Free Web NovelChapter 265: Chapter 264 - Infiltrate
MALCOLM’S POV
Malcolm came out of the water on the east side of the fort.
The shoreline was all stones, stacked unevenly against the wall, slick with algae and black water. He stayed low between them as the current pulled at his legs. Cold soaked through his clothes, but he kept one hand on the rock and watched the patrol above the bank.
Two guards crossed the service walk with rifles raised. A light swept over the stones, passed across the water, then moved toward the road side of the fort. They were watching the gates, the truck dock, and the roads leading in. They were watching for a group.
Malcolm waited until their footsteps moved away.
Then he climbed.
His boots slipped once on the wet stones. He caught himself with one hand and stayed flat against the rocks until the next light passed overhead. Water ran from his sleeves and dripped between the stones. His pistol and Iyisha’s pistol were wrapped tight under his jacket. His knife was already in his hand.
He reached the top of the bank and dropped behind a low run of service pipes.
The east side was quieter, but guards still moved near the outer wall. A generator intake structure sat ahead, built low against the fort with old ductwork running down into the ground. Warm air pushed through the vents. The metal hummed under the night air.
Malcolm crossed when the patrol turned.
He moved low between the pipes, crossed the open strip of ground, and dropped behind the intake housing before the light swung back. A guard laughed somewhere near the dock. Another voice answered over a radio.
Malcolm ignored them.
He found the hatch under a sheet of rusted mesh beside the intake duct. The lock was new. The hinges were old. He slid the knife under the frame and lifted slowly, stopping every time the metal scraped. The hatch opened wide enough for his shoulders.
He slipped inside and pulled it down behind him.
The crawlspace was tight and hot. Air moved through it in slow bursts, carrying dust, oil, and the heavy vibration of the generator below. Malcolm pushed forward on his elbows, dragging one knee after the other. Metal scraped his jacket. His wet clothes stuck cold against his skin, but the generator noise covered him.
A grate waited at the end.
Beyond it, the generator room opened beneath him.
Malcolm stopped and looked through the slats. Three guards held the post. One stood near the panel. One watched the corridor door. One moved between the exhaust vents and the hatch wall with a flashlight in his hand.
They had tightened the room. Their faces were grim, and their rifles stayed ready. They checked corners the old rotation would have ignored.
They expected an attack from the outside. They expected noise. They expected a breach at the fort dock or the service route. They expected her people to come together, desperate and loud.
Malcolm checked the camera.
It swept over the generator panel, crossed the corridor door, then dragged back before it reached the crawlspace.
The blind spot was small enough to miss.
Large enough to use. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ
He waited until the moving guard passed beneath him and raised his light toward the hatch wall. The beam crossed the pipes, touched the floor, then moved away.
The guard did not look up.
Malcolm eased the grate loose, lowered himself down behind the generator housing, and landed without a sound.
The man at the panel pressed his radio. "Generator post secure. No movement."
A voice answered through static. "Keep service access locked. Command still expects a breach."
"Copy."
The moving guard turned his back.
Malcolm moved.
He came out from the dark when the camera dragged away from the hatch. His left hand clamped over the panel guard’s mouth. His right hand cut across the throat. He pulled the man back behind the generator before the rifle slipped from his hands.
The guard kicked once.
Malcolm held him against his chest until the body stopped fighting. He lowered him beside the pipes and turned before the second guard finished looking over.
"Miller?"
The corridor guard turned from the door. His rifle lifted halfway.
Malcolm crossed the gap, caught the barrel, and drove it down. The rifle struck the floor without firing. Malcolm hit him under the ribs, shoved him into the wall, and cut him before he found enough air to shout.
The third guard reached for his radio.
Malcolm threw the knife.
It hit under the collarbone and drove the guard back against the vent housing. The man grabbed the handle with both hands, mouth open, trying to make sound. Malcolm reached him before the radio cleared his belt. He twisted the knife free and finished him against the metal.
He listened.
No alarm came.
The radio crackled. "Generator post, respond."
Malcolm took the cleanest radio and pressed the button. He kept his voice low and rough.
"Clear."
A pause.
"Copy."
Malcolm clipped the radio to his vest and took the badge from the panel guard. He pulled the man’s outer jacket free and put it on. The sleeves hung loose, but the front was clean enough in the dark. He dragged the bodies behind the generator, wiped his knife on one uniform, and checked the corridor through the door window.
Two staff members passed with a cart. A guard followed them. Another stood farther down near a red line painted on the floor.
More security than Smith had described.
Malcolm waited until the cart turned the corner. Then he opened the door and stepped into the support corridor with the rifle low in his hands.
The corridor smelled of bleach and hot metal. Red lines marked emergency routes. Yellow lines ran toward intake. Blue lines marked staff paths. He ignored the colors and followed the rough map in his head.
Generator behind him. Support section ahead. Control deeper in. Observation ward past the first corridor.
The radio crackled against his chest.
"Fort dock sealed."
"Freight elevator locked at intake."
"Perimeter sweep active. No confirmed breach."
"They’ll come," another voice said. "Command says her people will come."
Malcolm passed a storage door with his head down.
A guard came around the corner with a paper cup in one hand and his rifle hanging low. His eyes moved over Malcolm’s stolen jacket, then to the badge.
