them, and the flamethrowers could only hold their attackers back for so long before the fuel ran out.

Then the noises started to fade, and Mitzi realised the ghastly parade had passed them. Her lungs were burning, and she allowed herself to take a thick, shaking breath.

She glanced to her sides. Mir was shaking, doubled over, her helmet-covered head cradled in her hands. To her other side, Skye was pressed against the wall so tightly that Mitzi wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d fused to it. And Eoin… had his book out again.

“Really?” Mitzi said, incredulous, then shook her head.

The helmet turned to her a fraction. “It’s hard to read without proper light. I’d really prefer to go back home.”

It was such a simple statement—and yet so accurate of how Mitzi felt—that she found herself laughing, the weak chuckles too quiet to attract the Cymics’ attention, as relief warmed her core. She shook her limbs, freeing the cramps, and rolled onto her haunches. “Yeah, I’d really prefer to go home, too. Let’s do that.”