We must all learn to endure unexpected hardships.

Keep this in mind the next time you feel you’ve hit bottom.

…because life owns a shovel.

“Take his legs, Mal.”

“There’s no time, Enid,” complained Mal, “The furnace is going to ignite soon!”

“All the better to get a move on,” snapped the scrawny bearded gnome, “so grab his legs!”

Mal hobbled over, grasping his own gouged leg. His wounds had never healed properly and it was always a struggle to do his job for the community. Yet he never complained. Mal would never fail to do his duty.

Enid sighed, “I’m sorry Mal. That was unkind of me.”

Mal knelt at the broken, bloody body between them. Looking upward, he could faintly see the trap door high above them, still swinging open.  The body had to have hit the higher piles of garbage and bounced its way down. Skin raked over glass and metal shards…it was unimaginable. He shook his head, “It’s me who should apologize. Someone’s been cruel to this boy, for whatever reason. I’ll not add to his suffering.” He looked at Enid and gave him a quick wink, “Besides, no one falls this far and lives. Has to be a good sign, right?”

“Don’t start.”

Mal chuckled, “Then let’s move, before we all become ash.”

****

Wendell’s eyes fluttered. “Ohhhhhh,” he started to moan, then thought better of such a bad idea. W—what happened to… His eyes opened slowly, to a soft orange glow. The ceiling looked like near transparent sheets of paper taped together. Sweat trickled down his brow, beads of perspiration rolling into his ear. It was warm. No. It was hot. A rank, moist heat and it wasn’t long before the intense smell around him made Wendell gag. It smelled like he was lying in a decaying compost pile. What is that smell!?

He wanted to get up, but the moment he tried to turn his head, he shrieked out loud.

“AHHRGH!” Wendell bit his lip in agony. Ok, never mind. I don’t want to move. Moving is really, really bad.

There was a sound of heavy cloth rustling above his head, then, “Hey! Don’t go moving about, young man. We’ve only made sure you had all your parts!” The gnome walked around the makeshift table so Wendell could see him without straining. He offered a smile. “You’re safe now. With friends.”

The pain in his back and legs were sharp and jagged, like he was laying on knives. Taking a slow breath as deeply as he could, he flinched. Broken ribs? Back maybe? He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the odd light.

Another smile offered. “Names Enid. And you are?”

He swallowed, his tongue feeling more like cotton than flesh. “Wendell,” he forced out, then coughed. The flexing of muscles was so painful, it caused even more contractions, which shot pain through his spine. Come on Ithari, do me a favor and kick in, would you? This is killing me. The thought almost made him laugh. If he was in this bad of shape, chances are, he should be dead. The Ithari had saved him again, of course. Scratch that, he corrected himself, I’ll just say thanks. If only he didn’t have to feel all the pain!

“What’d you do to make your buddies so mad?”

Wendell tried with his might to fight the excruciating stabbing sensations in his joints and muscles and force himself to relax. “Excuse me?”

Enid walked around to the other side of the table and started unwrapping the bandages on one of Wendell’s arms. “People don’t usually get thrown in the incinerator. Well, not for no reason, anyway. That would just be plain mean. So what did you do to get thrown into a garbage chute?”

Wendell’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, I’m in a… “Garbage chute? As in…”

“Takin’ out the garbage,” Enid finished casually. “Skins, cans, boxes, and thank goodness—the leftover scraps from the tables of our great nation.” He shot Wendell a crazy, wide-eyed glance, “Or we’d all starve down here!”

“Where…are we?” Gritting his teeth, Wendell forced himself to turn his head. Owwwwww. The table acting as his bed was propped up on what looked to be a mound of junk. In fact, hundreds, if not thousands of piles surrounded him. Cans, boxes, broken pieces of furniture, wrappers and discarded clothing…even the remains of toys. A little stick man hung from a string nearby, a baby dolls head crammed on top of pieces of piping. He flinched again as Enid poked and examined his forearm.

“You…are in the underbelly of Clockworks City. Some call it paradise—well,” he chuckled to himself, “until someone throws a heavy object at their head. Others call it the pit. Some even call it hell, but I prefer to call it the crapper.” Seemingly satisfied with Wendell’s healing progress, he gently wrapped the bandages back in place and laid the arm back down on the table. “This is where all the unwanted things of the city are thrown away and forgotten.”

