I didn't get a response or if I did, I was too far gone to recognize it. Suddenly everything spun, from asphalt to starless sky, and I found myself placed into the backseat of a car. Robin's voice came from the front as he turned over the engine. "Are we sure about this, Nik? You know they'll kill him. He doesn't stand a chance."
"We don't have a choice. Now drive." Niko's answer vibrated against me and I realized I was in a reclining position with my back against his chest. He had an arm wrapped hard around me with his hand holding a wadded cloth over the slash in my stomach with an unyielding pressure. It hurt, more than anything should. Despite that or maybe because of it, my attention drifted away to the back window of the car. I could see Samuel, just barely. Although the streetlights were working, my eyes weren't as cooperative. Still I could make him out. He was at the door of the warehouse, standing just inside it. His gun and ammunition but a memory, he was swinging Niko's sword with inexpert but lethal force. He was barring the way. He was all that stood between the Auphe and freedom. A part of me was impressed, stunned. A very small part of me. The larger part sneered an internal, "Sucker." Then we turned a corner and he was gone. An instant later the glass of the car windows shook as the roar of a collapsing building was heard. Choices. It all came down to choices.
Samuel had just made his.
Chapter Twenty-one
I was flying.
Passing through the silky night air, I soared and dipped in perfect silence. Flying on and on, I savored the freedom. I couldn't see, but I didn't need to. There was no up or down, no land or sky. No stars or moon. There was only endless space and endless darkness. And there were endless memories as well.
I was five and running barefoot down a dirt alley in a faraway town. I'd long since forgotten the name or maybe I'd never even known it. There was a warm weight against my chest and a tongue lapping enthusiastically at my chin. The milk breath of a puppy was sweet to my nose and I was laughing. Nik had given the pup to me. He'd borrowed it for five bucks from one of our neighbors. Even at that age, I knew we couldn't keep it. I knew better than to even ask. Sophia would've sold it in a heartbeat. It was mine only for the day, Niko had cautioned, only one day. It was one of the best days I'd ever had.
I was older than any human civilization and crouched languidly on a gold-and-lapis-lazuli sarcophagus. I didn't know the name of the Pharaoh who'd died a hundred days previously, and I didn't care to know. On the floor of the tomb was a scatter of limbs and crimson-soaked sand. I'd been ensconced in the burial chamber for barely two weeks and I'd already had several tomb robbers creep in. The priest had promised me frequent visitors and he'd kept his word. A wealthy ruler was to keep his treasure clasped tightly in his withered fingers, and I was using a freshly decapitated head as a pillow. It was a good day. Maybe it wasn't the very best I'd ever had, but it was nothing to sneeze at either.
I was almost as old as time itself and yet younger than a mayfly. I was waking up and wishing desperately that I had enough breath to curse at the burning pain. Struggling out of unconsciousness, I pried my eyelids open a sliver but saw only darkness. Was I blind? No. A blur of headlights flashed by and I realized I was still in the back of the car. The surface supporting me from behind was no longer cloth against my bare skin. It was now skin to skin, warm to my clammy cold. I realized why as Niko's voice came quietly. "Robin, I need your shirt. Mine's soaked through."
Soaked through with blood. I could still feel it, hot and wet against my stomach. As much as Nik was trying to hold it in, my blood just kept rushing out. It had a mind of its own, just like I did, I thought hazily, riding the waves from ache to agony and back again. I could see Robin's maneuvering in the front from the corner of my eye. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he used the other to pass his shirt back to Niko. "How's he doing?"
A saturated ball of cloth was discarded on the floorboards and replaced with a pad carefully folded from Goodfellow's shirt. Silence was the answer to Robin's question, and a neatly eloquent answer it was. "We're not far," Nik observed, the troubled note buried so deeply under his still reserve it was barely detectable. "Just keep driving."