::Got it,:: Mariska said faintly. Shifting under such circumstances would only incorporate the fallen materials into his body. She looked out from beneath the table to the shaft of filtered sunlight, picking out the far edge of the structure, the crumpled shelves that had slammed down against Ruger, the jumbled mess that comprised the rest of the installation; she sent it to Ian and felt his faint curse in reply. ::I don’t get it,:: she said. ::What the hell happened?::
::You tell us.:: The reply came from Heckle. ::You’re the one who checked out this area.::
Mariska’s glad response at his mind-voice—dazed as all of them, but laced with anger rather than pain—faded instantly. ::I
did
check this area,:: she said, and rather than going defensive, she felt her own slow burn of anger—and to her surprise, she felt a trickle of the same from Ruger. Not blaming anger—not at all. But on her behalf, his hand squeezing slightly against her arm as he remained propped on his elbows above her.
::You obviously missed something!::
::That’s enough,:: Ian said, and it was the weariness in his voice that stopped Mariska short. ::Start thinking in terms of ordinance.::
::Ordinance...:: Mariska repeated, not quite able to wrap her head around it.
::Hand ordinance,:: Ruger said, withdrawing from his healer’s mode to join the conversation for the first time. ::Or RPGs.::
Rocket-propelled grenades...
::Makes sense,:: Ian said, sounding more distant. ::Once we were all underground, they had a clear field, right through the wards.:: He hesitated for so long that Mariska was about to ask if he was okay—and didn’t, because how stupid was that? None of them were okay. When he spoke again, she felt the effort of it. ::Harrison, are you injured?::
::No.:: Heckle’s prompt reply was as convincing as his words. ::But there’s no way I’m getting out of here without help.::
Another long hesitation—way too long—and Ian said, ::They’re here, and they’re hunting...and we’re the only ones who know what they’re up to. Brevis needs to know. We don’t know how much time we have before Forakkes...his working...::
Ruger’s thought filled the silence. ::Ian?::
::Here,:: Ian said, if barely so. ::Reach Annorah. Let brevis know. And Ruger...::
Ruger waited, shifting above Mariska as patience snapped to concern.
::Ian!::
::Don’t take that tone with me, bear. Just got to...rest awhile. Now go...find...them.::
“Dammit!”
Ruger pushed away from her, removing the table from overhead by the simple act of hunching his shoulders, planting his feet on either side of her, and rising up beneath it. It crashed down a few feet away, upended and in pieces among the debris from which it had sheltered them.
Mariska scrambled to her feet, but not before snagging the water bottle she’d been after in the first place—just barely accessible in the shadow of the table’s protection. To her relief, the initial intense, cramping response she’d had to her first few swallows had completely eased; the herbs may even have done some good in the wake of them, for her fatigue had lifted, her generalized aches receded.
Or it could simply have been the adrenaline still pounding through her body—adrenaline released anew as she looked around at the destruction of the installation. Dirt and metal piled between this end and the area where Harrison now waited; the exit was crumpled and buried. Lighting hung from the ceiling from stretched wiring; metal struts still popped and snapped, groaning under the stress. “It’s not stable,” she said, words absently spoken out loud.
“Not in the least.” He turned a circle, inspecting the area. “We’ve got to get help up here.”
“Annorah?” Mariska suggested. And then, “Ruger—your back!”
He twisted as if he could look over his own shoulder. “Thought I felt something sharp.”
“You
think?
” She dropped the hard-won bottle, stepping up to hold him still with a hand at his side, the other tugging at the blood-dotted shirt over his broad shoulders. “This needs to come off.”
“Leave it,” Ruger said, pulling away to turn around. “It’s not that bad.”
She grabbed the belt loop at his hip to jerk him back where he’d been, still trying to assess the depth of the slashing wound and growling a warning as she did it.
He subsided, but barely, impatience radiating through him so palpably that she abruptly understood it was only for her that he stood still at all. “Mari,” he said, “there’s
nothing we can do about it.
”
She followed his gaze around the wreckage of the facility—looking to that central spot where they’d piled their gear upon arrival.
Buried.
