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Chapter Seven:Cheating Destiny

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Chapter Seven: Cheating Destiny

The Zeppelin landed 300 meters away from the Burkely Biological Research facility – that is, 300 yards below it in the canyon that ran through the facility's backyard. Phineas and Roy got a spectacular view of the sediments that made up the canyon's walls as the Zeppelin putted dangerously close to them at a teeth-grindingly slow pace. Finally, it touched down below the facility, steam power shut off, and completely encased in the darkness of the night enhanced by the chasm's shadow.

Vlad, Paul, Phineas, and Roy bid the crew of the Zeppelin good-bye and left its coach. They circled to the cargo hold and lifted the giant metal door, which curved into the hold much like the door of the Valentine garage-workshop. Inside was a gargantuan drill the height of two large men and about as round as the coach (Roy could only wonder how much of a hassle it was to initially load the machine, having not been around to see it). Together, they detached and dragged the drill out by its long ropes and large wheels until it cleared the cargo hold, which was now clear to view. Roy couldn't believe what he saw – five hastily made stalls housing four raggedy-looking mules and Vlad's goat, Payne.

"Ah, yes," Phineas said, "our steeds."

"You've got to be joshing me," Paul muttered. Roy shared an identical, disbelieving expression.

"Couldn't barter the damn goat for any of 'em," Vlad said to no one in particular. "The guy wanted coins."

They attached the drill's ropes to the mules and mounted them with saddles improvised from blankets and began the ascent to the top of the canyon. The winding path that they were to follow would lead them roughly 100 meters from the facility itself, and there they left their mules to push the drill an adequate distance away from the animals. The mules had already began to climb down the path again, back to their barrels of hay in the cargo hold of the Zeppelin.

"We will not need the drill after we get into the complex," Phineas said, honestly too overwhelmed with infiltrating the building to mess with keeping hungry mules from their dinners.

They dropped the drill so that it made about a 30 degree angle touching the ground, and they then cranked it on so that it would drill a diagonal slice into the ground before heading straight down perpendicularly. They slid down the slope into the sudden drop and followed the drill as it turned with Vlad's superhuman pull to make it parallel with the top of the ground and aimed straight for the building. He quickly let go and followed his companions in suit.

The drill was efficient at its purpose, but not incredibly fast. They had to walk at a slow pace to follow right alongside its back, nearly suffocating with the steam that had nowhere to go but in their faces. Paul was coughing up a storm until he finally decided to fall on his stomach and crawl instead of walk through the vile air. The rest – save Vlad – followed in suit.

"I'm completely used to this," Paul said proudly.

"I've not even owned this smashing coat for three hours," Phineas lamented.

Fifteen minutes later, Roy jumped to his feet. "I've got a hunch," he declared. "Stop the drill."

Paul rushed over to it and powered it down, and it crept along as its gears slowly shut down. Roy started picking at the dirty ceiling with his shovel, and Vlad and Paul joined him.

"Please," Phineas muttered, "are we truly going to act on Roy's 'hunch'?"

"It's not like your measuring in paces the distance between where we started and the right room in the detention hall is going to be accurate," Roy pointed out sourly.

Chagrined, Phineas saw no other alternative than to help with the digging. Soon, they breached the floor of a room, and Roy clambered up the pile of dirt they had created to peek cautiously inside.

Roy froze instantly, only able to move his eyes rapidly about in their sockets. The room was filled with tables and benches filled with men wearing both Düren military uniforms and white lab coats. They were eating – no, stopped in mid-bite with forks near or in their mouths, or with arms cocked and ready to slice into some form of mystery meat on a tray. They were staring at the hole in the floor and the boy in the hat peering out of it.

"Son of a bitch!" Roy heard himself shout as he more or less slid down the dirt slope back into the hole. "There's about a million people up there! It's the goddamned mess hall!"

"Oh, sure!" Phineas shouted. "'Let's act on the hunch of an amateur!' Excellent idea, Mr. Graves!"

Paul and Vlad jumped up through the hole, followed by Phineas and a reluctant Roy. They brandished their weapons – a rocket launcher, a sidearm and a hand harpoon, two (or more!) revolvers, and a breach-loader equipped with a bayonet. They stood back-to-back with the room completely covered by gun barrels.

The forks all dropped.

