Phillip stepped over Shepherd’s body, casting a glance down at her still form with a soft grunt, then bent down over the control panel of the surveillance crystals. His eyes swept over the projected images, watching the displays of carnage from all over the island. The invaders were assaulting the female and male wards, shooting it out with retreating officers as inmates shouted and hollered within their cells.
“Repeat, fall back to death row!” Stargazer’s voice crackled through the radio. “Just get out of there and run!”
One after another, the officers abandoned their posts, rushing to the emergency exits and fleeing across the grounds. Bodies dropped from both sides as the attackers gained ground, cheers erupting as they took the cell blocks.
“Damn,” Phillip grunted, panning through the cameras.
“So what exactly is the plan?” Strider asked. “Why are we not going to death row?”
“Our best option to get help is to find wherever Counterintelligence set up the ritual,” Daring replied. “If we can disrupt the spell, that should make it easier for backup to arrive, and maybe we can keep them from escaping."
Strider blinked at her. “Didn’t Starlight say that messing with that could break time?”
“What’s life without a little risk?” Daring shot him a grin.
“There’s the warden,” Phillip stated, pointing at one projection. Brick Wall lay on the concrete floor of the female ward's entrance, securely bound and gagged, glaring up at the armed invaders that surrounded her with unbridled hate in her eyes.
“Okay,” Strider said. “So where are the beating heart and amberclaw prisms?”
“Working on that,” Phillip answered, continuing to pan through the projections.
“You should’ve gone with the officers,” a voice whispered.
“Who said that?” Strider asked, looking about.
A moment later, he gasped when he realized that the corpse on the floor had opened her eyes and was looking at them. The trio backed away from the impossible sight, their hearts racing in their chests.
“There are dozens of them and only three of you,” she hissed, a giddy smile spreading across her pale face. “You should have gone with them. Should have hidden and cowered. You’re all alone now…”
Daring hissed and drew her whip, eyes darting about everywhere. “He’s here,” she whispered.
A silver canister with several holes pockmarked into the surface tumbled into the room, clattering against the tiled floor as it bounced, the metal exterior catching the light attractively.
“Down!” Phillip shouted, seizing Shepherd’s body and throwing it over the grenade before turning away, shielding his eyes with a foreleg.
The stun grenade detonated a moment later with a clap of thunder and a flare of white light, as bright as the sun. The three staggered against the blow, ears ringing and the floor tilting beneath them. Spots danced before Phillip’s eyes as he fumbled for his holster, feeling as though his head had suddenly been enclosed in metal.
It came through the door, black eyes burning with bloodlust and hate. It smiled broadly and the tentacles dangling from its impossibly wide mouth began to dance in excitement, lamprey-like mouths sucking. It reached out a hoof towards him as if beckoning him. Ice clutched at Phillip’s heart and he backed away, clinging to the waddy like it was a lifeline…
Flashes of light illuminated the room as Strider opened fire with the BAR, every shot muted by the constant ringing in his ears. The thing retreated, awful tentacles flailing in shock.
Daring seized Phillip’s foreleg in an iron grip and tugged him towards the door, both of them stumbling as the floor pitched and heaved like the deck of a ship.
Wind brushed against Phillip’s cheek as they exited. He ducked just as the chain whistled over his head.
Daring pushed him back and he stumbled onto his rear. Faintly, he heard a crack, and Strider yelped as the weight smashed down onto his foreleg, knocking the rifle to the floor.
The Plague Doctor closed in on Daring and Strider, red eyes flashing behind the mask. The sickle flashed at Daring’s face and she ducked, the blow knocking her pith helmet askew and blinding her.
Strider swung at their foe wildly but was forced to dodge an upward swing of the sickle blade. The blade dug into his shoulder instead of his neck and he spun away with a muted howl, blood spraying across the wall. Daring charged in and tackled the Plague Doctor, slamming him against the wall and assailing him with her elbows and knees in a desperate assault.
Motion over Phillip’s head. The red-breasted raven flew in from behind Daring, the blades on its talons flashing dangerously.
Phillip’s hoof moved on pure instinct, seizing a boomerang from his pocket and throwing it out. It wobbled, but sliced through the air and struck the raven in the rear before tumbling to the ground. The raven nearly fell out of the sky, flapping its wings in a desperate bid to stay aloft. It missed Daring by a full foot, but she still instinctively gasped and ducked as the bird passed her.
The Plague Doctor pulled the chain of his kusarigama taut between his hooves and pressed it against Daring’s neck, causing her to gag and release him. He twisted and slammed her against the wall just as Strider and Phillip both rose to their hooves, their postures now steady and masks of anger fixed over their fear.
Smoke erupted from his body, swirling to conceal his form. The clouds shifted and transformed into crows and ravens, which swarmed over the trio in a flurry of wings, beaks, and talons, their terrible screeches filling their ears.
