J. Mitchell - Midnight City

Below, he heard sparks and a high-pitched whine as something began cutting through the door. When it blew open again, a storm of Seekers would explode inside after them.

But it didn’t matter now. Above them was a door set into the concrete wall at the end of the stairs. And beyond that… was freedom. They were going to make it, Holt told himself. They were going to make it.

Holt reached the door and burst through.

On the other side was another concrete room. It was small, only about forty square feet. One wall was full of windows, and underneath them was a long bank of aging, rusted, useless buttons and knobs and screens, which he guessed used to control the dam’s functions. Sunlight filtered in from outside.

Holt stopped dead as he stared through the windows. The breadth of the entire floodplain stretched out before him, and he watched the battle raging below.

Dozens of blue and white Spider walkers marched toward the dam. Massive volleys of plasma bolts and missiles burned through the air, slamming into the structure, spraying fire and rock everywhere. He felt the floor under him shake with each hit.

Flights of Raptors filled the sky, roaring over the control center, hammering it with their own cannons. Vultures and Ospreys circled high above, watching the action, ready to pick off anything that moved.

“No…,” Holt said to himself in dread. It couldn’t be as bad as it looked. There had to be a way.

A ladder in the center of the room led up to the ceiling only half a dozen feet above their heads, where there was another door, square and metallic with a big handle that kept it shut.

Holt set Mira on the floor and scaled the ladder. He cranked the small handle and shoved the metal door open…

…and then leapt off as blasts of plasma bolts seared past, inches from his face.

He hit the floor hard, rolled, stared up into the sky beyond the ceiling, watching the yellow bolts of heated death flashing past, shredding the air right outside. Anyone who stepped out would be nearly instantly cut down.

Holt grabbed the Chance Generator. It had helped them this far; it could get them a little further. The only problem was, there were no more beads to push up. He had used all of them. He pulled a row down, pushed it back. Nothing happened. No flash of light, no colors in the air. It sat in his hand, lifeless. He tried again. Still nothing.

With a sinking feeling, Holt knew the truth: It was used up. His luck was gone.

Explosions rocked the room, plasma burned the air just outside, missiles screamed and blew apart against the dam. This was it. This was as far as they could go.

It was over.

A buzzing echoed inside from the stairwell, and the sound ripped Holt from his depression. The Seekers were coming up the stairs.

“Get back!” Holt yelled at Zoey as he lunged for the door and slammed it shut, twisting the dead bolt into place.

The door rocked hard as something crashed into it. Again. And again. The sound of buzzing grew louder.

Holt looked at the door, backing up. There must be dozens of them in the stairwell. God, when they broke in…

“Holt…” Mira’s weak voice reached him from behind.

He spun around instantly, dropped to the ground at her side. She was trembling, staring upward with her almost black eyes, oblivious of the explosions and the coming death that surrounded them. She was trembling, fading… and there was nothing he could do about it. Not anymore.

“Holt…,” Mira repeated.

“Right here,” he forced himself to reply, and he heard the tones of defeat in his voice. He took her hand.

“Zoey…,” Mira said next, and the little girl moved closer. Zoey wasn’t crying. She looked down at Mira with gentle tenderness.

Explosions flared outside again, shaking the room. The glass along one wall shattered and crumbled to the floor.

Mira’s free hand rose and took Zoey’s, then delicately placed it on Holt’s. Holt and the little girl looked at each other.

“Trust…” Mira tried to speak, but it was getting hard. Holt’s stomach dropped as it occurred to him that this was the last time he would hear her voice. “Trust… Zoey …,” she finally managed to say. The words barely registered for Holt. He felt himself going numb, felt any semblance of feeling or emotion dying where he sat. Fading away with Mira. “And… thank you…,” she continued, her words barely audible now, just broken whispers that floated out on her final, conscious breath. “… for… the dance….”

While Holt was forced to watch, the Tone finally took Mira Toombs.

Her eyes swirled and went completely black. Her body relaxed and slumped in Holt’s arms. He looked down at her with a dead gaze. It was over. She was gone. And just as before… he was to blame.

The anguish he felt now wasn’t intense. It was more like a numbing cold. An icy grip on his heart he knew without doubt would never end.

The explosions outside were inconsequential. Escape was meaningless now. Everything was over. Everything he had fought for, everything he had come to this place for.

He’d gambled, and he’d lost.

To his left, he heard a sizzling sound. The fine, red sliver of a laser beam burned through the door and began to cut into the room. It would all be over soon; that was one consolation. And Holt would sit here, with her in his arms, until it happened.

HOLT SAT LIKE A STATUE with Mira in his arms. She just lay there, unmoving and mindless. She would rise up soon, Holt knew, try to start her walk toward the nearest Presidium, but with the battle raging outside and the air full of searing plasma, there wasn’t much chance she would make it. Next to them, the laser continued to cut through the room’s door. It wouldn’t be long now….

“Holt,” a small voice said beside him, and the sound dragged him out of his stupor.

He glanced to his right… and saw Zoey.

In his grief he’d forgotten about her. Max sat next to them both, watching him with sorrowful eyes.

Explosions flared outside; the room shook. Holt’s hand was still in Zoey’s, and he looked at the little girl. The mere sight of her, someone so small and fragile amid all this chaos, drove home that it was more than just Mira he had failed.

“Zoey…,” Holt began with a cracked voice. A flight of Raptors roared by outside, their cannon screaming, shaking the room as they flew past. “Zoey, I’m sorry. This… this is all my…” The words rang in his mind as he spoke them, because he knew they were true. “We shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have brought you.”

“Why did you come, Holt?” Zoey asked, studying him curiously. Almost like she was seeing him for the first time.

“I wanted to save Mira and you, but I failed. Just like before.” Holt stroked Mira’s hair absently. “I should have known better.”

Zoey was silent next to him. She didn’t seem to be weighing her own words, so much as Holt’s. “There’s a reason all this is happening, Holt,” she continued. “Not like how you think… but there’s reasons.”

Holt looked away from Zoey. He suddenly felt tired, more tired than he’d ever felt. He just wanted it all to be over. “If there are reasons, kiddo, I sure as hell don’t see them. I don’t see any purpose at all, to be honest.”

Zoey’s hand remained in Holt’s a second longer… then she pulled free, stood up, and moved for the ladder that led to the open air beyond, where shrapnel and fire filled the sky.

“Zoey!” Holt grabbed the little girl and pulled her back. “What are you doing?”

Zoey looked at him evenly. “I need to go outside, Holt.”

He was so stunned that all he could do was stare. Explosions erupted against the dam, and he heard the haunting, electronic bellow of dozens of giant Spider walkers outside. “Zoey you’ll be cut to pieces out there!”