Terry Brooks - Armageddon’s Children

If he didn't appear by midnight or if they heard or saw any signs of a pursuit, they should assume the worst. They were to take what they could carry and go into hiding.

Owl, somber–faced and steady–eyed as she listened, promised that his instructions would be carried out. She didn't question or argue with him.

She spoke only three words: "Please save them."

With Panther at his side, Logan Tom went down First Street and out of Pioneer Square toward the compound, the air off the water sharp and pungent with the smell of the fouled water, the afternoon sun glinting off its surface like light off metal. Neither the man nor the boy spoke as they reached the edge of the square and faced out from the shadow of the buildings toward their destination.

Logan caught his breath. There were thousands of feeders gathered before the west–facing wall, all of them squirming to get closer, a writhing, surging black mass of bodies. The humans inside the compound couldn't see them, didn't know they were there. Panther couldn't see them, either. Only he knew they were there and what it was that had drawn them.

He felt a shiver ripple the skin at the base of his neck. He had seen feeders massed before in his time as a Knight of the Word, but never like this.

If he'd had any doubts about Hawk's identity, the presence of the feeders removed them instantly.

He turned to Panther. "This is where we split up. You go on ahead toward the main gates. Make certain they see you coming. Don't look back for me under any circumstances. We want them to think you are alone in this. Can you do it?"

"Sure. Can you?" Panther grinned at him and was on his way without a backward glance.

Logan waited until the boy was close enough to the compound that the guards would notice, then slipped from the shadows and began to move at a steady pace toward the old bus shelter, keeping the piles of rubble between himself and the walls, taking advantage of the long shadows of the nearest buildings where they spread their black, concealing stains. He did not look in the direction of the compound, even after he heard Panther begin yelling at the guards, until he was only yards from the bus shelter. Then he risked a quick glance at the north–facing wall, a huge steel–and–concrete barrier blocking away the southern horizon. He searched its perimeter and its craggy openings for movement and found none. No one had seen him.

He gave the matter no further thought as he went into the shelter and down the steps to the door leading into the underground tunnels. From somewhere around the front gates, Panther continued to yell wildly, his voice strident and insistent. Logan smiled. The boy was good. He tried the door and found it sealed, but a touch of his staff against the lock and it was burned through in seconds. He pushed the door open and, after stepping inside, pushed it closed again. He went down the tunnel without slowing, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he went. He chose his path when the tunnel branched, using his wrist compass to guide him, moving ahead until he had passed beneath the walls of the compound and was inside its underground hallways. He had mapped his route to Hawk's cell in his mind, a skill he had perfected over the years while serving with Michael. Their raids on the slave camps often required that they descend into tunnels. If you couldn't remember how you went in, you might not be able to get out again. It was more complicated here, but he recalled enough from his earlier visit to know approximately where he needed to go. The problem was in finding the right level, but he knew it would be somewhere near the basement of the complex.

Twice he was forced to stop and wait in the shadows while someone passed by only yards away. Once he had to backtrack and go around a place where men were working. There was little traffic this deep underground, this far down in the lower levels, so the risks were not as great as they would have been if he had been forced to climb to the surface.

He began to recognize corridors, their walls and doors and entries. He was close.

Then he rounded a corner and came face–to–face with the guard who had admitted him into Hawk's cell only hours before. They stopped instantly, facing each other, and Logan said, "Hello again," snapped one end of his staff against the side of the other's head, and dropped him in his tracks.

He found an open door, dragged the guard inside, took his keys from his belt, and left him. He moved ahead quickly, searching for the cell that contained Hawk, a search that took him no more than another five minutes. A quick glance ahead and behind confirmed that he was alone. He inserted the key into the lock and opened the heavy metal door.

The cell was empty.

"ARE YOU ALL right?" Hawk whispered when they brought Tessa over and sat her down beside him.

She nodded without speaking. Her face was ashen and tear–streaked, her hair disheveled, and her hands shaking. She had the look of someone who had been struck a sharp blow and was still in shock.

He looked out over the top of the compound wall to where the sun was sinking toward the mountains in the western horizon. Another fifteen minutes, no more. They had brought him up early, trying to unnerve him, he thought, trying to see if he would break down. They hadn't said or done anything to him, but he couldn't think of any other reason to make him sit and wait like this. In any case, it didn't matter. He had come to terms with the future. Escape seemed out of the question. Either someone would come to save them or they would die.

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said to her.

She exhaled sharply. "Did you see her face? Did you see how she looked at me?" She shook her head. "What's happened to her?"

He scuffed the toes of his tennis shoes against the concrete. "Maybe you just saw a side to her you didn't know was there."

She closed her eyes. "I wish I had never seen her like that. I'll never forget how she made me feel. In front of all those people. In front of you. I will never forget."

Hawk said nothing, bent forward with his elbows on his knees, looking at his feet. He breathed in the taste and smell of the bay, of the coldness blown in off the water, and the hard edge of the coming night. The year was winding down, and while the seasons no longer behaved in recognizable ways, lacking identity of the sort people had once known, he could feel winter's bite in the air. He watched the sun begin to press down against the mountains to the west.

Time was almost up. He glanced around, thinking again of escape, searching for a way. But there was nowhere to go. A dozen armed guards stood close by. All the exits down off the wall were blocked. They were unfettered and could try to break free, but their chances were almost nonexistent. They would be seized and hauled back to their seats before they got ten steps. The only way open to them was forward, over the edge.

He looked at Tessa, and the soft line of her face brought tears to his eyes. It seemed impossible to think that they were going to die.

"Is there a child?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I only said that to try to buy us some time, to make them rethink what they were going to do."

He nodded. "It was a good try."

"It was a waste of time. They had already decided."

"Even if we were married, I guess."

"Even if."

"I would have married you if it would have changed things. If they would have let us."

"That decision isn't theirs to make. It's ours."

The sharpness in her voice surprised him. "We waited too long, in any case," he said.

Her hand closed over his wrist. "No, we didn't." Her words were whispered and urgent. "We still have time. Say the words to me." She looked at him, her eyes pleading. "Say you take me for your wife."