Roy noted that the occupants of the room were arranged as such: about three quarters of the tables were scientists in white coats, and the last fourth of the tables were soldiers garbed in black uniforms. Paul aimed his launcher in their direction, while Phineas maneuvered to get his revolvers leveled at two of the men’s heads. Roy and Vlad watched the scientists, cocking their respective firearms.

“Nobody move!” Phineas yelled.

A scientist on the far side of the room reached out his arm, perhaps for an alarm, perhaps to stretch it – Roy fired his breach loader with fatal accuracy at him, and he fell dead. He heard the soldiers behind him and to his left make a fuss of noise, and Paul’s launcher went off with a loud, resonating “thump.” Vlad and Phineas opened fired as well; screams broke out. Horror-stricken men were impaled through their chests with Vlad’s harpoon hand. One was even unlucky enough to receive a blow through his skull. Groups were blown away by Paul’s rockets and Roy’s grape shots, and individuals fell painfully when .49 caliber bullets pierced foreheads and chest cavities, rapidly fired from Phineas’ two revolvers. A pot near the kitchen tottered over a counter and spilled. The skirmish – if one could even call it that - was all over in two minutes with only four standing; it was like cattle in a house of slaughter, sitting ducks in midseason. With much remorse, Roy emptied his last cartridge from his rifle, then he let it drop from under his shoulder. He was panting as if he had been holding his breath the whole time; with shaking hands, he reloaded his rifle, the others following his example.

“You’re a nice shot for a civvy, Roy,” Paul said somewhat cheerfully.

“I used to hunt with my father’s weapons,” Roy said between breaths.

“Think these fellas were the whole facility’s faculty?” Vlad asked Phineas.

The spy’s eyes traced the bodies slowly, his mouth moving with the numbers he was racking up. “Most of them,” he reported. “Though that was not all of their security force, and certainly none of the officials were in here.”

“Don’t forget that I blew up quite a few of them,” Paul pointed out.

Phineas hummed in thought. “Indeed.”

Roy chuckled dryly. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“Certainly not,” Phineas agreed. “So long as you do not factor in the ridiculous loss of life.”

“Just casualties of war,” Paul said with a shrug. “Revenge for Canan, you know?”

Roy wasn’t so sure he cared about revenge.

Loud clangs like the sound of a running machine echoed from a hallway leading past one of the mess hall’s doors. The group tensed like the sinews of one muscle, then a white piece of cloth was thrown into the room. It fell limply to the floor, not a trap, not an explosive, not anything but what it was: surrender.

“It’s Marcus,” came a voice from the door.

They looked to Phineas, who studied the door with a furrowed brow. He nodded. “Come in.”

Marcus rounded the corner and ducked through the door frame. He took two steps toward the group before he froze and stared around the room at the bloodshed frightfully. He swore loudly, then looked at them, panicked. “Are you all okay?”

“Fit as ever,” Vlad assured him.

Marcus sighed, the air leaving his lungs rushing around in his helmet like steam exhaust that couldn’t escape its machine. “Follow me to the detention hall, then. I’ll take care of anyone we meet along the way.”

“And I’ll cover our backs,” Paul offered. He slung the rocket launcher off of his shoulder and offered it to Roy. “Switch, please?”

Frowning, Roy reluctantly handed over his precious rifle, painfully placing the heavy launcher on his shoulder as he had seen Paul do.

“Thanks,” said Paul, who was beginning to look more and more like a marine with each passing moment, despite his humble coveralls and sooty face.

Marcus led their path into the bowels of the facility, navigating corridors casually and yet with a sense of purpose. Suddenly, a man in a lab coat opened a door and exited a room. He closed it behind him and took no notice of the envoy until Marcus was practically on top of him. The man glared, foolishly free of any fear for the warlike statue before him.

“You aren’t authorized to be in this wing. Who are you?” he demanded.

Wordlessly, Marcus took the man by the shirt and threw him literally back through the door he had just exited and moved on as if he had swatted a fly. Roy was momentarily aghast at his brother’s unrestrained action, a show of brute strength that he would have expected more out of Vlad. But he reminded himself that he was more than capable of such savage treatment of the enemy. Savagery was always more devastating when seen by one’s own eyes in a loved one. Except Roy looked nothing like a killing machine – poor Marcus, he appeared to be the bringer of war!