“Out! Out!” Strider declared as he grabbed the BAR. Phil retrieved his boomerang and his own weapons and they retreated with haste back down the hall, past the barracks, over the howling and raving corpse of Counterintelligence, through the entrance, and bursting into the pouring rain, slamming the door behind them. The illusion was banished by the embrace of the cold wind; they sagged against the wall, panting and shivering as their hearts began to slow.
Phillip took a deep breath of the rainy air, allowing the comforting coldness to fill him up, spreading through his body and forcing his terror to retreat to the back of his mind.
“You okay?” he asked Strider, pulling out his first aid kit and examining Strider’s shoulder wound. Daring took the BAR from him and covered him as they worked, sweeping the darkness with her shoulder-mounted flashlight.
“I’m still breathing, so that’s something,” Strider replied with a forced grin, holding his pistol up with the uninjured left foreleg.
Blood oozed from the deep stab wound. Phillip packed the wound with gauze and wrapped it up as tight as he could. Strider tried to move the shoulder, only to gasp in pain as fire raced up the wound.
“We should get you to death row,” Phillip said. “You--”
Strider gritted his teeth and firmly shook his head. “If you’re gonna go on your scavenger hunt, you’re gonna need someone to watch your backs,” he said through a pained grin.
Daring smiled back at him. “Okay, let’s stay on the move. We’ll head to the warden’s house; that’s the best lead we’ve got. Go!”
Lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating the pockmarked shell that had been the warden’s home. The trio raced across the slick, damp ground, eyes scanning every shadow and the sky for any sign of any pursuers. Beyond them, the sound of gunshots had fallen silent, though the klaxons continued to howl for a rescue that was not coming.
Screams, pleas for mercy, and gunshots echoed off the walls of the ward. Scarlet Letter stood on the balcony, watching the execution beneath her with a satisfied smirk.
"Wait!" one of the mares cried, crawling away from a gray earth pony armed with a BAR, leaving a trail of blood from her wounded leg. "Wait, ple--"
Her entreaties were cut off by a second bullet into her forehead, leaving her crumpling on the floor with the rest of the inmates. Quiet reigned through the cell block.
"Well, it's not like anything of value was lost," Xixphy shrugged next to her.
Scarlet looked over the cell block at the freed inmates. The sisters of the Family were embracing one another, changelings licked their chops as they processed the deluge of fear and emotion, and a few other inmates that Scarlet had selected for their usefulness stared at the pile of corpses on the floor, their countenances ranging from shock to disdain.
The gray earth pony hustled up the stairs to Scarlet's side and unlocked the silver restraint band on her arm with a stolen key. Scarlet sighed in relief as the listlessness that the band imparted on her instantly vanished, washed away by a tide of energy; warm sensation filled her horn and she willed it to glow red, smiling as the light shone in her vision. Beneath her, the unicorns and changelings began to cheer as their own bands were removed, some of them shooting off fireworks that danced along the walls.
“Any problems?” she asked as the invader unlocked Xixphy's band.
“No, ma’am,” the earth pony shook his head, taking out a pair of Neighretta Modello 1935s and passing them to Scarlet. “The officers weren’t much trouble.”
Scarlet’s smile turned to a pensive frown as she checked the chambers of the weapons, the crystals within casting her face in a reddish glow that accentuated her scars. “And yet, they managed to get out of the barracks and retreat.”
“Someone must have let them out,” the invader replied. He paused and looked over the balcony at the pile of corpses beneath them. "Ma'am...why did we have to kill the others? We could've used them."
"No, we couldn't have," Scarlet replied, pocketing the guns. "These were scum: stupid, shallow, greedy, too short-sighted, and too much trouble to be of any real use to our master."
"If you say so," the earth pony shrugged. "But the ones on death row--"
"Some are already loyal to the master," Scarlet replied. "The others have talents that are of use and can be more easily converted or controlled--"
“Scarlet!” Hard Luck called from inside a cell, frantically pointing out the window with wide eyes. “Scarlet, you need to see this!”
“What is it, mon ami?” Scarlet asked, trotting over.
Hard Luck responded by pointing out the barred window. Scarlet stepped up and squinted out into the dark, rainy night, patches of light from the lamps fighting off the shadows.
Something was moving near the warden’s home. Was that…?
A flash of lightning cut through the air and the three ponies were thrown into stark contrast. Even from this far away, there was no mistaking those silhouettes topped with the distinctive trilby and pith helmet.
Scarlet’s jaw dropped open, her eyes widening to the point that they seemed ready to bulge from her head. “C’est quoi ce bordel?!”
“How did they get here?!” Hard Luck cried.
"Some kind of temporal magic," Xixphy scowled. "Maybe Starlight gave them something."