Including the medic’s field kit. His herb kit, too, was beneath the rubble—closer by, not as deep, but nonetheless buried.
She released a frustrated breath and snatched the bottle up. “Here,” she said. “Drink what’s left of this, at least.” She glanced at the location of their erstwhile gear. “It may even be the last water we have for a while. I’d suggest we split it, but...”
“But,” he agreed, and took the bottle, tipping his head back to take the contents in deep, long swallows. When he was done and wiping the liquid from his chin, he gave the bottle an uncertain look, glancing at the rubble around them.
Mariska took it from him and set it firmly on the floor rather than tossing it aside. “We might need it.”
He snorted, and surprised her by wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her off balance for a rough, half hug and kissing the top of her head while he was at it. “All right, little bear. What first?”
“Adveho,”
she said without hesitation, referring to the Sentinel Mayday call. “If any situation ever justified its use... Then we can work on getting Heckl—I mean, we can see about getting Harrison out of there. And he can help us with Sandy and Ian.”
“It may take more than we have,” Ruger said, giving the collapsed tunnel a worried glance.
“It might,” she agreed. “We’re not going to not try, though.”
He closed his arm around her for a quick squeeze. “Go ahead and assess this place,” he said. “I’ll send the
adveho.
”
She agreed, leaving him to sit in the place where they’d once lain together, his expression already heading inward as he went deep for the necessary focus. She turned to pick her way through the mess, flinching at another rain of pebbles and setting herself to task.
Not for long. Ruger made a surprised sound—a pained sound. She jerked back around to find him frowning, his face tight and his palm pushing between dark brows. He looked up before she could ask. “I can’t get out. There’s some kind of wall...it stinks of the Core.”
Can’t get out...
“We can’t reach Annorah. We can’t get help...and we can’t warn brevis.” Mariska frowned, flexing her fingers in a barely conscious claw-threat at Forakkes. “Are you all right?”
“Hurts like hell, actually,” Ruger said, with no particular heat to his voice. “But I don’t think any of us are
all right
at the moment. It’ll fade.” He climbed to his feet, looking up at the bright tear in the roof. “What do you think?”
Mariska gestured at the debris around them. “If we can get to Harrison, we’ll have more manpower—but he’s not injured and doesn’t need immediate help. If we try to reach Ian and Sandy, it’ll be trickier—tighter space, more chance of triggering dirt fall. But Ian has the sat phone, and both of them are in critical need of rescue.”
“One we might not be able to give them even if we free them.” Ruger’s words fell more heavily than hers. “And if we don’t stop Forakkes, we could
all
die.”
Mariska’s gaze locked onto his, finding a steady pale brown full of regret and full of awareness.
If we leave, our friends might die. If we don’t leave, our friends
will
die. And so will we.
She nodded, and that was it. Decision made. “Let’s see if we can find anything useful before we go.”
Ruger made a sound of agreement in his chest, but looked overhead again to their only exit—the distant gap in the ceiling, surrounded by sharp, torn metal. “Going,” he said, “may not be as simple as that.”
Chapter 14
R
uger prowled the cluttered remains of the structure, ducking against yet another trickle of shifting earth.
We can’t reach Annorah. We can’t warn brevis. And we can’t take the chance that Forakkes will do what he means to do to us.
The fact that Forakkes had escalated so significantly, so suddenly...
Not a good sign.
Mariska didn’t think so, either. She’d tugged a gear bag from the debris—lunch, MREs and some personal items, as it happened, including the gloves she quickly appropriated. She’d dumped all but two of those meals, filling the bag with several shards of metal she’d partially wrapped with cloth torn from another, less fortunate bag—makeshift weapons. She included the empty water bottle, the jacket Ian had so carelessly discarded upon their arrival, and tucked her own cell phone away in a side pocket.
They weren’t likely to find a signal out here. But just in case...
Ruger spent his time nudging at Ian to no avail, unable to absorb any information about his injuries—or Sandy’s—while they were unconscious. Harrison offered the occasional short comment, his out-of-breath thoughts reflective of his own efforts as he targeted an escape route and began removing debris.
In fairly short order, Ruger and Mariska stood together looking up at their single exit: a small hole in the metal roof two-thirds of the way up its arc, a pile of shifting rubble their only access.
