Cursed

“Look,” Meredith said quietly, pointing. I followed her finger and saw shadows closing on the warehouse, converging on the doors.

The radio spoke again. “Alpha team at north entrance.”

“Bravo team, south entrance.”

“Setting charges.”

A silence, then Garrick’s voice. “Alpha team, charges ready. Bravo, what’s your status?”

“This is Bravo, charges set.”

“Copy that. All teams check in.”

“Alpha team standing by.”

“Bravo team standing by.”

“Charlie team standing by.”

Garrick spoke again. “Weapons free. We are weapons free.” His voice was calm. “Breach on my mark. Five … four … three …”

Meredith was staring down at the shadows at the south end of the warehouse. I put my hand to her head and gently turned her face away. “Cover your eyes.”

“Two … one … mark!”

I closed my eyes just as the charges detonated and saw the white flash even through my eyelids. The roar came a fraction of a second later, and I opened my eyes to see a cloud of dust swirling about what had been the south door. Shadowy figures moved through the opening, lights flickering, searching for targets.

The radio crackled. “South clear.”

“Contact north!”

I heard the stammer of three-round bursts: ratatat, ratatat. An instant later sullen red light flickered from the windows and there was a piercing scream.

“Man down!”

“—hit, hit, we—”

More gunfire, followed by a flat boom. “Taking fire, taking fire!”

“Bravo, tossing flashbangs, fire in the hole!”

The warehouse lit up with white flashes and two deafening bangs. The wounded man continued to scream as Garrick’s voice spoke over the radio. “Move up!”

Lights flashed again, blue flickering against red over the staccato of the gunfire. I could sense spells being thrown, full-strength battle-magic intended to cripple or kill. Voices spoke over the radio, shouting, giving orders, drowning each other out. There was a final roar and a blue flash, followed by an ominous silence.

“Cease fire, target is down, cease fire.”

Garrick’s voice. “Bravo, take the stairs. Alpha, secure our position.”

“Bravo, moving up.”

Through the walls, I felt the signature of a gate spell. “Movement!” someone called.

“Flash the room. Go, go, go!”

Another white flash and a bang, this one slightly muffled. More gunfire and the distant thump of something heavy. Then the gunfire stopped. The warehouse below was silent but for the distant patter of boots.

“Clear left.”

“Clear right. First floor clear.”

“Ground floor clear.”

“Bravo, report.” It was Garrick’s voice.

“We got—” There was a burst of static. “—went in.”

“Bravo, repeat.”

“Negative, negative. We hit him, he fell through.”

“Confirm status of Target Two.”

“Evac’d. He’s gone.”

“Target One’s breathing.”

“Confirm that,” Garrick said. “Lock the place down. Charlie team, you’re on medic duty.”

The radio traffic died away. The man who’d been wounded earlier started screaming less often, then went quiet. I realised I’d been holding my breath and let it out. Meredith was still tense and the two of us stayed there, watching and waiting.

Infantry combat doesn’t end with a bang or fanfare. It draws out into a long, tense silence as the ones still holding the field search to make sure the enemy’s gone. Only as the minutes tick by and the silence stretches out does the tension ease.

After fifteen minutes Belthas’s men began to emerge, making a sweep of the immediate area. Once they began looting the warehouse, I knew the battle was over. The vans drove into the industrial area, parking near the warehouse with their back doors opened and turned towards it, and a steady stream of men moved back and forth.

The wounded were brought out first. I suspected it was public relations on Belthas’s part rather than genuine concern for the men but it made sense either way. Two were still walking, while the third was on a stretcher. I could see burns down his left side but he wasn’t moving.

Next came items. I couldn’t make out any pattern in the things Belthas’s men were taking from the warehouse and I suspected they were just grabbing anything that wasn’t nailed down. There were clothes, weapons, and papers. One thing in particular caught my eye: a set of spikes about the length of my hand. Light reflected off them with a flicker of purple but before I could get a close look they were stowed away.

And finally they brought out Rachel. She was on a stretcher, pale and unconscious in the artificial light. Garrick and two other men were guarding her as the stretcher was wheeled out and lowered behind the van. Rachel’s mask had been lost somewhere in the fighting and I could almost make out her features, her hair spread out like a fan on the pillow. I stood next to Meredith, looking down through the tall windows over the industrial park, watching the men bustling around Rachel’s still form as she was lifted into the van. The doors shut behind her with a clang.