Kane Gilmour - Ragnarok

“Quiet,” she whispered. “He’ll hear!”

I base jump.

“He’s in the hallway, right now.”

I free solo rock climb!

“He has the one with the large buckle.” The whispers were frantic.

I am fearless!

She moved her hand up in the darkness to touch the scar on her forehead. The brand-it was a skull encased in a star, the symbol of the VPLA Death Volunteers, Vietnam’s Special Forces Unit. Trung had branded her like cattle, but she had escaped and exacted her vengeance on the bastard. Then she made the symbol her own, drawing strength from the wound. She felt the rough lumpy surface of her scarred skin beneath her fingertips and the sensation brought her fully back to the here and now.

Queen opened her eyes and looked at the small room in which she lay. There were a few wooden crates with swastikas on them and the legend Ahnenerbe. Queen recalled Rook mentioning the word-the name for a WWII German unit that focused on historical research and German superiority. The room had a door with no handle on it. Beyond that, she was alone in a storeroom of sorts, turned into the perfect jail cell. No window, but a lone 40-watt bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling.

She sat up from the floor where she had been lying and rubbed the brand on her forehead again, reassuring herself that she was in the present and not lost in the quagmire of her childhood. It was there under her fingers. Her old anger about the mark resurfaced, and with it bloomed a new anger at the people who ran this place and the creatures they employed. Her face felt red and hot. She could feel her heart beating faster as rage coursed through her strong body, cleaning out the last vestiges of the fear that had filled it moments before.

And then her anger turned toward Rook.

“I am so going to kick your ass again, Rook.”

Had he called this in sooner, the team could have come together and moved through this place like the coordinated tor-nado of destruction they trained to be. Sure, they could solve a puzzle or two, unlock the secrets of history, science and the unknown, but they really excelled at blowing shit up. It was an art form they perfected as a team. Solo, they were dangerous. In two-man teams, they were deadly. United, they could fight the unkillable and win.

By her logic, the blame for the trouble they found themselves in lay squarely on Rook’s broad shoulders.

But she couldn’t stay angry at him. He’d suffered a loss in Siberia, and right or wrong, it had affected him deeply. Loss was part of the game, but Rook had never really experienced it before. Not like that. Now he was damaged goods, just like her.

She smiled at the idea. A match made in Heaven.

Or hell.

She couldn’t deny her growing feelings for the man. She’d nearly come out with it back at that store, but he’d gone and used that nickname.

Zel.

It was the name her mother used for her, before she succumbed to cancer and left her alone with her abusive alcoholic father. She didn’t remember a lot about her mother. Didn’t think about her much, either. But that single word, Zel, was like a key to her soul. It unlocked the past and she wasn’t ready to share that yet, with anyone.

She stood and examined every inch of the room until she had assured herself that there were no other ways in or out and that nothing in the room would help her pry the door open. The crates held oddly shaped scientific equipment. She didn’t recognize most of it. One of the things she did recognize was a dirty, broken microscope that looked older than the one she had used in high school biology class, but it didn’t hold her interest.

Across the room, there was a small air vent near the ceiling, on the wall adjacent to the door. It was far too small for her to fit even her head into it. She considered removing the grill over the vent and using it to pry open the handle-less gray door, but then she had a better idea. She managed to get her fingers behind the edge of the flimsy vent grill by standing on the Ahnenerbe crates. She pulled hard and the pliable metal popped free into her hands. No way it would be strong enough to go to work on the door. She didn’t even think she could use the weak metal as a stabbing implement. Next she slid two stacked crates to the center of the room and reached up to the lightbulb.

Hello darkness, she thought and unscrewed the bulb. She climbed down and set the bulb down into one of the other crates she had opened. It might come in handy later-she didn’t want to break it. Then she carefully felt her way through the dark, back onto the stacked crates where the dangling lightbulb hung. She grabbed it and tugged hard. The wire, insulation and all, came free in her hand. She pulled a long length of it out of the ceiling and wrapped it around her hand.

Now she would just wait for someone to come open the door and meet doom.

Outside the Exxon Building, New York, NY

Deep Blue marveled at how in moments of extreme action, the human mind could sometimes slow things down to a crawl and your perceptions heightened to the point where you could pick out a speck of dust floating in the air, as if it were suspended in time.

That was happening now for him. He and the dire wolf that had propelled him through the window on the 40 ^th floor of the Exxon Building fell in spectacular slow motion. Tiny fragments and slivers of glittering glass rained down around them. Deep Blue was further from the wall of the skyscraper than the dire wolf that was already reaching out toward the wall of glass. Deep Blue drew his knife. The EOD variant of the Army M9 bayonet came up and Deep Blue thrust the wicked blade down toward the exposed rear flank of the falling dire wolf.

The upside down monster scrabbled at the slick glass and concrete surface of the building with its clear claws. At the same moment that Deep Blue plunged the sharp point of the blade into the creature’s rump, its claws found purchase on the concrete space between the windows. The blade sank into the creature at an angle and a thick white fluid spurted out of the wound in a slow-motion arc, sweeping over Deep Blue’s knife hand. The creature stopped falling. Deep Blue nearly lost his grip on the knife as his fall suddenly jerked to a stop, but he held on with a determined shout that filled his helmet.

Then he slipped lower.

The dire wolf’s claws had found a tight grip on the concrete upright of the building. It wasn’t falling anymore. But the knife, sunken deep into the beast’s flesh, was too sharp. The weight of Deep Blue’s body pulled the blade down, along the creature’s ass and into its lower back.

Finally, the blade chewed into spinal bone-Deep Blue could see the pronounced spinal column pushing against the skin, like the bones of a hideously skinny man. The blade lodged fast into the spine and Deep Blue’s descent stuttered to a halt, just as time resumed its natural pace.

Deep Blue looked back up the building and saw that the spectacular fall had only taken two stories from the shattered window up on 40. The dire wolf clung to the wall upside down outside the 38 ^th floor. Deep Blue hung from one arm, his hand clutching the knife tightly. He looked down to the street far below him.

A mistake.

It was a long way down and the street was totally empty. There was no sign of Keasling or the Army. Then he remembered where he was. He was dangling from the creature’s back over West 50 ^th Street. Keasling and his men were on 49 ^th, under the portal.

He turned his attention back to the dire wolf. It wasn’t moving, but he suspected the beast was in pain. The muscles in its back were twitching out a samba, but it refused to move. The extra weight of Deep Blue, plus the twenty pounds of armor and weap-onry he wore, were clearly taking a toll on the thing. Deep Blue wasn’t sure what his next move would be.