The New Haven Incident - Part Twenty-Three

Dr. Lundt could not shake the feeling of immediate danger. Her shoulders pulled tight, rising nearly an inch despite her attempts to lower them. She told herself that it was because they were in the deepest bowels of the facility that was the centre of this nightmare. That wasn’t it, however. Harding walked at her shoulder. Tall and broad, the blond man was the picture of the all-American soldier. Some people might have found comfort in that. Joy Lundt did not.

Her father had been the same, but with mousy brown hair, much like her own. He was also an abusive authoritarian who never once renounced his brutality. Not even on his deathbed. They had buried him with full honours, though he had been long retired from service when he died. Joy had stood beside her mother, pretending to be sad. Making all the right noises when they spoke of his heroism, what a good citizen he had been. All the while she silently cursed his memory, wishing his soul eternal damnation, and feeling damned glad to have finally escaped him.

Harding did not present an image of comfort to her. No. He was a clear and present danger; the greatest threat to her person there could be. She hated him hovering so close to her shoulder.

They arrived at the server room without incident. Dr. Lundt swiped her card and the door slid open with a hiss. The soldiers entered warily, weapons poised for action.

“Whoa,” Jospeh said as he stepped into the room. “This is very cool.”

“Cold, you mean,” Richards muttered as he stepped in behind his teammate. They each checked the corridors of servers to ensure they would not be set upon as they worked.

“They have to keep it cold, man,” Grindel said. “Or the servers will overheat and all their data will be lost.” He peeked down one of the long corridors of computers. “Clear.”

“Clear,” his companion announced from further down.

“Clear,” Joseph echoed.

“Man, it’s going to take several Mexican summers for me to get my blood back,” Richards said. “Brr!”

“Get to work,” Harding grumbled from the door. He stood with Richards just outside the server room door, weapons ready.

“Yes, Sir!” Richards said. He slid off his backpack, pulled out the small computer he brought with him, powered it up and connected it to the server. With just a few keystrokes, the download of Cedarwood’s proprietary data was being downloaded. It all happened in silence. 

Joy stepped inside the room, if only to create some distance between herself and Harding. It helped with her feeling of unease to step away from the captain. That she was supposed to be on hand should any questions about what data to save should come up was a convenient excuse. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to keep her body heat in. Despite the cold, she didn’t want to exit the room.

Perhaps it was because of the silence, or because of her own unease, but the download seemed to take longer than it ought. Joy focussed on her breath, watching it fog before her face, as she waited. She tried to create shapes of it. Her brother could create smoke rings. She had never gotten the hang of it herself. Her brother had died in a motorbike accident when she was twenty. She stopped doing a lot of things that day.

“All done!” Richards said, withdrawing the plug and folding his computer away. He hefted the backpack onto his back and led his teammates out of the room. Joy reluctantly followed.

“Any luck on the comms?” Grindel asked as the door to the server room hissed closed.

Richards glumly shook his head. “And this deep, there’s even less of a chance to receive anything.”

“Where the fuck are the other teams?” Harding muttered. He shook his head. “There’s one more location to hit before we head back out.”

“We didn’t get everything?” Dr. Lundt asked, surprised.

Harding shook his head. “Some projects were deemed too sensitive to trust to the servers. They’re stored on individual drives in the labs.”

“That’s not true,” Joy said, frowning. “This isn’t Cedarwood City. We had no secret projects here.”

Harding raised his eyebrows at her. “Oh really?” he asked, waving vaguely in the air. The implication was obvious. How did this incident happen?

Joy shook her head. “I was the second lead researcher here. All things were run through my office.”

“Not all things, Doctor.” Harding checked his watch. “We need to get moving.”

Not waiting to hear more of Dr. Lundt’s protests, he turned and led the way down the dark hall.

Sebastian stopped, holding up a fist. Mendez stopped behind him, listening in the dark. The sound was faint and there was too much echo for Mendez to make out what it could be.

Sebastian turned and indicated. Footsteps.

Mendez frowned. How the hell could he tell?

Sebastian indicated again. Approaching.

Cursing quietly to himself, Mendez moved across the mouth of the adjoining hall and prepared to strike. He glanced across at Sebastian. The agent’s pallor had not improved, and there was something in the way he leant his back against the wall that was concerning. Still, Sebastian had not shown any other signs of distress. He did hit the ground fairly hard during the ambush. Broken ribs were never kind to those unlucky enough to suffer them. That explanation would go a long way to explaining the shortening and shallowing of Sebastian’s breaths.

“You cannot be serious.”

Mendez recognised the voice as it drifted down the hall. He grinned, looking over at Sebastian. The agent’s lips quirked slightly and he straightened.

