Black Holes - The Mors Mortis Trilogy Book 3

Chapter Twenty Six

Seth Azemar knew things had become dire.

Every morning, more S.I.S members were called into the field, and every night, less returned. The base had been running on a skeleton crew for days now, but even they had started being called out. This morning, Seth had stood at the window and watched as the last of them were driven off. Even Tai, wrapped up in combat gear and given a more secure brace for his arm, had been ushered to the back of the utility vehicle and carted away, and Seth realised the time had come.

He'd continued searching the archives the last few days, hoping the S.I.S would find a way to fix this and he wouldn't have to resort to Maud's tip. But there'd been nothing so far. No one seemed to have any idea how to stop the portals, and the archives hadn't revealed anything helpful.

He didn't trust Maud, but the world didn't have time for him to humour those doubts anymore.

He had to go to the rebel base today.

After a quick call from Sophie, commanding him to stay put and telling him she'd be there within the hour, Seth grabbed a backpack and filled it with everything he'd need.

Guns, ammo, food, water.

It only took him five minutes, but his heart thudded the whole time, his ears pricked for the sound of engines coming down the road as the next round of jailers the S.I.S had assigned him showed up.

But the building stayed quiet, and as he raced out of the crumbling halls and into the street, no one crossed his path. He paused out front, half expecting someone to emerge from the corner and escort him back inside, but no one did, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Seth Azemar realised he was alone.

He crossed to the other side of the street and headed towards the city, sticking to the shadows cast by buildings. Anytime he heard a car coming, he ducked into a doorway, or crouched behind a fence, but the incidences were few and far between.

He knew most people had fled to the country, that the chance of escaping an opening portal were reduced when you were surrounded by buildings, but the state of the street was still shocking. It was pin drop quiet, with piles of rubbish thrown on and around collapsing building, and stray cats outnumbered the cars ten to one. Not to mention the rats.

A smell had begun to set in too — decay and dust — and as he moved deeper into the city it became more potent, clouding his nostrils.

Several times, he hit dead ends. Streets were either blocked off by collapsed buildings or hovering portals, their dark tendrils throbbing and creeping across the street, and he realised how slow his progress would become if he didn't change tactic. He started jumping fences, rustling through people's abandoned garages until he found what he was looking for.

The bike he found was bright, a conspicuous red with sparkly streamers puffing from it's handles, but it'd have to do.

He wouldn't put it past his mother to figure out where he'd gone and try to cut him off before he reached the rebel base. There were enough ghosts hanging around that if he was out here long enough, one of the S.I.S squads could easily run into him accidentally as well.

So, he pulled the bike from the garage and pedalled hard enough that by the time he hit the northern suburbs, and was riding up the hill that led to Jared's old house, he was panting.

He stopped a street away and tucked the bike into an alleyway, letting himself catch his breath. And then he walked up to the house, slinging the gun from his back as he went.

The house was dark, with several of it's windows smashed and dark splatters that he didn't particularly want to investigate running up the walls. It looked abandoned, run down, but he didn't trust appearances. There could still be rebels inside.