Chapter 33

Rob pulled some of the pilfered equipment from my bag to distribute it between us. The largest items were the rifles Paul and Ted had been armed with.

"We've got two of these. Each of you take one."

Rob handed me one of the dense rectangles. I'd never actually seen one up close like this before in person; while I'd had enough exposure to popular culture over the years to understand where to put my hands, I was by no means a subject matter expert. Like a lumpy bed, on those nights I couldn't fall asleep, I felt restless and uneasy just from the touch of it. The arm-length gun felt oddly alien to my chilled hands: it felt heavy and dangerous.

"SK-Thirteen-R, Schwertkaufe models," Rob said. He manipulated my hands around the grip, which had buttons, labels, and all sorts of nonsense I wasn't sure I was ready to mess with. He slapped the back of the gun lightly and paused to ensure he had my full attention. "Hold this part to your shoulder. Point that end where you want it to go 'bang.' Squeeze, don't jerk."

It was a lot for my muddled brain to take in all at once. Though I'm sure Rob's delivery was rather precise and smooth, it was all jibberish as far as I was concerned. I sputtered, too busy in my attempts to not set it off unintentionally to pay attention fully the first time.

"I—uh, wh—bang where?!"

Rob actually snorted before he caught himself.

"You remember those shooter games, right? Karl and Preston wouldn't stop talking about em. I thought you were in the same circles, weren't you?"

I actually wasn't.

For one, LiNC shooters weren't my kind of thing, and as much as I liked Karl and Preston, I didn't really want to interact with them outside of work, so I didn't.

I shook my head.

He grinned before he began to point to the relevant parts.

"Trigger and safety," he said as I watched intently, "these are your most important: White means 'safe.' Orange means 'bang.' This is the bolt. If it's locked open, insert a magazine, pull back, and let it go. The Thirteen is a bullpup design, so the magazine release is back here." He pressed down a lever near the rear of the rectangular weapon, behind the grip and trigger instead of in front like I'd usually seen in games. A boxy magazine dropped free into his waiting hand made of textured polymer. There were metal cylinders staggered inside like power cells in a compartment. The ammunition. With a soft click, he reinserted the magazine and continued to speak. "The standard magazine capacity is fifteen rounds of six-point-seven. That number won't matter so much to you unless you need to find more later. Hopefully, neither of you will need more than one or two shots, but just in case—" he said and reinserted the mag. He paused to unzip two pockets on both sides of my waist. They hugged the magazines like they were made for them as he slid one of the hand-sized, boxy magazines into each. The tops shut snugly. Their contents didn't bounce. "There. Thirty rounds total of penetrative load, orange-tipped. Plenty. So long as you guys don't get into a rolling firefight. Aim center mass, and again—squeeze, don't pull. The goons aren't armored to protect against their own ammo. Land a hit anywhere, it'll be effective."

I glared at him. Dumbfounded.

"I have zero clue what any of that means," I said, truthfully. The front of the gun wobbled uncertainly. Both he and Sam winced as it tilted in their direction.

"Ah," Rob said with a frown as he pushed the barrel away lightly with an index finger, "Sorry, I forget you never did any of this before. Well, at the very least don't point the barrel near anything you don't plan on shooting, yeah? Rule one of gun safety."

I felt my face flush with embarrassment, and I nodded in agreement. Oops. I took extra care not to sway it back toward him again.

"You sure you don't want to take it?" I asked hopefully. I had tried to get a better feel for the grip and body, but it all just solidified the fact it simply didn't feel natural for me. He only seemed amused.

"I wish, but I need to stay low-key. A slung rifle would get me more attention than I'd want, so I'll stick to the revolver for the time being. Hold onto it." He stopped as he turned to Sam, who had extended a strap from the body of her rifle to loop it across her shoulders and under an armpit. The rifle hung securely by her side.

"Speaking of slings," he said, and produced a similar strap from the rifle in my own hands. He stopped to demonstrate how to snap and unsnap the connector a few times. A few tries, some jiggles, and a bruised hip later, we finally managed to get the gun and sling to hang correctly, or as correctly as it could be with a rectangular lump of polymer and metal tucked under my arm. Full disclosure: While someone else might find the weight comforting, the gun's presence honestly wasn't very reassuring for me.

"Yeah, let's keep that safety on," Rob said as he patted my shoulder to share a look with Sam. "Let Sam tell you what to point the barrel at. Should be fine."

I nodded again. Satisfied this time to be given an excuse to leave it alone for the time being.

Sam's lips twitched, but Rob gave her a warning glare to keep her silent. The inevitability of Rob's departure hit me like a thrown brick as he turned back toward me.

"Okay," he said. "All set. Time for me to go."