“Merde!” Scarlet grimaced. “This changes everything. Our victory is no longer assured.”
Another flash of light cut through the air. Scarlet spotted another shape stalking through the shadows and sighed in relief. “Ah, good. The Doctor is on them…but we still should move fast.”
“Let us after them,” Hard Luck snarled. “My brothers and sisters and I have been looking forward to getting some payback.”
Scarlet scowled in thought for a few moments. "Those putains have an annoying habit of surviving and too much is riding on this to spoil our chances on a gamble." She finally nodded. "Take nine of your siblings and go after them. The others will aid in breaking into death row."
"You got it," Hard Luck grinned. "And we'll need the warden, too."
"I'll go with them," Xixphy grinned. "I've been looking forward to a reunion with Agent Strider."
"Bonne. But listen: if things start to go wrong, you are to immediately head to the boat." Scarlet turned and gripped Hard Luck and Xixphy by the shoulders. "Whatever happens tonight, our number one goal must be getting you and your siblings out. We are going home tonight, so no unnecessary risks. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Hard Luck nodded.
"I won't lose sight of the mission," Xixphy assured her.
"Good," Scarlet replied, patting her companions. "Now go, and luck be with you!"
"We don't need luck," Hard Luck replied with a grin, hurrying off to gather her brothers and sisters with Xixphy right behind her.
Scarlet stuck her hoof in her mouth and whistled shrilly. "All right, camarades! To death row!" she shouted.
Cheers and roars echoed off the walls of the cell block. Scarlet headed down the stairs and led the way out the front door, her smile broadening as she tasted the cool, rainy winds of freedom outside.
Phil shone his flashlight into the dark hallway of the warden’s home, scanning the debris-littered entrance. The floorboards creaked beneath his hooves, the only sound save for the rain pattering against the windows. He sniffed the air, detecting the faint undertones of blood and cordite hanging in the air.
“Looks clear,” he reported, leading the other two inside. Strider and Daring shone their flashlights around the house as well, scanning for any sign of ambushers.
“If it was here, he’d have put it somewhere where the others wouldn’t have just stumbled over it,” Daring commented, heading into the secretary’s office. She made a beeline for Counterintelligence’s desk and started tugging open the drawers, sweeping the interiors.
Strider closed the door behind them with a squeak of hinges. “Tell me we’re not gonna split up,” he said, staring out the window with his pistol at the ready, gritting his teeth as pain radiated across his injured shoulder.
“What do you think this is, a slasher movie?” Daring replied, slamming the drawers shut in frustration. “Damn. Okay, let’s check the rest of the house.”
They checked the rest of the first floor, studying the living room, kitchen, and dining room and finding nothing. They headed up the stairs, where the scent of blood and cordite hung heavy in the air.
Bodies of the invaders were sprawled across the upstairs hall, most of them with bullet holes in their heads. The trail of corpses led to the broken-open door of the bedroom. The room was in ruins; spent cartridges were littered over the rug, broken and bloodstained furniture was scattered all over the floor and rain poured in through the shattered window, a testament to the warden’s fierce battle against the intruders.
“I don’t think he’d put it in there,” Strider commented, though Daring gave the wrecked room a quick inspection. She found nothing in there, nor in the Warden’s study, the filing room, or the bathroom.
They paused at the foot of the stairs, sweeping every shadow, holding their breath as their ears swiveled back and forth, trying to discern any sound beneath the raging storm and howling siren. No rustle of wings or creaking of floorboards beneath a hoof alerted them to another’s presence.
Phillip exhaled and checked the chamber of his .38, just to reassure himself it was loaded. The image of a hopping mouse being stalked by a snake through the bush flashed through his head and his heart trembled in his chest.
Easy, easy. Steady, controlled breaths. Use the fear, don’t let it rule you. You know he’s there. Be ready for him.
The trio made their way to another door, which Daring pushed open with a creak. Their flashlight beams revealed a set of wooden stairs, bare save for a layer of dust, that descended into the bowels of the foundation. They stared down in heavy silence; three ponies standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into the dark, churning waters beneath.
“So…shoot rock-paper-scissors for it?” Strider offered with a weak chuckle.
Daring took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Strider, you stay here and watch the stairs,” she said. “Phil, let’s get this over with.”
Phillip nodded, his face neutral even as his mouth suddenly felt drier than the Outback sands during the dry season. Daring led the way down the stairs at a quick trot, every step groaning in protest beneath her weight; Phil came up behind her, glancing over his shoulder. Strider stood post at the doorway, unslinging the BAR and holding it tight to his chest, back against the wall, head swiveling back and forth. Phillip turned a landing and headed down the last set of stairs into the basement proper.
The basement was a clutter of filing cabinets and cardboard boxes, all of them bulging with dusty, yellowed records. The stone walls were lined with cleaning equipment and old furniture. Phillip instinctively checked for any doors or windows, but the walls were all solid concrete. One way in, one way out.
