**Chapter Seven: Nicolai - Someone to Get Back To**

  Seven military transports waited in the parking lot of the Genetics Engineering Program, their engines idling in the predawn darkness. Nick leaned against the hood of the fourth truck, trying not to cough as exhaust fumes burned his throat. The autumn air penetrated his jacket, making him wish he'd layered more.

  He checked his watch again. Thirty minutes since he'd arrived at what Dr. Tate had called "Zero Dark Thirty." Nick didn't know if that was an actual military term or something from an old movie, but either way, they were behind schedule.

  The driver propped himself over the back of his seat, catching Nick's eye. "Should be leaving in ten mikes, doc."

  During the past few weeks working with Dr. Tate, Nick had been learning military jargon. Luckily, he knew "mikes" meant minutes. Even with that understanding, anxiety coiled in his stomach. This mission couldn't afford delays. Every minute counted.

  His role was crucial, perhaps the most important one. Nick had to prepare large quantities of the antidote for transport back to their base. Making it more complicated, he would have limited time and only a couple of men to assist him once they reached the compound.

  If they succeeded, if they brought back this cure; everything would change. Natural conception would return. Babies would be born in equal numbers again: boys and girls. No more orphanages overflowing with unwanted boys like the one where Nick had spent his childhood.

  The antidote was located on the outskirts of Strayerfield, on a retired military compound that hadn't been occupied in years. Intelligence suggested a rogue group from Belraithe was planning to retrieve it for themselves.

  But those were just rumors. Nick hoped.

  Strayerfield had the last population where civilians still conceived naturally. Their scientists had been studying the male reproductive organs believed responsible for the infertility inflicting Wintergate and Belraithe. The condition was spreading to other areas of the world as well, like a silent curse.

  Although Nick didn't know all the political details, he understood that helping Wintergate and Belraithe came with considerable risk to Strayerfield. The treaties established for this mission had been hard-won.

  Even with King Claremont and King Lucas sending their top military officials—and Prince Andrik himself coming along—their safety today wasn't guaranteed. Not by a long shot.

  Nick stretched his arms over his head, then cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit he'd never overcome. It would be a full day's drive before they reached the compound.

  Yesterday, as Nick was leaving for the day, Dr. Tate had pulled him aside. "King Claremont and the advisors want the arrival and mission to take place in the dark," he'd explained. "They think the darkness will provide some protection."

  "You don't think it will help?" Nick had asked, catching something in Tate's tone.

  "Well," Dr. Tate sighed, "I think they have enough safety precautions in place. Once you all arrive, you'll only have a certain amount of time before your presence is known. That's why we practiced the extraction so many times. Just do your part and stay out of the soldiers' way." He'd patted Nick on the back with that last instruction as if reassuring a child.

  The headquarters doors swung open with a metallic screech that carried through the still air. Armed men in tactical gear emerged, movements precise and coordinated. Nick straightened, suddenly aware of how civilian he must look among them.

  Several soldiers began filling the vehicles. One climbed into the front seat of Nick's assigned truck. Even through his uniform, Nick could see the man was powerfully built. He was about Nick's age, with closely cropped hair and watchful eyes. Nick recognized him immediately Roland, Prince Andrik's closest friend. They'd been inseparable since childhood, practically brothers.

  Roland muttered something to the driver, who responded with a terse nod. His presence made sense—he was Andrik's shadow, and if Andrik was coming...

  Right on cue, the prince himself approached. He ducked his head slightly as he climbed into the vehicle, taking the seat beside Nick. The scent of pine soap and worn leather followed him.

  "Hey, Nick." His smile came easily, as though they were old friends meeting for coffee instead of preparing to enter hostile territory.

  "Hey, man." The casual response felt strange on Nick's tongue. He hadn't seen Andrik in years, though they'd both orbited around Pilar throughout childhood. Nick had been closer to Pilar than to her brother.

  The boy he remembered had hardened into a man. Andrik's once mischievous eyes now carried shadows that Nick recognized on himself lately. Military service did that to people.

  Once seated, Andrik set his weapons down and tapped the driver's shoulder. "We ready?"

