41. Her Peaceful Face (Patreon)

Update: Unlocked for all patrons.

-----

Milo flies past the Silent before they can reach for their guns. Fear pumps through his legs, and his arms are as stiff as iron, but he’s through the room and half way up the ladder before they can react. His whole world narrows to the ladder’s rungs, one after the other, as he climbs. Distantly, he’s aware of Noor calling the Silent foul names.

The metal hatch slams behind Milo, and bullets ping off of it. A woman’s voice curses when a ricochet hits her. Upstairs, two Silent arrange supplies by lantern light. They turn to see what the commotion is about, but Milo is already charging. His palms rise to hit the closer one in the ribs. He feels them crack, as the force lifts the man up and into his partner. Milo grabs their lantern and runs. The Silent untangle themselves to chase after.

“Duck!” Noor yells.

Milo does, and bullets strike sparks from the stone around him. Noor grunts in approval. The corridor turns and briefly takes him out of view of the Silent’s guns. Ahead is a room with five passages leading out. Noor taps his shoulder at the fourth. He’s beyond exhausted. Winded. His back aches, and there’s a stitch in his side. His hands are scraped and bloody from scrabbling over the rubble, his arms scabby from the needles. But he runs and keeps running, turning and twisting with the corridors. Running and running, but the Silent are never far behind. He runs and can’t stop. Not if he wants to live.

Noor points to a pile of rubble, and Milo climbs upward as loose rocks tumble in his wake. He slides down the other side to a gap in the wall. On the other side, someone’s taken the time to sweep the area clear of dust. There’s the smell of a fire, of roasted mushrooms. Milo follows the smell and pops into a circular room. People covered in black cloth sit around a fire at its center. The only exception is a large being, easily twelve feet tall with a head like a bull. Their body is covered in short thick fur.

The sight stops Milo. Panting, he asks, “Wh-what?”

Noor’s voice is hoarse. “Who. Not what. Keep running.”

Milo follows her advice. “S-sorry, sorry, sorry,” he says, as he moves past each person.

In the next corridor, beams of sunlight filter through a grate in the ceiling. Behind him, there are the sounds of gunshots, a roar, and fighting.

“Keep going,” Noor says. “We’re almost there, sweetie. Leave the lantern. We won’t need it anymore.”

She leads him further down the corridor towards a break in the wall. Milo would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been guiding him.

“Hold on,” he says.

“I will,” Noor says.

The scabs on Milo’s arms scrape off as he squeezes through. The corridor on the other side is darker. There’s a body covered in black cloth propped against the wall, but they don’t respond when Milo says hello. Up ahead, a ladder is bolted onto the wall.

“Up,” Noor says. “I want to see the sun. Up.”

The trap door at the top is unlocked, and a mural of Saket looks on as Milo climbs out into one of the sanctuaries. Afternoon light streams in from the open archway. He peeks outside. The sanctuary is located at the dead end of an alley. In the distance, there’s the sound of machine gun fire. It sounds dangerous, but still, it’s better than being underground.

“We did it,” Milo says. “We escaped!”

Noor doesn’t respond.

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?” Milo kneels to ease the sling off his shoulders. Blood has pooled at the bottom and spills out across the floor to soak into the sanctuary’s rugs. Noor’s eyes are closed, and there’s a sad smile on her face. She looks much smaller than she was. Milo turns her over and finds two gunshot wounds on her back. “Oh, Noor.”

A pair of black boots materializes next to Milo, and the fire in his shoulder finally eases. Ah, I see, Eratosthenes says.

“She’s dead.”

Eratosthenes sits down, looking almost as tired as Milo. I’m sorry.

“She died protecting me.”

We will honor her.

Milo feels numb. He wants to fall down. To sleep. The numbers wander around him confused. “People always leave.”

Yes and no, Eratosthenes says.

Milo glares. “What does that mean?”

It means yes and no.

“You’re not very helpful, are you?”

A fleeting smile passes across the dragon-man’s face. It may not seem like it, but I am.

Milo reaches for the sling. “I can’t leave her here.”

Eratosthenes places a hand on his. The feeling is warm. I have her. She’s confused and worried about you, but she’s safe from the shadows. You, on the other hand, are very much needed elsewhere.

“She’s here? Can I talk to her? Thank her for everything she’s done for me? I don’t think I’ve thanked her enough. She’s been so kind.”

I promise to let her know, but she paid a dear price to help you get somewhere and you need to finish the journey.

“The gas, the Siloxin.”

Yes, that’s right.

Noor’s face is peaceful. She knew this would happen. She’d seen it, his calculations are certain.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Noor, “that I couldn’t be a better friend. Thank you for everything.” Milo forces himself to stand up. His knees ache. His legs, his back, his whole body protests the movement. “Where to?”

Eratosthenes points up.