At the end of the hallway, it curved into a winding, dark staircase lit by torches. It reminded Roy immediately of a medieval dungeon. They followed the stairs down, nearly dizzying themselves to the floor in doing so, and eventually they reached the bottom. The air got tangibly more moist and dank, sinister with a leaking ceiling and molding walls. There was one corridor lined with heavy metal doors that had no window in or out. Roy felt a shiver coalesce from every nerve ending up his spine.

Marcus walked on his own, pointing with an enormous, armored finger at each cell as he passed. He pointed to the cell, and Vlad moved in to kick the door open. It took several tries, and one last joint push with Marcus to make the door budge. It started to fall into the cell, and Vlad and Marcus scrambled to catch it by the sides to keep it from crushing the unsuspecting Jamie.

“Move out of the way so we can drop this thing, girly!” Vlad instructed. The air fell silent, and no one heard any word of acknowledgement or an acquiescing movement within the cell.

“Jamie?” Roy called into the cell. No answer.

“Jamie, are you in there?” Phineas asked, his voice rattled with mild panic.

“Hello?”

It was a different voice. A male voice. It was nearby.

“Who’s there?” Roy asked. Vlad and Marcus set down the heavy door and looked in Jamie’s cell. There was no one.

“It’s – “ the voice stuttered. “It’s Sam Burkely.”

“Nonsense!” Phineas shouted, becoming frustrated and more frightened by the minute.

“I wasn’t aware that there was another prisoner in the detention hall,” Marcus said as if wondering aloud.

“It’s a long story, but I’m not who you think I am,” the voice said. “I know where Jamie is.”

“Oh, no,” Marcus whispered. “The interrogation!”

Jamie felt her shoulders pushed down into a chair. She tried to lean back, flailed when she felt no seat rest, and nearly fell out of the chair once she realized it was a stool. The black cloth was removed from her eyes, and she had to squint to try and adjust to the bright oil lamp sitting on a desk in front of her. She had not seen any light that was any more than a lit match for many hours.

“Clarify that you are Jamie Radcliffe Valentine,” a monotonic, cold as steel voice stated.

Jamie was perturbed that they knew her middle name as well, but she nodded, moving her hand away from her eyes as they adjusted slowly to the light. “Yes.”

“You are the second daughter of Joshua Lawrence Valentine and Penelope Leah Valentine. Is this correct?”

“Yes.”

“You are accused of consorting with a spy and gallivanting across Düren territory in civilian clothing. It is a crime punishable by death to associate oneself with a spy in civilian clothing behind enemy lines. Are you aware of this?”

Jamie unexpectedly felt tears swell in her eyes, as if some invisible person had pressed a button in her back to cause her to want to cry. She hadn’t the slightest clue why the urge to cry became so overwhelming – perhaps it was the only reaction her fatigued mind could muster after enduring so much in a short amount of time. She sucked in a frantic gasp of air and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles.

“Jamie Valentine, you are required to answer my question if you want to live,” the voice told her sternly, becoming increasingly angry.

“No. No, I was never aware of that,” Jamie managed to say. She wasn’t lying – she had no idea what the rules of war were, and if they didn’t believe her, then that made them stupid, ignorant men. The fact was that women weren’t concerned with war until it involved their sons, fathers, husbands, or brothers, and that was the end of it.

“So you admit that you were consorting with a spy.”

“No, I do not admit that I was aware that the man I was traveling with was a spy.”

“You mean to have me believe that you had no indication that Phineas Grey was a spy?” the voice asked scornfully.

“Yes,” Jamie replied simply, in no real mood to argue. If they didn’t believe her, then they could shove it up their –

The man leaned forward – Jamie could only tell because the silhouette of his shadowy figure grew slightly bigger, and elbows and forearms wearing a suit jacket with brass buttons appeared on the desk before her. “Phineas Grey was a spy and a deceiver, then.”

Jamie wanted to shout “Duh!” at the man, but she thought better of it. “If you say he is truly a spy, then yes, that assertion is correct.”

The man hummed thoughtfully and stroked his chin, or so Jamie thought, since she couldn’t quite tell what his silhouette was doing. “He is dead now, so we must go with your word, I suppose. Now,” the man let out a long breath through his nostrils and leaned back into his chair. “The hard questioning will begin.”

Jamie squirmed on the stool, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

“Where is Roy Camlach Graves?”

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

The voice asked again, more aggressively: “You know Roy Camlach Graves. Where is he?”

“I’m telling you that I don’t know!” Jamie said, frustrated.