“You take that wall, I got this one,” Daring said and made for the first cabinet and started yanking open the drawers, starting from the bottom and moving her way up. Every one was filled with folders and binders, but no beating hearts or prisms. She glanced over her shoulder to see Phillip slamming the drawers of his cabinet shut with a grunt of frustration, then tossing open some boxes to find nothing inside.
Daring moved on to the next cabinet, opened the bottom drawer, and screamed. A multicolored mass of writhing serpents burst from the drawer, their hissing filling her ears, black eyes glittering in the darkness: cobras, mambas, taipans, vipers, and adders. They spilled out of the drawer like water from an overflowing cup and swarmed up her limbs, embracing her with their cold, slimy, disgusting scales.
“Get off! Get off!” she shrieked, reeling back and trying to shake the snakes off her, expecting to feel their fangs biting into her at any moment.
Phillip turned to see his wife staggering away, flailing at herself. “Daring!” he cried, rushing to her, reaching out to her even as she leaped away from him, screaming and stumbling on her own hooves, rolling around on the ground like she was on fire.
Watch out!
Phillip ducked just in time; the wind from the chain that had been swinging at him brushed against the top of his head, nearly taking his trilby off.
He turned around, raising his pistol, only to let out a cry as a weight cracked down on his foreleg, knocking his aim to the floor. The Plague Doctor lunged in from the shadows, sickle slashing at his throat.
Phillip ducked and stepped in close, fire racing up his injured foreleg as it took his weight; his right foreleg went into his vest and drew his waddy, the pointed end ramming into the Plague Doctor’s side and drawing a snarl of pain.
The Doctor turned towards Phil as he circled around him, the blade slashing back toward his head. Phillip’s waddy slammed into the incoming foreleg with a crack and the Plague Doctor staggered with a growl of pain.
Phillip continued his retreat, aiming for his target’s knee. Too late, he noticed the chain thrusting at his face. Pain burst across his face as his nose exploded, his vision momentarily whiting out; instinctively, he turned and somersaulted away, hearing the chain smashing onto the ground next to him.
He blinked away tears as he returned to his hooves. His vision returned in a blur of colors; the first thing he saw was the chain on the floor next to him, which he followed back to its owner.
The Plague Doctor was turning towards Daring, who was trying to push herself up off the ground. His sickle caught the light of Phillip’s torch.
“No!” Phillip screamed, grabbing the chain and yanking. The assassin grunted as he was pulled off-balance, the blade scraping against the floor as it missed Daring.
A flashlight beam raced down the stairs and Strider appeared, raising his BAR at his target, his injured shoulder protesting beneath the weight of the machine gun. “Move, Phil!”
Phillip dove out of the line of fire. If Strider hadn’t waited, it might have ended there.
The Plague Doctor’s left hoof snapped at Strider and a muted cough echoed through the room. Strider ducked as a dart whistled past his neck, striking the stone wall behind him.
In the split second it took him to correct his aim, another cloud of smoke erupted from the assassin’s form, covering his body. Strider opened fire with a heavy thumping but hit nothing.
“Out, out!” he shouted, sweeping the growing cloud of smoke.
Phillip rushed in, grabbed Daring, and hauled her up, racing for the stairs. Strider covered them with his BAR as they retreated up the stairs, slamming the door behind them. They sprinted out the front door and back into the cold rain, leaping through the open gate. Slipping and skidding and splashing across the slush and mud, they ran all the way across the field until they reached the relative shelter of the long, low shop buildings.
The first buildings were untouched by the chaos, so far removed from the war. The door was secured with a padlock that Daring hurriedly defeated and they stumbled into its shelter, slamming the door behind them. Their flashlight beams revealed that this was a laundry room, with rows and rows of huge washing machines standing ready in the darkness to receive their loads.
“Everyone okay?” Strider panted, reloading with trembling hooves, fumbling with the empty magazine. He grimaced and clutched his bandaged shoulder, sucking in the frosty air.
Daring Do shivered, swallowed, and shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said.
Phillip grunted and felt his left foreleg; as the adrenaline faded away, throbbing pain raced in, rushing up to his shoulder. “Bruised, not broken,” he reported through gritted teeth.
Daring cracked open the door and listened for a few moments. Beneath the pouring rain, occasional thunderclaps, and the still-howling siren, she heard distant shouts and gunshots, but no sign of pursuit. No hoofsteps, no flaps of a raven's wings.
“I think we lost him for the moment,” Daring said, standing. “We’ve got to keep mov--"
A flashlight beam blinded her, forcing her back. "There you are!" a voice shouted.
Daring squinted through the dark and her heart dropped into her stomach. Hard Luck sneered at her over the sights of her BAR as she snapped the sights to her forehead.