"Generator post?"
"Hatch check," Malcolm said.
The guard’s eyes dropped to Malcolm’s cuff.
Blood.
His mouth opened.
Malcolm stepped in, drove the knife under his ribs, and caught the cup before it hit the floor. He pushed the guard into the nearest supply room and shut the door with his boot.
"Control," Malcolm said.
The guard shook against the knife.
Malcolm pressed higher.
The guard lifted one hand and pointed through the door, down the corridor.
"Deeper in," he rasped. "Past the ward."
"How many guards inside tonight?"
"I don’t know." His voice shook as he tried to breathe. "More than usual."
Malcolm watched his eyes.
The answer held.
He took the guard’s keycard, lowered him between two shelves, and left him there.
The radio crackled again.
"All posts, observation ward remains restricted. Doctor requests quiet route."
Another voice answered. "Subject awake?"
"Intermittent. Frankenstein wants response testing before transfer."
Malcolm stopped with one hand on the supply room door.
Testing.
His grip tightened until the handle creaked.
He wanted the ward. He wanted the doctor. He wanted the first hand reaching for Iyisha broken against the wall. But control came first. Doors. Cameras. Alarms. If he reached her while the system still worked, they could seal the corridor before he touched the glass.
He turned toward control.
A nurse came out of a side room and almost walked into him. Her eyes dropped to the blood on his sleeve.
Malcolm caught her by the throat and pushed her back inside before she made a sound. Her clipboard hit the floor. He set the knife under her jaw, and she squeaked once before clamping her mouth shut.
"Quiet."
She nodded fast.
"Control. Badge or code?"
"Both," she whispered.
"Who has code?"
"Command staff. Senior doctors. Frankenstein."
"Observation ward?"
Her face changed.
Malcolm pressed the knife closer.
"Doctor clearance," she said quickly. "Or control override. I don’t know more than that."
"Where is Frankenstein?"
"With the new subject," she whispered. "Please. Please let me go."
Malcolm took her badge from her coat. "How many guards at the ward?"
"Two at the entrance. More if testing starts."
"When?"
Her throat moved under his hand. "Now."
The word landed in him and stayed there.
He tightened his grip, turned her head once. The nurse stopped moving. Hlowered her before her body hit the floor then pulled her and shoved her into the storage closet with the dead guard.
The radio crackled.
"Doctor entering observation ward."
Malcolm opened the side-room door and stepped out.
A guard at the far end turned his head.
"Hey."
Malcolm kept walking.
The guard’s hand moved toward his rifle. freēwēbnovel.com
Too far for the knife.
Malcolm raised the stolen rifle and fired once. The shot hit the guard in the throat and drove him back against the wall. Another guard appeared from the security door. Malcolm fired again before the man cleared the frame.
The alarm did not start.
No one had reached the panel.
Malcolm moved fast, rifle tight against his shoulder. The corridor ahead bent toward control, but boots hit the main hall before he reached it.
He stepped back into the corridor and moved toward the main hall.
The metal door caught his attention. Cedric had opened it during the first raid. If only Cedric has survived, he’d be able to open all the glass door.
The first turn opened into a long white stretch. Back into the place where they got captured.
Glass cells lined one side, more than Smith had said, more than Malcolm wanted to count. Lights burned over metal beds and restraint frames. Faces turned toward him as he passed. Some stood close to the glass. Some sat on the floor. Some stared at nothing.
Their eyes were empty.
Malcolm’s fingers tightened around the rifle.
If they kept Iyisha here long enough, would she look like that? Silent behind glass. Breathing because her body had not quit yet. Watching men pass in the corridor while they wrote notes and called her something that made it easier to cut into her.
His jaw locked.
He kept moving.
Boots sounded ahead.
He moved to the side before the patrol reached the open stretch. His eyes cut across the rooms, the doors, the corners he remembered from the last raid.
There.
The room where he, Aljun, and Lance had found the medicine.
The door was half closed.
Malcolm slipped inside.
Cold storage shelves lined one wall. A metal table stood in the middle with open boxes and empty trays. The room smelled of alcohol, plastic, and chemical cold. The narrow closet near the back was still there, the same one he remembered passing when Aljun had searched the cabinets and Lance had stood watch at the door.
He stepped into the closet and pulled the door almost shut.
Four soldiers entered the room.
One moved straight to the shelves. Another checked under the table. The third stood near the door with his rifle raised. The fourth stepped toward the closet.
Malcolm raised the rifle through the gap.
His finger settled on the trigger.
One more step.
The radio on one of their vests crackled.
"He’s in the east corridor. We found two bodies near support."
The soldier near the closet stopped.
The others turned.
"Move," one said.
They ran back the way Malcolm had come.
Malcolm stayed still until their footsteps passed the corridor bend. Then he stepped out and crossed to the table. He turned on the radio back.
"Check on the doctor."
"Alpha team standing by. Doctor is still with the subject."
Malcolm stopped.
He looked back toward the quiet row of glass cells. No guards stood at those doors. No staff rushed toward them. No one protected that row.
Iyisha was not here.
Wherever she was, soldiers would be around her. Doctors would be behind them. The lab would tighten around that place first.
Control was still the plan.
The doctor would lead him to her.
Malcolm and moved after the soldiers left the corridor.