****

Two of the Centurions held up their shock-sticks and jabbed them in a  warning gesture. Dax raised his hands and backed away, his teeth barred in a snarl of anger and frustration. “They did something with him!”

Booker and his crew just laughed.

The investigator tapped his pen against the pad, studying the Trinity pilot curiously. “Something ya need ta be sharin’ with the rest o’ us?”

The humor instantly faded from the tan pilots face. Cocking his head to the side, his dreadlocks hung loosely around his face. He gave a pathetic looking pout, as if hurt. “Me? Officer, I’m an athlete, not a trouble maker. For goodness sakes, I fight for the Church! Do you think they’d back someone willing to bring harm to a fellow gnome?!”

Frustrated, the investigator sighed and scratched his chin with the clip of his pen. “Wouldn’t think so, no.” Turning to Alhannah, “I’m sorry Ms. Luckyfeller, we don’t have witnesses and none of the camera crews seem to have any footage of your boy being carted off. You’re positive he didn’t just…walk away?”

“He wouldn’t do that, officer,” she said coldly, still staring at Booker.

“Well,” he scoffed, flipping his pad closed and inserting it into his belt, “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the possibility. If I recall, a young female champion walked away from the games without a word a couple seasons back.” He started to pull his face visor down, but paused—giving Alhannah a sharp glance. “A lot of folks were betting on her, not that she ‘d know that…and lost their shirts on the bets placed.” She flipped her head around just as he snapped the face shield down. “But if we hear anything, I’ll know how to get a hold of you.”

Grumbling, “Thank you officer.”

Freak and Tumbler watched the Centurions leave in their wagon before showing their faces. Like zombies, they waded slowly out from behind the Steel & Stone’s transport. The old welder pushed his way to the front, gripping a long torque wrench in his hand.

“This is troll dung if ya ask me! I say we beat it out o’ these kids. Give ‘em a proper thrashing and they’ll speak sure enough!”

Booker laughed mockingly. Without a word, his mechanics each pulled a tool from the bench of their portable shop. They took a position behind their boss, forming a semi-circle. Each man was muscular and tall for a gnome. They looked more like pit fighters than the TNT mechanics. The crowds had already dispersed—the last media crew were wrapping up their power cords. There would be no witnesses should a fight break out. “We can take this anywhere you wanna go, pops,” he winked at Tumbler, “but I don’t know where ya boy is. Frankly, don’t care, neither.”

“One less pilot is one less rung to the top,” added Shamas sourly.

Pointing, Booker let his mouth drop open—his gold tooth sparkling. “Say, that’s good! Never thought of that.”

The bodyguard sneered, “Of course you didn’t.”

“Well I got me a new goal,” sneered Dax, “and it ain’t ta win the Championship, you little…”

Alhannah grabbed the elf’s forearm, restraining him. “Let it go.”

Dax wasn’t sure he was hearing her correctly. He yanked his arm free and stared at he blankly.

She turned away from the Trinity team and strode towards the truck. “Pack it up. We need to find Wendell.”

****

“Slowly,” Enid warned. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, young man—but I don’t think I’ll have to worry about your infections after all.” The old gnome scratched his long, greasy hair, “Never seen anyone heal so fast.”

Wendell smirked as he painfully pushed himself up into a seating position. “It’s a gift.”

Enid laughed, but it was a nervous one. All of Wendell’s wounds were healing rapidly, which didn’t make any sense. The gnome keeping an eye on the young hero, “You tell me if they give any more of those gifts, and I’ll join you in line!” Now you stay put and don’t try standing up yet—your legs were broken badly. Just let them hang there for now. I’ll try to find you something to eat.” Taking up what looked to be a rusted metal rod of some kind, Enid held it firmly like a walking stick. “May take me a while. Scraps have been slim of late down here, but no matter. Your legs have a way to go, so rest. Lots of rest. Broke both femurs, you did. Mal and I set ‘em and bound them up tight—but you need lots of rest.” He pointed at Wendell’s face in warning.

“Right,” Wendell repeated, “lots of rest.”

Enid smiled and nodded, satisfied.

A sharp tweet of a whistle cut through the dull hum of the furnaces. Enid snapped his head up, his jovial expression overcome with a wild-eyed look. Another sounded, this time echoing in the distance. “No, no, no!” Without warning, he kicked the two stakes out of the trash piles, holding up the makeshift shelter. The boxes and strips of cloth which were woven together as a covering, collapsed. The gnome crouched down and scooted up to Wendell’s side.