There was a clatter followed by a muffled curse.

“Watch your step!”

Mendez’ grin broadened at his captain’s sharp exasperation.

“Who put a skeleton there anyway?” Jospeh demanded. “And why the hell is this hall so damned dark? Who designed this?”

“The emergency lighting must be malfunctioning,” Dr. Lundt’s voice said. She sounded tired.

“You have your flashlight on, you idiot,” Grindel’s voice echoed down the hall.

Mendez rounded the corner, turning on his flashlight. The beam hit Team Two. As one, the team halted, snapping their weapons to the ready.

“So much for specialists,” Mendez noted. “You’re very loud.”

“Mendez!” Grindel said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Christ! You scared the ghost out of me.”

“Not hard to do,” Richards muttered darkly.

“Oliver,” Harding greeted, smiling.

“Miss me?” Mendez walked forward and clasped his captain’s offered hand. Harding patted his shoulder.

“It was quieter,” he noted.

“Fuck you,” Mendez said with a laugh.

“Glad you’re back. We were worried you got got.”

Mendez nodded. “Would’ve done, but…” He stood aside, revealing Sebastian standing at the intersection of corridors. Unlike his companion, Agent Connors still held his gun before him, albeit pointed at the ground. There was no warmth in his pale eyes as he observed the team.

Harding nodded a greeting to him. “Thank you, Agent Connors.”

Sebastian offered nothing but a shrug.

“Take up position, Mendez,” Harding said. “We’ve work to do.”

“Yes, Sir,” Mendez said. He hefted his rifle and began to move into position. He paused and turned. “You coming?” he asked Sebastian.

The blond man shook his head. “I’m going to find the others, and get to those civilians in the city.”

Harding grunted. “We left Team Three at the armoury on the first floor.”

Sebastian nodded.

Mendez went to him and offered his hand. “Thank you, Sebastian,” he said.

For a heartbeat, Sebastian stared at Mendez’ outstretched hand. Then he straightened and grasped the big man’s forearm. “Any time,” he said.

Mendez nodded. “I meant it,” he said quietly. “When it’s time to get those folks to safety, you call on me, okay?”

Sebastian smiled. It was small, but genuine. “You can count on it.”

“Mendez,” Harding said. “Time to go.”

Dropping Sebastian’s arm, Mendez turned and nodded at his captain. Team Two moved out, Dr. Lundt at their centre. Sebastian stepped back around the corner to permit them room to pass. She met Sebastian’s eyes as she passed, her troubled look conveying to the agent what his gut had been telling them since Team Two came upon his position. Something was wrong.

With nothing but his gut and Dr. Lundt’s look to go on, however, there was nothing Sebastian could act upon. He watched as Mendez fell into the rear guard, the man’s broad back vanishing into the dark of the hall.

“Be careful, Mendez,” he whispered.

Silence answered him. Certain that he was alone, Sebastian finally succumbed to the pain that lanced through him; the sharp throbbing pain in his head and the newer blooming pain in his chest. He slammed his shoulder into the wall in a desperate bid to keep himself upright. It didn’t work. He slid slowly down the wall until he fell to his knees. The pain in his chest sharpened; a stabbing throb in his chest in rhythm with his heartbeat. With every laboured beat, his joints echoed the pain. Every breath sent lances of fire through his entire body. His vision swimming, Sebastian fought the agony for control of his own body. He had to find the others. He had to get the civilians to safety.

The pain in his chest yielded to a single lance of fire. Grunting, Sebastian fell forward, catching himself with one hand, the other grabbing at his chest as the wave of agony rolled through him.

Why are you fighting?

Sebastian ground his teeth as the voice that was somehow both outside himself and also in his brain drifted in through the pain.

Just let it take you.

“Fuck. You,” Sebastian growled softly back. His mind answered with a sinister laugh. Sebastian shook his head, certain that it had finally happened; he had finally cracked.

It’ll happen sooner or later, Agent Connors.

Another wave of agony robbed Sebastian of his reply. Uncontrollable spasms rocked his body, throwing him onto his back, his fingers curled into awkward positions as his muscles contracted. Time lost meaning as he twitched on the floor.

Finally, the pain ebbed and his body relaxed. Exhausted, Sebastian lay on the ground, grateful for the cold steel against his fevered skin. He concentrated on forcing his lungs to work. When he was certain he was once again in control of his own body, Sebastian rolled over and, using the wall to help, pulled himself back onto his feet. His legs refused to obey, he stumbled, recovered awkwardly, and tried again. By sheer force of will, he regained his balance. He worked his way through the gloom back towards the elevators.

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