Hellgate London - Exodus Part 32

Breathing hard, vision blurred by pain and tears, one eye already swelling closed, Simon turned to the redhead as she scrambled up. She attacked at once, throwing a series of punches and kicks.

Simon blocked the attempts as quickly as the woman threw them. She was good, though, and several of them connected with his face and stomach. He knew he was in trouble if he tried to fight defensively. He was taller and heavier, and had more reach. But the cramped quarters of the showers took away all those natural advantages. He was easily inside her reach, and his larger size made him easier to hit and impeded his own efforts.

Avoiding the woman, Simon wrapped his arms around her from behind, pinning her arms against her sides. She headb.u.t.ted him in the mouth, sending comets erupting into his vision. Then she lifted her arms like she was going to perform a jumping jack while bending her knees and dropping slightly. She slid right out of his grasp and delivered a spinning side kick to his temple.

Knowing he could no longer fight defensively, Simon caught the woman's foot before she could draw it back. He swept her other foot from beneath her with his own and tripped her to the ground.

Another man threw a punch at Simon's throat. Simon dodged to the side, flung his own arm up and locked it inside his attacker's, then stepped behind the man and yanked. The attacker left his feet in a rush and went flying, rebounding from one of the bathroom stalls with a harsh clang.

The woman scrambled to her feet, looking more intent than ever. "Enough!" The harsh voice rang out inside the small enclosure.

Hands open at the sides of his face to defend himself, Simon stepped back.

A grizzled sergeant stepped into the room. "Attention! Every one of you! Right now, or I'll have you up on charges and in a conditioning room running laps for the next twenty-four hours."

The Templar came to attention in a heartbeat. They weren't rested and weren't getting much sleep. No one wanted to give up what little time they had for relaxation and sleep.

Even Temperance stood at attention.

"What's going on?" the sergeant demanded.

"It's my fault, sergeant," Temperance said. "I came here to see Cross, to tell him what I thought of him getting my sister killed over noncombatants too stupid to leave London. Things got out of hand."

"Those people aren't too stupid to leave," another Templar said. "They can't leave. A lot of people are stuck in their homes because they lack the wherewithal to get out of the city. You've got invalids and children that would never survive the trip. If they ever made it out of the city."

"I said, that's enough," the sergeant roared. "Get back to your bunks. Every last one of you. Another word, another blow, and I'll make sure you regret it."

For a moment, the tension in the room held. Then Temperance turned away from Simon and walked back through the door. Those who had come with her followed.

Simon let out a tense breath.

The sergeant turned to him, then walked over and took his face in his hands. He was rough, but gentle and thorough. "You've got a cut over that eye that needs tending."

Simon pulled his head back. He felt blood running down the side of his face. "I'll be fine." "That won't close on its own. Either we close it or you go to the infirmary."

"I don't want to go to the infirmary," Simon said.

"Fine." The sergeant snapped an order over his shoulder, sending one of the men with him scurrying for a med-kit.

"This is going to sting."

Simon sat on the floor in the bathroom as the sergeant had directed him. He had his hands crossed over his chest. He didn't think a sting was going to be any worse than the pain already throbbing in his face.

The sergeant's name turned out to be Brewster. He was taciturn but opinionated when he decided to let his thoughts be known. He flicked on the portable Nu-Skin cauterizer. The device powered up with an insect-like whine.

"One of the med-techs in the infirmary would do a better job of it," Brewster said.

"I want to get to bed," Simon said. "Getting to the infirmary and back, and waiting, will take too long." Plus, he wasn't sure if he'd make it under his own power.

"They'd also have some slap-patches for pain."

"I don't think a really deep sleep would be safe," Simon replied.

Brewster grinned sympathetically. "Prolly not. Temperance Caine isn't known for her forgiving ways. But she went easy on you."

"You could have fooled me."

"If she'd have wanted you dead, you'd have been dead before you ever saw it coming." Brewster leaned in. "Now hold still."