Pushing the young hero onto his back, he gently lifted the broken legs up onto the bed. Wendell flinched in pain and bit his lip to keep from crying out. “Sorry. Need you to lay back and keep very quiet. No matter what you hear, you don’t make a sound,” he whispered, “Understand?” Then he patted Wendell’s arm, “Not a peep!”

In a flurry of motion, Enid collapsed the rest of the shelter, then dove out of the structure. The roof slowly lowered like a deflating balloon until it rested on top of Wendell’s chest. Painfully he wiggled and tried to adjust his position as the tent entombed him.

The stench of vomit and mildew assaulted his nose. What’s going on?  Taking shallow breaths, the slimy fabric pushed against his face and he was forced to gulp what air he could. In the end, he held his breath until he couldn’t any longer and took another gulp of air. The pressure hurt his ribs—like glass being pushed into his stomach, but breathing against the fabric made him gag.

In the distance he heard shouting. At first it sounded like a man, barking out orders. The tone sounded angry and intense, snappish, but Wendell couldn’t make out any of the words. The shouts were quickly followed by other loud tones, which also sounded muffled…followed by screams. The screams were easier to understand. Fear, pain…panic.

Wendell cringed. There are women and…children in this place? As the screams multiplied and grew louder, his breathing became shallow.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

Oh no.

His ears perked back. Footsteps loomed closer. A few steps, then a pause. A few more, then another pause. They were light and quick, but seemed uncertain. A small twitch of pain shooting down Wendell’s spine. He wanted to get up and run, but was trapped. No matter what happened next, he was at the mercy of the Universe. There was a long pause and Wendell strained his ears trying to locate the presence. Come on, you. I know you’re there. His heart beat faster. The footsteps resumed. At first they were staggered…no, hesitating. Within moments Wendell could hear panting.

It was a child. Gasping for breath between choking sobs.

“In here,” he called out softly.

The footsteps froze.

“I’m under here,” he repeated.

The ceiling vibrated and quivered as a little boy wiggled up into the crevice by Wendell’s side.

Wincing in pain, he tried to produce a genuine, reassuring smile. “Hey there buddy.”

His face was filthy. Dirt, oil and flecks of things he couldn’t guess covered the child. He couldn’t be more that five, Wendell guessed. Most of boy was wrapped in tattered rags. Big round brown eyes stared up at him.

“What’s going on out there?” Wendell whispered.

The child didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out timidly and touched the knots on Wendell’s bandages.

“Is…someone chasing you?” he tried again.

The child snapped his head up and nodded quickly. His big eyes watered, small lips clenching together as his swallowed. The kids terrified!

To make matters worse, the screams grew louder and intensified. Multiplied. Wendell listened. People were wailing.

“Forget the kid!” growled a voice nearby. Heavy footsteps crunching through the debris. The little boy flung himself against Wendell’s arm so hard, he almost cried out in pain. Daggers stabbed up his arm and across his hips and spine.

“I’m not letting these muddles get away!” roared a second voice.

The child reached up and wrapped his tiny hands around Wendell’s arm. Shaking violently, his tiny shoulder rounding forward until he was almost in a ball. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but Wendell couldn’t tell if he was hyperventilating or crying.

The foot steps drew closer.

Think Wendell. THINK! He couldn’t run…and he certainly couldn’t defend himself in this condition.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

A warm sensation washed over him, taking with it his pain and doubt.

Wendell looked over at the little boy. The little innocent, depending on him, even in his wounded state. Round eyes looked up at him and Wendell couldn’t help but smile. Holding a finger to his lips he made the motion to be perfectly quiet.

The boy nodded.

Gritting his teeth, Wendell rotated lifted his arms just enough to touch the materials covering them. The veins in his neck throbbed as the bones in his arms and shoulders shifted. ARRRRGH! he strained, I hope this works. Closing his eyes, he fought to ignore the pain and clear his mind. Focus Wendell…focus your intent.

“Silmä inakmään,” he whispered just above a breath.

The footsteps halted.

“Did you hear something?” one of the voices asked.

“Only my stomach, growling,” complained the other. “Forget the kid—we got plenty for the shipment. You’re not gonna find it in all this garbage, so let’s go!”

