THE EPOCH CHRONICLES | ✔

fifteen

THERE WAS a sudden vacuum of air, a lack of noise that welcomed Lale as he stepped out of the hot basket for the briefest of moments, before the alarm.

The deep and droning whines dug their way into his skull, and he winced, pressing his one hand against his left ear while tightening his towel across his waist. "What the hell — ?"

"All marines to their stations," a woman's voice was barely audible through the din. Lale blinked and raised his head to the closest camera, which stared at him impassively. The intercom was right next to it. "We repeat, all marines to their stations. This is not a drill."

As suddenly as the alarm had begun to ring, the young man shook himself from his confused stupor, mentally cursing himself for wasting even a second in a moment of crisis. Lale grabbed ahold of Bradley's shoulder; the former airman was wearing the mask of pain he had himself worn a second before — but he ignored the alarm's wails and shook his friend.

"We've gotta go!" He shouted. Other men darted past them, their towels flapping behind them as they rushed to the entrance. Lale followed, then twisted to the left and slipped into his dressing room, only hoping Bradley would have half the brain to catch on to the severity of the situation — whatever that situation might be.

Lale pulled on his suit, thanking whatever god was up there that they were easily put on-able in his damp state, before he snatched hold of his verification card and put it into his pocket. A few marines he recognized headed by his door (some dressed, most not), and he followed them.

"Any idea what's happening?" He called to the leader of the pack — Xeon, Lale believed he was called. The marine half-turned and scowled at him.

"The hell you think I know?"

Lale shut up, his eyes following the curve of the white and metallic hallways. His confusion burnt in his chest, but he set it aside for later. First things first. Assess the situation. His eyes once again travelled across the institute as they ripped past glass walls, feet pounding. There's no breach; at least, not yet.

Concern replaced perplexity. If whatever-it-is has broken past the fence — the electrified fence — then what can we do? But the Lale of before — before PAST — wouldn't have asked questions. He would've done. Just another thing to add to his growing list about how he had changed while training for ERAA.

As the marines emerged from the lower levels of the PAST bunker, more people became visible. Almost unconsciously, he scanned the crowd for Amelia's signature curly hair, but he couldn't see her or Tina (something that his heart stammer in relief, at least for that moment, not that he was going to admit that).

Lale's counterparts vanished in the swell of confused and frightened people, more than he had thought even lived in the institute. Distantly, his calves burnt and his lungs labored for air, but he wasn't going to accept that — he had a job to do, and he would damn well do it.

"Lale!" He heard a familiar voice, and twisted in the throng to see Bradley, carrying a pair of volt-guns. Clever Bradley. Lale snatched the one, giving his friend a nod.

"Let's go!"

Both he and Bradley had been stationed as entrance guards; in the case of an attack, or a heavy-duty drill, they would take their places behind the metal door, open the sniper slots with their verification cards, and shoot any hostiles. Simple — back when it was a drill.

Then? Not so much.

For starters, the Learners and more uncomprehending of the marines were getting in the way; Lale unashamedly pushed two people from his path, the siren's cutting screeches echoing in his ears. They hooked a left and cut across the training and meeting facility, heading for the metal steps that would lead them into the warehouse.