He resumes his march to the rear of the compound. I follow.
We position ourselves behind a parked Humvee at a side entrance. We can still hear the distant sound of chaos, erupting half a mile away at the other side of the compound. We lie in wait as a young soldier flies out of the door, running towards the Humvee. I wonder if he’s been dispatched to the other end of the base, like Malcolm guessed.
In a flash, Malcolm ambushes him.
I’ve never seen Malcolm in combat before. Clearly he’s not trained for it, but he has two things going for him. First, the soldier was distracted, in a hurry. But even more important, Malcolm knows he’s getting closer to his son, and his determination to save Sam lights him up. Malcolm swings wildly, an uncoordinated assault that nevertheless catches the young soldier off guard.
Malcolm manages to knock him out. We drag the unconscious soldier behind the Humvee. Malcolm rips an access card from his chest, then takes the soldier’s gun for good measure.
“Just in case,” he says, awkwardly wielding the gun. I can read the hesitation on his face: he doesn’t want to kill anyone. I know he’s relying on me to use my Legacy skillfully enough that he won’t have to.
We creep to the side door. Malcolm swipes the card through the access panel. After a second, a green light flashes and the lock disengages. We take a deep breath and open the door.
It’s worse than I’d imagined. A long corridor opens up before us, leading to a small alcove with a desk clerk. There are at least five soldiers in the area and six or seven other military personnel. And they’ve all turned in unison, seeing us at once.
One of the soldiers shouts. “They’re coming from both sides!” They think we’re part of the same invading force attacking from the front of the compound.
I have no time to consider that, and send a blast out in front of me, shredding the concrete floor of the hallway. And another one. And another one.
Soldiers and workers are knocked off balance or thrown against walls as we rush forward through the fresh rubble.
I know I’m causing pain and injury; I can only reason that at least I’m saving them from gunfire. More important, I’m keeping Malcolm safe.
We round the corner by the desk alcove, only to be confronted by three more soldiers. I let loose another seismic wave, sending them hard against the walls behind them, knocking the wind out of them, breaking bones.
I cringe inwardly at what I’ve done, even as I feel a creeping exhilaration at my own power. I didn’t realize I was capable of such tremendous force.
Malcolm dives forward to the overturned desk, scrabbling through its scattered contents, all while struggling to keep his gun-wielding arm raised. I circle Malcolm. He searches for a compound map, or something to give us a clue as to where Sam is being held, while I keep an eye on the fallen soldiers, ready to blast anyone who manages to get to their feet.
“Got it,” he says, leafing through a large binder. “Compound directory.”
“Hurry,” I say, still scanning the fallen soldiers, my fists raised.
A soldier clambers to his feet, hugging the wall, out of breath. We lock eyes as his hand drifts to his gun.
I shake my head. No.
He looks at me, confused, helpless.
He’s seen what I can do. To my own shock and amazement, he puts one hand up and then tosses his weapon aside with the other.
“There’s a cell cluster in Wing E, this way,” says Malcolm, pointing in one direction. “But there’s another cell cluster at the other end of the compound.”
Malcolm tosses back and forth through the pages. He’s torn, unsure of which way to go. I can see him beginning to melt down, to lose his cool. The closer we get to Sam, the higher the stakes, the more likely it is that one false move could mess everything up.
“There are also interrogation rooms in Wing C. He could be there.” Malcolm clutches his forehead. “He could be anywhere.”
Watching Malcolm on the verge of a breakdown, I know what I have to do.
I leap at the soldier, grabbing him by the collar. He whimpers at my touch.
“We’re looking for a captive. Sam Goode. Where is he?”
The soldier bites his lip, closes his eyes. Surrender is one thing, but to give up information to an invading force is a step farther than he is willing to go.
“Tell me,” I say, with menacing calm. He keeps silent.
I will a seismic rumble, right beneath our feet.
He gasps.
“Tell me,” I say. I increase the rumble’s force as the concrete beneath us goes liquid, waving and rocking and cracking beneath our feet. I maintain an even intensity, but it’s a terrifying sensation, for me as well as for him. “Tell me now or I’ll make this floor rise up, chew us up, and drag us straight to hell.”
He whimpers again, tears streaming down his cheeks.
I increase the intensity.
“Wing C!” he screams, giving up. “He’s in Wing C! He was kept away from the others. He’s the only prisoner being held in those cells.”
I release my grip, and the soldier falls to his knees, crying.
I know I’ve done a terrible thing, completely humiliating an adversary who had already surrendered. But there’s no time for guilt.
I turn to Malcolm. “Wing C,” I shout.
Relieved, he tosses the binder aside and races through a door to our right. After doing one last sweep of the fallen soldiers, I join him.
We enter another long hallway.
“Wait!” I yell.
I turn back to the door we’ve come through. The last thing we need is for any of those soldiers to follow and assault us again. So I target the doorway with my Legacy, and knock out the stone structure. The doorway collapses in a noisy heap of rubble.
That should keep them.
We race down the passage for what feels like a mile. The tunnel gets narrower and narrower, darker and darker, the farther we get.
We finally arrive at a locked door. Either the soldier whose keycard we swiped didn’t have clearance for this area, or some kind of security override has kicked in in the wake of our assault.
“Stand back,” I say, an idea quickly forming.
I reach deep into the earth below the compound. I’ve never had to use this much precision with my legacy, and the amount of focus it requires is going to create an excruciating headache. I force the earth upwards, up against the door frame. The stone floor erupts and the steel door is blown from its hinges.
It’s not an ideal entrance—we have to climb up the rubble and then crawl through the half-blocked doorway—but it works.
We get up off our knees on the other side of the door.
We’re in the base’s armory, a warehouse-like space filled with shipping containers and crates. Judging by the warning signs emblazoned on the crates, they contain powerful explosives. I never would’ve used my power in such close proximity to explosives if I had known what was on the other side of that door. We are lucky.
Malcolm grabs my arm, leading me forward through the armory. We come to another set of double doors. Malcolm tries the keycard: this time it works. “Lucky swipe,” he says. “That soldier must’ve had access through another route than the one we took.”