The cauterizer hissed as it made contact with Simon's flesh. Pain bit into his head just above his eye. He forced himself to keep breathing through it, and he tried to push it away from himself, denying the pain and its hold over him. He almost succeeded. "Nearly done," Brewster advised.

"All right." Simon smelled cooked meat. The cauterizer was quick and efficient, pulling a cut together, then bonding it with searing heat and a line of Nu-Skin, a hypoallergenic layer of protein-sub that gradually broke down as a wound finished healing.

True to his word, Brewster finished in just seconds. He stood and put the cauterizer back into the med-kit and handed it off to the Templar that had gotten it for him.

"How do you feel?" Brewster asked. "It hurts."

The Templar laughed a little. "Give it a few hours. It'll feel better."

Simon forced himself to his feet. His head protested, flipping woozily. For a second, the room spun. Brewster grabbed his arm and helped steady him.

"I've got it." Simon pulled his arm away, resenting the fact that the others could see the weakness in him. "Sure you do." Brewster stood back, though.

Crossing to the sink, Simon peered into one of the mirrors. The line of Nu-Skin looked slightly pinker than the rest of his forehead. His face was the real proof of the pudding, though. Bruises decorated his cheeks, chin, and forehead.

"Temperance did a good job," Brewster said. "You have to give her that."

"Yeah." Simon dipped up a double handful of water and washed his face. "Her sister was one of those who died tonight?"

Brewster's face grew more solemn. "Charity. Yes. They were close. They were the last family either of them had. Both their parents died at St. Paul's."

Simon felt bad for the young woman.

"What you did tonight," Brewster said, "saving that woman and those two kids?"

"I know," Simon said. "I screwed up."

"Will it happen again?" Brewster's face showed keen interest.

Simon thought about how best to answer the question. He didn't know. Not without a shadow of a doubt. "Probably. If I see someone who needs help and I think I can help them." He took in a deep breath, thinking he'd just successfully killed his career and would be put out on the street.

"Good," Brewster said, smiling. "When I became a man and made the decision to join the Templar, I did it because I wanted to help people. I know that High Seat Booth is presenting a case against it, and he's got good reasons in light of everything, but there are a lot of people out there who feel the way I do."

Simon stared at the man's reflection in the mirror.

"What you did tonight, saving that woman and those kids," Brewster said softly, "that took courage.

Despite Booth's threats, there are a lot of us who respect what you did. When Temperance calms down, I think you're going to find she respects you, too. After all, her sister stuck it out with you." Simon blotted his face dry, careful of the Nu-Skin.

"If you want," Brewster offered, "I'll post a guard over this barracks. Make sure you get a good night's sleep."

"No, but thanks anyway."

"Suit yourself. If you need anything, give me a call."

Simon said that he would. In the mirror, he watched the sergeant and his men leave. Simon remained there a little longer, waiting for the pain to subside. But it didn't. Not then.

He retreated to his rack and tried to sleep. It was hard because he could feel the stares of the others in the room. Finally, fatigue pulled him down into the darkness, but it was infested with demons that kept rising from the dead no matter how many times he killed them.

Hours later, still in some pain and aches, Simon stood in front of the dorm where Leah was staying. He wore his armor but carried his helm under his left arm. He knocked.

A young woman with long brown hair and milk chocolate skin answered the door, peering up at him. "Simon Cross," she said. Her dark eyes glittered.

Simon didn't know her, so he had to a.s.sume that the Templar were talking about him. "Sorry. I must have the wrong dorm. I was looking for Leah Creasey."

"You have the right dorm." The young woman leaned back against the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest. "She was here."

"Was?" "She left."

That threw Simon for a moment. "Where did she go?"

"I don't know. I was rooming with her. When I came back from rotation this afternoon, she was gone." "Maybe she's just out getting something to eat." Simon doubted that, though. He'd checked the commissary before coming to Leah's a.s.signed quarters.