“Everyone in Phineas Grey’s caravan was killed except for you and your cohort Graves. You were brought back by Experiment Number 117, and he claimed that his former brother was nowhere to be found. When did he leave your caravan, and where did he go? If you do not tell me, you will force me to resort to physical threats.”

Jamie swallowed, barely able to get her saliva past her swelling throat. It was getting harder to breathe. “He left us in Strasbourg.” The man called Marcus an experiment!

“Strasbourg. I highly doubt what you are telling me is true. If Roy Camlach Graves – a wanted man in all of Düren – was to set foot in Strasbourg after the celebration ceremony of Sam Burkely, he would be taken into custody on the spot, no questions asked.”

Jamie folded in her lips, wanting very much to take a jab at Düren’s security operations, which had let Phineas Grey slip through their fingers multiple times. She held her tongue, however. “I don’t know what to tell you. He left us in Strasbourg, and I don’t know where he is, and you don’t know where he is.”

There was a loud crash from behind Jamie that caused her to jump. “Roy’s right here, baby,” came Roy’s voice from the door.

Jamie did what was most logical: scream and get down on the ground. She heard gun shots from behind her, and the return fire from the guards posted in the room. Her eyes sealed shut, she tried to stay calm and act more as though her rescuers had come, and she wasn’t caught in the crossfire of a battlefield. The seconds ticked past like full minutes, but soon the firing stopped. She felt arms lift her to her feet – Phineas.

“Are you all right, my dear?” he asked softly.

Jamie nodded numbly. He lifted her chin to see her eyes better, and Jamie was surprised to see that his hair was in neat, curly order, and the only major change that had occurred to him in the past several hours she had been away was that he seemed slightly older, more gaunt, and weathered. She threw her arms around him, and knew she would have thrown her arms around him, whether his face was corpselike, maimed, deformed, old, or downright cruel. She simply couldn’t help herself. Phineas was the cause for everything she had become after all she had endured, and she knew that if she could handle this on her own, she was ready for anything.

“We must move quickly,” Phineas whispered, his face centimeters from Jamie’s.

Jamie could have lain there, scantily clad and scared to death forever secured in Phineas’ grasp. She somehow got to her feet and followed the boys out, relieved even to see Roy’s beaming smile shining in her direction. They were in the heart of an enemy testing facility, and Jamie hadn’t felt this loved and secured since her Aunt Fran gave her a cookie out of the final batch she would ever cook.

Phineas led her by the hand past Roy, Vlad, and Paul, following behind Marcus as he led the group through criss-crossing corridors.

“Thanks, everyone,” Jamie said as they walked briskly.

Phineas squeezed her hand, and, looking over her shoulder, Jamie saw three identical smiles aimed at her, and the half-smirk of Samuel Burkely.

“Oh, Sam! You’re okay!” Jamie said.

“Yes, your friends got me out. I am unimaginably grateful to be free. Now, however,” Sam trailed off.

“We must kill his traitorous brother,” Phineas finished for him.

“Precisely,” said Sam.

Jamie recalled the odious account of Sam’s brother betraying him during a visit to his Strasbourg apartment that he retold during one of the long hours she spent with him in the prison cell. His brother had merely called him over to help with the rearranging of some furniture, a favor which Sam happily decided to assist with, and when he arrived at the flat, he was bludgeoned with the back of a rifle. A black cloth was thrown over his head, and he was taken to the faraway research facility where he worked, leaving his brother to take on his persona and redirect his current project: the transgenic bacteria research. What was originally supposed to target a small number of Vendettan officials became a widespread weapon, first tested on the Vendettan town of Devonshire, Phineas’ hometown.

Sam explained that it had never been his intention to cause so much chaos, that his engineered bacterium was intended to remove certain militants and politicians from the public eye of Vendetta to demoralize the population and end the Faraway War in Düren’s favor. Sam wanted only to curtail the war – stop the troops from being shipped away to far off lands to fight for the cruelties of imperialism. Conscription was on the horizon – Sam knew if he couldn’t find a disease to cure the war, then it would last until his son turned sixteen, and he was sent away.

Marcus stopped at a set of double doors, which he pushed open with both behemoth arms. The lavish office that appeared to them was well-endowed with all of the best luxuries, including a plush leather chair, mahogany desk, paintings, books, and lush carpeting. It was empty, however; no Burkely brother to be found.

