Thirty-Five #3
But how? The men weren’t holograms; that bullet had been real. Technology couldn’t explain what had just happened. It felt like . . .
Like magic. Giselle pushed the thought down. There was a strange ache spreading from her temples, and the cuff around her wrist—which she had all but forgotten about until this moment—began to burn. She looked at Crispin, a desperate, unspoken question on her lips.
Crispin’s gaze flickered. All he said was “You’re close now.”
Maybe it was the desire to finally, finally be finished with it; maybe it was the residual fear that had eclipsed the strangeness of the event; maybe it was that they
were all going a little mad, having been trapped in this unreal world—but no one said a word. Julian peeled himself off the
wall. Klaudia patted the gun at her hip, as if reassuring herself that it was still there.
Giselle looked down at her own pistol, and it occurred to her with a start that maybe she didn’t need it. If she could do that—whatever it was—again . . .
But whatever she had done was unnatural. Impossible. It should have frightened her far more than the prospect of firing a
gun. And yet Giselle didn’t feel frightened. She felt a nauseating, perverse surge of power. The rush of it was pure heat,
flooding her veins.
She couldn’t tell anyone. She couldn’t speak a word.
The five of them pressed on. They made their way past where they had been stopped by the men, and at the end of the corridor
there was another door, another puzzle. Silently Klaudia moved aside so that Giselle could examine the panel. This one required
her to remember the precise arrangement of stones on the fireplace chimney in the ski lodge. Her mind felt more machine than
organ. She slid the tiles into place.
The door opened with that same deafening, grinding sound.
Before them was a steel-walled bunker. A network of grooves on the floor emanated an odd, pulsing blue light. The web of lines
intersected and then all led to a metal podium in the center of the room.
Upon it was the cube, emitting that same blue light. It was identical to the sketch Deckard had provided them. Giselle felt a flutter of relief.
“Great,” Julian said. “Let’s take it and get out.”
At that very moment, the door slid shut.
Something crashed. The room itself shook and the blue lights flickered. Instinctively, Giselle drew closer to her allies—her
friends? They all huddled together, tensed and breathing hard, until the floor and the walls ceased their quaking and the
blue lights burned out. Only a single fluorescent bulb on the ceiling provided any light.
Static crackled. And then a voice came through what must have been a hidden speaker.
“Well done,” said Deckard. “Once again you’ve impressed me with your quickness.”
Giselle could practically hear his smirk.
“It’s over, then?” Nadiya asked. Her gaze darted around the room. “We’ve won, right?”
“Almost,” said Deckard.
“Almost?” Giselle echoed.
“You’ve found the cube,” Deckard said, “now destroy it.”
The fluorescent light guttered, plunging them into darkness for a moment before hauling them out again. The floor vibrated
under their feet.
It was Nadiya who first found her voice. “Destroy it? Why?”
“Because this isn’t an extraction mission,” Klaudia said. Her eyes were cold fire. “It’s an assassination. We’re not supposed
to rescue Satow. We’re supposed to kill him.”
Deckard’s silence gave him away. There was nothing but the empty hum of static in the air.
“Let us the fuck out,” Julian said bleakly. “Now.”
“As soon as you complete your mission,” Deckard replied.
Giselle looked over at Crispin for some kind of explanation, some kind of clarity.
Why would Deckard lie? Did he know that they would balk at the idea of murder—even if it was merely symbolic?
Crispin’s expression revealed dismay, almost regret.
And when he caught Giselle’s eye, he glanced pointedly away.
“No,” said Klaudia.
Deckard made a sound of disbelief, which caused the speaker to rumble. “No?”
“No,” Klaudia said again. “We’re taking another way out.”
“How?” Julian asked. He sounded more desperate than Giselle had ever heard him before.
“Your L-pills,” said Klaudia. “You have them, don’t you?”
Giselle’s hand moved to the pocket of her coat. As Deckard had instructed, she’d kept the pill on her person for the whole
time they’d been in Traumstadt. Now her fingers brushed over the capsule and she felt a thrill of fear. Deckard had said they
weren’t real, but . . .
Nadiya and Julian both removed their tablets. Anger darkened Nadiya’s face.
“Put them in your mouth,” Klaudia said. “Then bite down.”
Suddenly, Crispin blurted out, “Wait! Don’t—”
But it was too late. The lights flickered and the floor shook again, making her vision warp and ripple. Through the blur,
Giselle saw Klaudia’s teeth flash as she slid the capsule onto her tongue. Julian followed suit, and then Nadiya. Any resistance
Giselle had evaporated. She slid the pill between her teeth and bit down. A terrible acidic taste filled her mouth. Then a
wave of blackness rose up and dragged her under.