“Grrrrrr….alright.” The footsteps resumed, retreating in the opposite direction. “I’ll be glad when these greasy muddles are wiped out for good.”

Laughter, “You’re kiddin, right? This is better than the annual bonuses! Let ‘em breed and live in the sewers for all I care…just keep ‘em down here where they belong.”

Wendell’s stomach turned. Who were these gnomes? Why are they rounding up vagabonds and derelicts? But it seemed harsh to call them such names when two of their community had saved his life. Homeless, yes…forgotten, more likely…but children too?

It seemed like hours before Wendell dared speak or even move. The little boy continued to sit quietly next to him, which seemed rather unusual. The kids Wendell knew were usually rowdy and hyperactive. Yet this child sat perfectly still without a sound, without complaint—which made him wonder if these raids were just a part of their existence down here. Wherever here was.

He waited until the yelling and screaming ceased and he heard the faint sounds of a whistle. Reaching up so he could touch the cloth, he repeated softly, “Silmä inakmään.”

A small forehead touched the back of his hand. The boys breath was even and steady.

“Hey,” he said with a weak smile, “it’s ok. You’re going to be just fine.” But Wendell was grateful the ordeal was over and the danger had passed. Then again, he wasn’t completely sure if the danger was past…or if Enid would even be coming back.

“Do you know who Enid is, buddy?”

“Simon.” The voice was soft and small, just like the child’s frame. “My name is Simon.”

Wendell smiled, “Hello Simon, I’m Wendell. You ok now?”

Simon nodded.

“I could use your help, since I can’t get up.” After all this, he was still going to need someone to be his eyes. “Do you know Enid?”

“Yeah.”

Before Wendell could give the boy instruction or even a message, Simon vanished.

“Hey…wait a sec..” Wiggling out of the hole, tiny footsteps scurried through the trash until the sound was swallowed by the numbing sounds of the machenery.

Once more, Wendell was alone.

****

“How do we know he’s not alone?” Dax warned, pacing the room, “Or worse, hurt and alone? This is a big freakin’ city—he could be anywhere!” Without thinking, he kicked over one of the chairs.

Chuck bit at his fingernails, “We don’t know, monkey.”

“Then what’er we gonna DO about it, huh!?” He slammed his fist against a wall and a picture dropped to the floor.

All but the TNT crew sat on the sofa or around the kitchen table. They stared at the moaning elf.

He banged his forehead against the wall. “I can’t just sit here, Chuck.” After several thumps against the cold surface, his stopped, leaning against the dent. “I can’t let him down again.” Then softer, “Not again.”

“Then we need to turn to someone who could find out.” Chuck turned his attention to Deloris.

She glared at him as if he were crazy. “How am I supposed to know where to look?”

“You don’t, my dear,” the wizard said calmly, “but Motherboard would. The G.R.R. has networks all over the city, does it not? They can tap into other networks, correct?”

“Yes, we do,” chimed in Nat, catching on.

“Then get that blue-faced demon out of your bag and have it start looking. Tap into every camera from the point of the fight outward and cross reference it. This whole city is one big privacy violation—so use it.”

Nat looked at the wizard, utterly shocked. “Right. Uhhh, yeah. That’s a really good idea.”

“And Deloris, get a hold of Motherboard. Let him know what’s happened. If he wants us to keep our end of the agreement, then he needs to help us find the golden goose.”

****

There was no way to tell what time it was. Wendell couldn’t even tell how much time had passed. His body ached—muscles cramping—and the covering over his body had fully settled upon him, gaining weight while suffocating him. His head was turned and pinned him to the point that he was forced to sip hot air rising up from the side of his cot. The moisture made the experience near unbearable, but any attempt to free himself intensified his pain. It was like having a thick, wet blanket over his body that was too heavy to lift.

I don’t want to die like this! He could feel the energy pulsing through his body—through his very bones, mending him. If you’d let me die at all.

“Wendell,” squeaked a little voice, “I found him!”

SIMON! You awesome little… “Get this off me!” he gasped.

“Good gracious,” quivered Enid’s voice. Wendell could feel a cooler draft seeping up and over his skin. There was a yank, then a tug. “Help me get him out of there, you old sap,” Enid called aloud, “Before it smothers him!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” replied a voice. “Only GOT one good leg, ya know!”

