The Midnight Storm (A New Dawn #2)

Chapter 43 - Sebastian (Part 1)

A week after leaving Sundale. That was what Captain Jonathan had promised him before the army would storm up the mountain. Only three nights remained. It was not enough, not when he was wasting away the first, leaning against a crumbling wall, knees huddled to his chest to keep warm, avoiding slipping in the puddle of water in the middle of the sandbag bed. 

He let out a sigh, annoyed with the frozen stillness of the night, the almost starless and moonless sky, and the lack of food in his stomach. Frost flowers bloomed on the windowpanes, preventing him from studying the ebb and flow of life at Whitepeak Base, to find out where they kept George hidden, or whether the General was still alive.

No doubt Uncle Tom's men were galloping towards Whitepeak at the speed of twenty-five miles an hour, thirty if they weren't sparing the horses. They might have already reached the village of Lowdale, discussing a more well-thought-out plan than he had.

Goddess of Humility, he would gain nothing if the Sundalers plucked him from this very room before he had the chance to rescue George or close the base. Preferably both.

A loud snore erupted from the bunk below, the six-foot hulk of a man, turning around in his sleep, the iron frame of the bed rattling as though it would collapse.

Silence didn't get the chance to settle. The man murmured in his sleep, incomprehensible nonsense, then blasted a thunderous noise, a cannonball of gas escaping his pants.

The stench rose and spread fast. In the bunks around him, men cursed under sleeping breaths, "Max!"

"Welcome," the giant mumbled, amused.

Sebastian clutched his hands to his mouth, but no avail; the smell was trapped in his already bruised nose. Tears sprung to his eyes.

This was it—he wasn't staying here a second longer.

Contemplating his next step, he jumped off the bed and landed with a soft thud, a move refined by moons of leaping up and down his window sill. 

But before he could take a single step, Max grabbed him by his calf. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Out." Sebastian pulled himself free from the loose grip. "Pissing."

Max chuckled. "You don't go outside, Muttonhead. There's a pot."

Sebastian hardly attempted to look around. "I don't see it. I'm going out."

"It's a few beds down that way." Max gesticulated towards the door. "When the smell of rotten socks hits you, you know you've found it."

More rotten than your farts—impossible. "Fine."

Sebastian had no intention to find the tin pot, nor to find out how long it had been since it had last been emptied. He hadn't drunk enough to produce more than a thimble-full of urine. He moved from bunk to bunk, touching nothing, placing his feet like a wolf silently padding through the forest.

Here and there, men grumbled or breathed louder as he passed. Someone muttered that he should go back to bed, but the man did nothing as Sebastian continued.

Dan was shivering in his sleep, hugging his thin army jacket like a blanket. Too far gone to notice him. Luckily, Eric lifted his head. One lazy eye, then a soft gasp. Two eyes wide awake.

Sebastian brought a finger to his lips and tapped twice. Meet me in two minutes.

Yawning, Eric sunk to his side and scratched his nose. Understood.

Sebastian continued, slowly placing one foot before the other. He preferred doing this alone. Less likely to get detected when you're sneaking around by yourself than in pairs, but he needed the backup, the warning signal to run or hide when an officer came close. The Goddess of Charity would have to help him buy the time he didn't have.