I attempted to put on a brave face, but for the life of me I felt like I couldn't anymore. The corners of my mouth trembled from the effort of a smile. I didn't frown, not exactly, but I'm sure my mouth looked closer to a line than not. The strain and constant feeling of uncertainty had gotten to me.

Overall I felt miserable. The gun under my arm felt prickly and dangerous. The air, sharply cold and wet. Rob hesitated. I'd chosen not to speak, but he'd heard me anyway. What he saw must've worried him.

He bent and placed a heavy hand on the shoulder opposite of the gun.

"Hey," he said, "I know I've said this before, but I'm sorry. Limited time and high risk have been your entire existence up till now, and all I seem to promise is more of it. It's not fair, but after this you and I are going to settle down for a drink at the Brew and go over whatever your mind needs to answer your questions. Till then, I need you to handle this like you've been handling, okay? What's rule nine?"

"Out of sight, out of mind," I said. The thin line of my lips bent upward, just a touch. I still marveled at Rob's ability to take a dark moment and make it into something hopeful.

I needed it right then, and he'd delivered.

Rob's face went serious as he gripped my shoulder again. "If anything happens, listen to Sam. Got it? Shoot at what Sam tells you to shoot. Run when Sam tells you to run. No questions."

"She probably wouldn't need to tell me twice if she did," I said, deadpan. And I meant it.

He smiled then. The pride was back. "See you at the end, Price. We're on the home stretch. You've got this till I get back."

Without another look, he turned and walked toward Sam, who had patiently kept watch by one of the thicker trunks on the top of the embankment. Her hand rested casually along the flank of the rifle, mostly hidden by the bulk of her jacket like a natural extension of her own body. She walked with Rob as they went, at least from my point of view, in a random direction.

With nothing else to do, I took up Sam's old position to keep watch. The storm hadn't let up. The sky's shade had begun to lighten as the hour progressed. Sam and Rob conversed quietly only a short distance away, but they were barely audible above the masking sounds of the rain. My only indicator their talk was over was when Sam pulled Rob into a soft, one-armed hug just before Rob stepped off and faded into the darkness like a phantom.

Damn. I thought, unable to decipher where he'd gone. I still need to ask him how he does that.

With no delay, Sam joined me by the trunk. "Follow me," she said, her face serious. She led me to the other side of the tree base to a spot that looked almost intimately familiar at this point.

"Isn't this near the bush where you got the drop on me?" I asked. The spot where I'd tripped and fallen over the side of the embankment was only a few steps away.

"Yes," she said, "but the main reason I got the drop on you was because your pack was sticking out like a sore thumb. This time, you're going to make sure you don't wear it while lying down, right?"

I looked over, where a playful smirk sat upon her features.

"Right," I said. "Hey, do you have time to at least answer one question for me?"

Sam seemed wary but curious. "Okay, but quickly. I have to get going if we're going to have any chance of me being back in time. It's not far, but you never know."

I concurred with a nod, "Why the sudden change of heart?"

A look of confusion crossed her expression. "Pardon?"

"When we first met, you aggressively didn't like me. You almost seemed spiteful and assumed I was from some cushy background, but not after Rob mentioned my parents. Why the change of heart?"

She looked at me, and discomfort drifted through her expression as she frowned. Her eyes scanned the distance ahead, lost in thought. She chewed her lip again.

I remained silent as she worked through what to tell me. At the very least I have to give her props for thinking about it instead of just giving me a nonsense answer.

"I'm from the Borderlanes," she said eventually. It was sudden. Almost a blurt, but there was a dimness to those words, which spoke volumes as to what her life must've been like. She'd said it like it meant something, like how someone could say "The Bays" and outline exactly how bleak they were with a single tone.

"He'd saved me," she said, "us, I mean, the three of us."

"Who?" I asked. "Rob?"

She nodded; her voice was wistful as she continued.

"He took us in and taught us how to survive. Franklin, Oliver, and me." She stopped. I was speechless. Rob hadn't mentioned he'd actually lived in the Borderlanes, but here I was learning he'd had a full life there, even before I'd met him.

Just how the hell did he end up all the way in the Stacks, then?

The sounds of the rain were deafening as the next part came. It seemed painful for her. "Rob stopped working for Ian the day Oli died."

"Wait...Ian?" I said in surprise. "Rob worked for my father?"

"He was Rob's boss."

My breath hitched in my throat; I hadn't expected that either. I dreaded the answer to my next question. "And just who was Ian to be Rob's boss?"

A spear of lightning struck beyond the tree line that blocked the horizon. The flash of the bolt was bright, directed toward where I assumed the Spire was located, but I wasn't certain any longer.

The crash of the thunder came moments later. It felt like a rumble deep within my chest that seemed to go on for an eternity as Sam looked straight at me to answer.

"Owen. Your father, Ian, is one of the Kingpins within the Borderlanes. Rob helped you and your mother escape from him."