Bleeding Steel

Chapter Eleven: Mine is in the Box

Glass glittered amongst the litter like fallen stars as the Paladin's headlamp scoured the floor of the alley, searching for any sign that either the Scribe or Squire had passed that way. The dark of night was closing in and soon he would be forced to call the search off until morning. As loathe as he was to leave the trail, he could not risk losing another soldier under his command. Searching in the dark would be tactically dangerous, leaving himself and Rhys vulnerable to ambush. The relative quiet of the area already had him on edge.

All they had encountered so far were radroaches and mange ridden hounds. There had been a few corpses of ferals rotting in a couple of alleyways, somebody having already taken care of them. This area seems hazardous for the abominations. He reflected, thinking back to the carnage he and his Knights had stumbled across during their earlier training exercise.

What if Haylen or Burke were attacked by Gunners, too?

He recalled the glacial eyes that had studied him above a lazy, crooked smile, and scowled. That man had been bothering Nora and Burke. What if he had an ulterior motive in saving Nora? Deacon said he was a slaver... Danse felt his blood begin to boil at the mere thought of it. Slavery was an evil that needed to be purged just as much as the Institute. The mere thought of it sickened him. Had anyone forced a chain around the throat of his brothers or sisters, there would be hell to pay.

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of a dog barking, followed by gunshots and laser fire. He spun on his heel, charging back into the street and turning towards the sounds. Further along the road, an alleyway was illuminated by a flash of scarlet light.

"Sir! Is it Haylen?" He glanced through his visor to where Rhys was racing from the ruined doorway of a house, his rifle at the ready and expression hard.

"I don't know, but we're about to find out. Stick close to me and no heroics." Danse commanded, setting off at a sprint, the Knight following in his wake. As they drew closer to the alleyway, they began to hear familiar squeaks, squeals and snarls. Mole rats.

Danse almost stepped on one the moment he set foot in the alley, which was little more than a river of filth running between two buildings. Litter and scrap covered a layer of muck so deep it rose slightly above the street level and scampering atop of it were dozens of the rodents, gnashing their oversized teeth. He opened fire, his shots finding the ugly, hissing targets with precision.

Further down the alleyway, he was aware of two people and a large dog standing back to back, firing on the creatures whilst the dog savaged anything that drew too close. "Sir! That's Haylen!" Rhys barked beside him as he opened fire.

"Then we'll cut ourselves a path!" Danse snarled, stamping on a creature that had been charging towards them. They made fast progress, advancing along the alleyway as the creatures fell. It was a waste of precious ammo, but neither he nor Rhys were willing to take any chances where the Scribe was concerned. By the time the last mole rat had burrowed into hiding, they were mere feet from Haylen and the stranger, the large dog crouched between them, her ears flat and lips peeled back in a silent snarl.

The man beside Haylen whistled softly, prompting the dog to look at him. As he gestured for the animal to heel, a relieved looking Haylen holstered her pistol and walked towards them with a slight limp. "Danse! Rhys! You've got some good timing." She halted in front of them and saluted.

"What's your status Haylen?" Danse scowled from behind his visor, taking in the torn and bloodied state of her uniform. "Those don't look like mole rat bites."

"They're not, sir." Haylen sighed, her face falling as she glanced at the floor. "I was looking for the Squire when I was overwhelmed by ferals."

"Dammit Haylen. Why did you go by yourself?!" Rhys demanded furiously, glowering at her. "The whole reason I'm with you is to make sure you're safe!"