Phineas cursed. “Where is he?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Marcus said. “I would assume that he is aware of the dangers of remaining in the building, so he must have…left.”

“Then let’s go to the laboratories,” Sam suggested. “I need to gather some things that may help fix what I have done.”

Marcus led them on. The laboratories weren’t far, and when they entered, the endless rows of lab tables, beakers, cauldrons, titration valves, and other gadgets were free for the taking. Sam moved to reach a far off table, grabbing sheets of paper and two vials with one, large beaker. He nodded toward the group, ready to leave.

There was a set of doors leading outside which the group exited through, Marcus first, and with Roy, Phineas, and Jamie in tow, the rest behind them waiting for Sam to catch up. Shots were suddenly fired from the cliff’s edge – a tiny redoubt had been set up of card tables from somewhere inside the building. Several soldiers had fortified a position near the edge of the cliff and had opened fire on them, a lucky surprise assault that was made possible through their random exit through the double doors directly opposite of their position. Marcus instinctively shoved Jamie back and stood between her and the bullets; two pinged off of his thick armor. Phineas returned fire, finding difficulty hitting them from so far away and with only his revolvers. Roy got down on his knee in front of his brother and companion, then fired Paul Striker’s rocket launcher.

Startled, the soldiers screamed and dove away – some incidentally off the cliff. The rocket was aimed too high; the wind carried it completely over the redoubts, but the scare was enough to cause several of them to stand and become open targets for Phineas, and now Paul and Vlad. They were shot dead.

The calm afterward was shattered when the rocket launcher hit the ground with a painful “crack,” and Roy was on his stomach clutching his side. Jamie rushed to him, turning him onto his back to see that his face was becoming rapidly soaked with sweat, pale, and deathly. She gasped in horror at the blood copiously streaming from a wound in his side, which he tried to plug with the palms of his hands.

“Roy!” she screamed. “Roy, don’t you dare leave me!”

He was breathing heavily, unable to answer. He let his eyes close in an agonizing wince.

Phineas gazed out across No Man’s Land and saw two arms lifted in the air from behind one of the redoubts. Painstakingly slow, the man rose to his feet, turned, and faced the group. Phineas strode toward him with a wide gait, revolver aimed and ready to blow the man’s brains out.

It was Sam Burkely’s brother.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Sam’s brother begged.

“I have no reason not to,” Phineas retorted. He cocked his gun.

“This – this isn’t a gentleman’s way to go!” Sam’s brother said.

“Indeed, for you are not a gentleman,” Phineas agreed. His index finger tensed on the trigger.

“A duel!” Sam’s brother announced.

“Why would I agree to duel you, you incompetent knave? I have you exactly where I want you.”

“Because it sickens you to shoot men like a barbaric soldier,” the brother said, his voice low and sinister.

“Hey!” Paul shouted, indignant.

“You have read my character well,” Phineas said, chagrined. He did not lower his gun, but he motioned to the brother to move out of the redoubts. He stood to the side with his gun still aimed at the brother, who moved to have his back against Phineas’; Phineas faced his friends toward the facility, and the brother the redoubts and the cliff’s edge. Jamie, with Roy in her arms, prostrate, was powerless to end the spiraling events, and she could only watch with eyes watering. Honor was the only thing at stake – Phineas was risking his life for the sake of honor when she had killed neighbors and friends for her own survival!

“Ten paces!” Phineas shouted.

“Ten paces,” the brother repeated.

They counted silently in their heads, Jamie watched Phineas’ every step. One, two, three, four, five – suddenly, the master spy whirled around, coat flaring behind him, and he ran full speed toward Sam Burkely’s imposter brother. His arms wrapped around the man as he tackled him, tumbling over the redoubts and skidding straight to the cliff’s edge. Phineas bashed the brother’s nose in with the butt of his revolver; then, with one last feat of strength, the brother flipped Phineas over him with his legs, and the spy went tumbling over the edge of the cliff.

With his hands still holding on to the brother.

Phineas’ momentum sent them both toppling over the edge in a heap of bitter fighting.

“Phineas!” Jamie screamed.

Phineas, Roy, and the others make their way to Jamie's rescue, but things go askew before their mission is completed...
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ZiggyOdile's avatar
Is that it? I know that's not it.

One thing that I think will help the story. You how Mr. Swift says that you can't always play loud and by playing softer you can make the louder part seem louder?
Have more happy parts in the story. I just feel like no one will ever be happy again.