Right near Wendell’s face a jagged piece of glass stabbed through the cloth.

“Woah! F-face here! Like my face!! Don’t ruin the face.”

“Bah!” snorted the grumpy voice, “Looks ‘r over rated. Women like intelligence, personality.”

“And a cute butt,” added Enid with a chuckle. “They deny it, but I seen ‘em lookin.”

A sigh, “I was cuttin near his face, not his backside.” A face peeked in, “Sorry about that. There’s too much moisture and suction—we’ll never pull it off you. Has to be peeled off.”

The rush of cooler air felt so good—bringing with it a rush of emotional relief, it didn’t seem so dank and smelly after all. Fluttering his eyes, the bright orange and yellow glow allowed Wendell to see the three bodies clearly. Enid, Simon and…

“Names Mal.” The limping gnome reached out his hand and squeezed Wendell’s firmly before the hero could offer it. “Dragged your sorry butt from the burner.” He let out a nervous chuckle, “Almost got singed in the process.” His eyes opened wide, eyebrows arching high, “Then neither of us would have butts to look at, eh?”

“Here,” Enid said. He held out a small can, “I found you some food.” He lifted it closer to Wendell’s face. The scent changed from moldy to sour. The small lumps in the container were green, but it wasn’t altogether clear if why. It did look like a vegetable mass, but…

“It’ll be fine,” Enid smiled positively, “I made sure it was washed. Properly washed…with filtered water. Might taste strong, but the fermentation is good for you. Fixes your gut.”

Wendell took a deep whiff and winced. Smells like a dangerous mockery of sauerkraut. Taking the cup from the gnome, Wendell set it on his chest. Stop it. Be grateful Wendell. Don’t offend them. “Thank you,” he said with a weak grin. “Could…you explain to me exactly where I am and what just happened? What was all the shouting? Simon had to hide with me. I heard two gnomes—they talked about rounding people up and…muddles?”

The two old gnomes looked at each other, a silent conversation engaged between them. It was Mal who finally spoke up.

“Answer our question first.” He moved uncomfortably close, his yellowing eyes studying Wendell’s facial features. “Why would someone want to throw you down a garbage chute?”

Wendell kept silent and stared back long enough that Mal finally snatched a broken bucket out of a small pile and sat it next to Wendell’s cot. He plopped down on it. “Cause all of us found our way here by stairs or waterways and other unfortunate, but peaceful ways, mind you. You’re the first one to come plummeting from the ceiling.” He poked Wendell in the shoulder, which hurt, “And that’s not a small drop, neither. Over a hundred stories I’d guessing.” He tugged on one of the handlebars of his black, oily mustache. “Now it got me thinking. One, you’re the luckiest snot-nosed kid I’ve ever met. Prolly hit the garbage heaps at angles and such, to survive the fall. The other though is—if someone pushed you into a garbage chute, they meant you to be dead.” He looked at Enid, “Both ways he seems to come out on top, so whoever done this can’t be sittin well with TGII.”

Enid scoffed, “Don’t start talkin’ religion.”

“I’m not preachin’ nothing, ya fool…but there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging the Universe when it saves your butt.” He poked Wendell again, which also hurt, “Is it?”

Wendell flinched, “No, sir.”

Mal chuckled, “You here that? The turd that came down the crapper just called me sir.”

Enid grumbled, “Lucky!? Tell that to Peach and Rusty and Ivet, Mal. Not to mention the folks the Centurions have rounded up over the years! Please tell me you don’t call this lucky!”

Mal sniffed and rubbed his eyes—his fingers leaving dark rings around his eyes. “No. No I don’t.”

“Then keep the holy babble to yerself.”

“I’m a Trench pilot,” Wendell cut in. “My team has been winning and we were warned that some of the other pilots might try to hurt us.” He let his head rest on whatever soft surface they’d used for a pillow. “Just never thought it meant outside the arena…or that it meant trying to kill me.”

“As in those bleepity-blip-Bang-Bang fighter types?” grunted Enid, “The ones in the huge robots?”

“That would be me.”

Mal grinned, “Well I’ll be, Enid—TGII just sent a celebrity to hell.”

****

No one slept.

Chuck had confined Dax to the library to prevent him from doing anything rash—or breaking any more furniture. After about an hour the elf had stopped shouting. He’d found the Blackseed Rum and the wizard didn’t stop him.

