Page 22 of Not With the Eyes

"Red door," Oberon echoed, back tracking slightly and heading in the indicated direction, one gun still drawn, hisshoulder and thigh stinging where he'd been grazed, despite the armor he now wore.

Scones had it worse, bleeding from a superficial head wound he was trying to staunch with one hand while still carrying Rodeo. He was sweaty and red-faced and exhausted, but he kept moving without a word of complaint.

Oberon wasn't pleased with the hot, squirmy feelings that Scones provoked in him, but he couldn't exactly deny them either. Not after fucking him. Not after getting captured to save him. Not after being rescued by the bastard and kissing him in thanks.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, andfuck. No help for it, though, the damage was done.

The red door came into view. It was large, steel, more reminiscent of something you'd see on a ship that, when closed, could keep out a truly impressive amount of water. Next to it was a screen that looked as though it did retina, fingerprint, and facial scans.

No, not fingerprint, Oberon realized as he reached it. The fucking thing scanned DNA, the one component even the highest-level shifter could not mimic. "How are we getting through?"

"Leave that to me," Dixie drawled, voice spilling out of a speaker set above the scan station. "Few seconds. Just leave it slightly open behind you so I can get in."

Oberon hadn't even counted to five when the red light turned green and the seal on the heavy door gave way. He went and pulled, but the door was even heavier than it looked. "You're going to have to help me."

"Let— Let me," said a weak, raspy voice.

Oberon turned sharply and stared as Rodeo slowly rose—and rose. The bastard cleared six feet and was well on his way toseven. He was pale and shaky, but the look on his face brooked no argument as he heaved toward the door and pulled.

It swung open like an ordinary door, clanging hard against the wall, which must be heavily reinforced. "What's through here?"

"The private collections," Rodeo said grimly. "The few things they store that ain't digital, and emergency bunkers, rations for staying down here for months, even years."

Oberon frowned. "Byron never mentioned any of that."

"Wasn't relevant to our plan before," Scones said. "Plan has changed."

"Impressed there's a plan at all, given how tense you seem," Rodeo said.

Rodeo and Dixie were clearly going to get along, though Rodeo's drawl sounded more Upper Carolina, where Dixie was Province of Texas, a small US territory deep into the United Tribes, the result of some long-ago negotiation that traded that province for the bulk of what used to be Pennsylvania, the remainder having then been folded back into Maryland.

"How are you feeling?" Oberon asked as they stepped through. "Want a gun?"

"Naw, I'm better off fighting the old-fashioned way," Rodeo replied. "Assuming ya'll ain't here for me, just taking me along. Who are you?"

"Oberon, that's Scones," Oberon said.

Scones lifted a hand, but didn't take the time to stop or turn around, entirely focused on whatever might from ahead of them. Oberon hung back to take the rear, though as Rodeo swung the door closed again behind them, that seemed increasingly unlikely. By now the people with clearance would be focused on evacuation, and guards with clearance would be in short supply and needed elsewhere. At least for a time.

"How the fuck are we escaping this way?" he asked.

"We're not," Scones said. "The plan is to hide out here while the rest of the building is brought down, let everyone think we didn't make it out, and escape later once everything dies down."

Oberon stared at him. "Are… are you shitting me?"

"I wish I was. Come on."

"What about Dixie?"

"Joining us shortly. He had to break into the system and then set the explosives. My job was get you and get to ground."

"Explosives." Horrified realization slammed into Oberon like a fist. "No! They can't! Not yet! I don't have—" He stopped as the muffled booming of explosives overtook the space, making everything shake and thrum.

It was followed by the sound of the enormous door opening again. Scones surged back the way they'd come, gun up—and relaxed as Dixie came into view, dressed in the same borrowed clothes and armor that Oberon and Scones wore. "It's done. All we gotta do now is sit tight."

"No, no, no! I didn't get to find it! My last fucking chance!" Oberon screamed: in grief, in rage, in sheer helplessness.

Gone. Gone forever. He would never get himself back now.

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