"All of her things are gone," the young Templar said. "And a spare Spike Bolter from the weapons cache I keep with me these days."

Why would she take that? Even if she didn't feel safe in the Underground, she knows better than to try to go around armed here. I should have talked to her after I got back last night.

There was every possibility that Leah had heard what happened and figured that whatever protection Simon was able to provide for her might be gone. He'd slept almost eleven hours. That was unusual for him. Even more unusual, Derek had given orders not to disturb him.

Of course, there's always the possibility that Booth made her leave. Except for the matter of the missing Spike Bolter.

"She was here this morning?" Simon peered into the room.

The dorm was small, barely enough room for two people. They were usually reserved for married couples who didn't have children.

"She was here when I left," the Templar replied. "I haven't told anyone she's gone yet." "Why not?"

"Because I'll be rea.s.signed to barracks and I've enjoyed having the semi-privacy of the room. Leah was easy to be around. Except for all the questions."

"Questions?"

"She asked a lot of questions."

"About what?"

The Templar shrugged. "About everything, I suppose. The Templars primarily. Seeing as how she was dragged down into the Underground, I figured that was natural."

Simon thought it was too. But Leah's disappearance-with a Spike Bolter-didn't seem natural. "Did she say anything about leaving?"

"This morning?" "At any time."

The Templar shook her head. "She talked about her father a lot. Wanting to know what happened to him. If he was all right. I didn't blame her."

"Did she leave a note?"

"No." She stepped back. "You're welcome to come in and look around if you want to, but there's nothing here."

"That's all right. I've got to get back to my unit. We're going out tonight."

The woman frowned at him and trailed fingers over his face. Even the slight contact hurt. "You don't look as though you're up to it."

"I'm fine."

She pulled her hand back. "If you say so."

"Leah may come back," Simon said, even though he doubted it. "If she does, could you tell her that I'd like to talk to her?"

"Sure. But since she took my Spike Bolter, I don't think she's coming back. That's not something you can just say, *Oops, didn't mean to take that,' you know?"

Simon knew that. "If she comes back." The woman nodded. "I'll tell her."

Simon turned and walked away. He felt the woman staring after him. "Hey, Cross," she called.

Simon stopped and looked back at her.

"Be safe out there," she said in a softer voice. "What you did last night was really cool, but not everybody thinks so. You may find that your mates no longer have your back as well as they might have."

Simon already knew that. "Thanks."

"My name's Vivian." The Templar shrugged. "I don't always agree with the High Seat's rules of engagement, either. If you need a friend, I'm here." She frowned. "At least until they rea.s.sign me."

Simon nodded. "Thanks." Then he turned and got back under way. If he hurried, he had time to check with security before he had to join the unit.

The security detail over the operations center weren't enamored of Simon. He knew that from the cold reception he got. But they were willing to show him the vid footage of Leah Creasey leaving the Underground at the Baker Street tube station.

Equipment filled the security center. Lights flashed and some of the units hummed. Dozens of viewscreens opened windows on different parts of the Underground, the city, and the tube lines. The demons were present aboveground and in the tube lines.

Simon stood silent and watchful as they brought up the vid showing Leah's departure. The time/date stamp showed that she'd left early that morning, roughly about the time Simon was having his face cauterized.

She'd gone by herself, a backpack slung across her shoulders. Her expression was grim and resolute. The security vid kept her in sight until she stepped out of the tube station. She never looked back. Then she was gone.

"Why didn't someone stop her?" Simon asked. He felt guilty that he hadn't been there for her, but there'd been no way. Only his compliance with his a.s.signments had allowed them to stay there.

"No one was told to," the young security officer said. The instrument panels limned his face green and blue in the semidarkness. "She was yourguest. Your responsibility if you wanted her to stay."

"She's out there alone," Simon said before he could stop himself.

"There are a lot of people out there alone, Cross," the sergeant said. "At least that one had a choice about staying here where it was safe."