Deloris excused herself to assist Morty in his laboratory and the TNT crew decided that Gnolaum needed cleaning to prep for Wendell’s return. It was the third cleaning today.

It was bad enough knowing that Wendell was out there, all alone, but it was more than that. Wendell had disappeared in plain sight. A single distraction and someone had proven that anyone from the Steel and Stone team could be taken. The whole team was vulnerable and they now knew they had enemies determined to hurt them. Shamas was more keenly aware of this than anyone else.

“But it is my fault,” he snapped, slamming the beer bottle onto the table, “I should have told you to shut up or cancel my contract—‘cause I know better than to allow this crap!”

Alhannah would have jumped down his throat under different circumstances, but he was right. Not that it was his fault—but that he should have stood up to her. Done his job regardless of her opinion. The fact was, however, “This was my fault, RH, not yours.” She slid out from the table and took her dishes to the sink. As she rounded the end of the table, she paused and looked over Nat’s shoulder. “Anything?”

The G.R.R. programmer was scanning all frequencies, hacking into security cameras, monitoring medical facilities and had received Motherboards permission to use all the factions resources to find the Hero. Programs hunted for the words ‘Gnolaum’, ‘Wendell’ or ‘Steel and Stone’ in monitored conversations, while small pictures flashed across the screen of his computer—video feeds from hallways, main streets, businesses…even bathroom entrances. Any area with a camera rolling from the moment Wendell vanished was being routed to Nathan Taylor.

“No,” he whispered, exhausted. He turned his head slightly to hide his his growing disappointment…and fear. “But I’ll find him, Alhannah.” He set his jaw in determination, “I promise.”

She patted his shoulder softly, “I know you will.” Then she turned to Shamas, who still sat there, staring blankly at the wall, fuming. He’d second guessed himself only because she’d insisted in taking point…in taking charge of everything. She’d left him without room to maneuver and do his job the way he knew how. In the ways that made him one of the top bodyguards of the city. This was going to hurt.

“I was wrong to question your judgement, Shamas.” Yup, it hurt. Especially to admit it out loud. “Especially here, on your home turf.”

Shamas guzzled down the last of his beer, ignoring her.

She leaned out over the table, gripping the edges as she glared at him.

“I’m…sorry.” There, it’s out. The rest is what’s important. “You’re in charge. No questions asked, Shamas, no arguments.”

Shamas licked his lips, then glanced down at the bottle in his hands. He hefted his lightly, as if weighing a hollow projectile. “That apology will require a case of Gnomey-Lite to make it stick.” When he looked up, the weight in his eyes seemed to vanish. Now he just looked exhausted.

Alhannah grinned. “Done. Just get Wendell back.”

“That…might not be possible,” Nat squeaked and he stared at the screen. The color had drained from his face. With trembling hands, he slowly turned the laptop towards her. “I think I discovered what happened to Wendell.”

Alhannah leaned close and squinted at the tiny screen. The movie feed was from a security camera in a small alley way, less than a dozen blocks from the side fight. It was within the shopping district. Two gnomes with hoodies carried a third person struggling between them. She tapped the body on the screen. “Is that?”

“His smiley t-shirt,” Nat confirmed.

It could have been anyone, but the bright yellow face on the jet black cloth looked about wildly, silently screaming in a panic. It was Wendell alright.

“Are they…?” she gasped so loud, even Shamas looked up.

“What’s wrong? Where is he?”

One of the abductors struck Wendell over the head with an object. The smiley face froze in place, the body instantly going limp. With considerable effort, a latch was lifted and a small door on a metal wall swung outward. Wendell was stuffed through the small door, head first. His legs and feet flipped through the opening…and the criminals ran. Not once did they look up or reveal their faces.

“No!” Alhannah staggered back. The world had started spinning and she had no idea what to do next. For the second time since she’d been employed to watch over Wendell, she’d failed him. Last time because of ignorance, this time due to arrogance. She cleared her throat, a metallic taste on her tongue. She fell into a chair, her eyes glazed over.

“Red!” Shamas rushed to her side. Nat slowly closed the computer.

Now it was Alhannah who turned pale. There were no tears in her eyes…though her hands shook as she reached out to her friend. The tiny fingers gripped his leather jacket like steel.

“They dropped Wendell into the City incinerator.”