“It’s going to take bear to widen that hole,” Ruger observed.
“I don’t think that mess is stable enough for
bear,
” Mariska said, the stubborn note in her voice. “We might be able to slip through as human.”
“
You
might be able to slip through as human.” But even as Ruger spoke, the pile shifted slightly.
Mariska gave him a wary look. “I’ll go first. I’m least likely to disturb that crap, and most likely to get through. If it seems stable enough, you can follow as bear and make yourself as much of a hole as you need.” She visibly braced herself for his response, her mouth tight and her chin lifted.
“Good plan,” he said, shrugging out of his shirt.
She tipped her head, examining him for signs of hidden resistance; he only grinned back and gave in to impulse, gently rubbing a thumb over her smudged cheek and tucking back hair that had tugged loose from her braid. “Hey,” he said. “If it’s good, it’s good.”
She relaxed, and stole a glance at his back—but didn’t ask if he was okay. There wasn’t any point, and he was right—the wound was long and slicing, but shallow enough. And they still had to get out of here; they still had to find Forakkes.
And if they couldn’t reach brevis along the way, they still had to stop him themselves.
* * *
Mariska put her hand out for the shirt, waiting—guessing that it wasn’t one that would take the change with him, as seemed to be his habit.
Ruger handed over the shirt and she tucked it away in the gear bag, unable to interpret the look he sent her. Thoughtful, for sure. She twirled her finger in a helicopter motion, a silent imperative. With some resignation, he turned around, showing her that which he’d been hiding. “Healer, heal thyself,” he said, bitterness lacing his voice. “Or not.”
Mariska kept her voice even, seeing the diagonal slash across his shoulder blade; it stopped just shy of his spine. Blood still trickled from the lower end, forging a stream down the roll of muscle paralleling his spine, but it was thin and already easing. “I thought that was hard at the best of times.” She couldn’t help it; she put one finger against smooth, warm skin, pressing just enough to shift the lip of the wound so she could see the depth.
Not deep. World’s worst paper cut.
“It is,” Ruger admitted. “We feel it from both directions...the patient, the healer. That’s why it’s always been so important—” He cut off his own words, and she knew it was for her sake—for the sake of peace between them.
Why it’s always been so important that I can take care of myself.
But the silence hung heavily between them after that, and Ruger turned to look at her. “Screw that,” he said. “Not saying the truth just because it’s hard felt as fake as hell, and I’m not doing it again.”
She bared her teeth at him, and only in retrospect did she realized what she’d expected him to understand.
Don’t play nice for me. I can take care of myself, too.
To judge by his returning grin, he understood it perfectly.
“Well,” she said, “it’s nearly stopped bleeding anyway. So take your bear already, and let’s get out of this place. The sooner we’re out from under Forakkes’ influence, the sooner we can get help to them.” She couldn’t help a glance at the obscured and twisted exit doorway.
Ruger stepped back—and back again—as the change bloomed out in billowing clouds of strobing light and energy, easily filling the space between them.
Big man. Damned big bear.
Only then did she realize it was the first she’d seen of his other—the glossy brown pelt, towering size and hunched shoulders of the Kodiak.
Alaskan grizzly.
No sign of the white V-collar he’d had as a younger man, just breadth and strength and a mighty flap of pelt as he settled into himself.
She took a single step forward—he’d ended up that close to her—and ran her hand over the short hair at the side of his face, over the side of his sensitive muzzle, meeting warm brown eyes that held the faintest hint of laughter.
She stepped away, embarrassed to have been so readily entranced, and adjusted the bag over her shoulder. “All right, then,” she said. “Let’s go. Just give me a chance to assess the footing, okay? I’m used to thinking in terms of
my
bear’s size.”
He released a huff of amusement, and Mariska turned to the slope of rubble before her and started to climb.
The footing shifted beneath her, making her glad for the sturdy soles of her light hiking boots—but she didn’t take a single step for granted. Ruger would have no such protection. Only once did she hesitate, looking at the impossibly steep climb, the stretch from the newly formed slope to the rent in the roof and the forest-filtered sunlight beyond.