  The driver picked up his radio. "Fourth vehicle, all set and ready to go."

  A voice Nick recognized as King Claremont's answered through the speaker: "Alright men, you are all clear."

  The convoy lurched forward. Through tinted windows, Nick watched sleeping houses blur past. The speedometer crept beyond ninety, but the roads were empty at this hour, the world still lost in dreams.

  Nick realized it was no coincidence he'd been placed with Andrik and Roland. King Claremont wanted this mission seen through, and he knew his son would get it done. From what Nick had heard, Andrik had been in the military academy for years. His notorious temper was probably one reason his father had enrolled him early.

  Nick remembered, years ago, that Andrik would get frighteningly violent when angry. It didn't happen often, but when it did... It took considerable effort for him to regain control.

  Pilar had once confided in Nick: "Father was never mindful of his children, especially Andrik."

  Unfortunately, Nick knew plenty of boys like that from the orphanage. Boys growing up with no fathers to teach them how to channel their energy, how to become men. Most ended up with drug problems or dead. That was one of many reasons Nick had been quick to leave this place behind after getting his degree.

  Looking out the window at the passing landscape, Nick wondered for the hundredth time if coming back had been the right decision.

  No birds. No wind. Just the creak of rotting fences and the sound of seven hearts bracing to stop.

  The compound appeared through the trees as dawn approached, a low concrete structure surrounded by a rusted chain-link fence. It looked abandoned, exactly as their intelligence had described. No guards, no lights, no movement.

  Too perfect, he thought as they existing the vehicles. Nick kept the observation to himself.

  Roland approached the fence first, cutting through it with unsettling efficiency. The team slipped through one by one, Nick last with his medical bag clutched tightly against his chest. Everything they needed to transport the antidote waited inside. Assuming they found it.

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  The east entrance yielded to Roland's electronic device after a few tense moments. The door swung open soundlessly, revealing darkness beyond. Flashlight beams cut through shadows, illuminating peeling paint and overturned furniture. Nick noted the signs of long abandonment.

  But as they penetrated deeper into the facility, the surroundings changed subtly. The floors were cleaner. The walls are intact. The air is less stale.

  Someone had been here recently.

  They reached a set of double doors marked "LABORATORY" in faded letters. Roland checked something on his tablet, then exchanged a significant look with Andrik. This was it.

  The lab beyond was illuminated by the soft glow of emergency lights. Scientific equipment lined the walls—centrifuges, microscopes, computers—all in surprisingly good condition. And in the center of the room, a glass-fronted refrigeration unit.

  Inside, row upon row of vials filled with clear liquid.

  The antidote.

  Nick moved forward automatically, training taking over. He set his bag on a central table and began the extraction process they'd rehearsed countless times. Carefully removing vials, preparing them for transport, and ensuring they remained stable.

  Andrik and Roland took position by the doors, weapons ready. Other team members spread through the lab, checking for additional materials they should take.

  The silence pressed against Nick's ears as he worked, broken only by the soft clink of glass and occasional murmur of communication between soldiers. Vial after vial, he packed them with methodical precision, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

  Then—a soft click from somewhere in the corridor outside.

  Andrik tensed immediately, weapon rising. Roland moved to the opposite side of the doorway, signaling silently to the rest of the team.

  "Nick," Andrik whispered, barely audible across the room. "How much longer?"

  Nick assessed his progress. "Five minutes. Maybe less."

  "Make it less."

  The tension in the room ratcheted higher. Nick increased his pace, careful not to compromise the safety of the samples but moving with greater urgency.

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Soft at first, then faster. Louder.

  They weren't alone.

  A gunshot cracked the silence. O'Connell stumbled through the doorway, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.

  "They found us—" he gasped.

  Nick turned—and noticed for the first time the body on the floor in the corner. A man in a lab coat, lying in a pool of blood that had long since congealed. Their contact scientist. Dead for hours.

  "Shit," Andrik hissed, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

  "We knew this was a possibility," Roland said, voice unnervingly calm. "Keep moving."

  O'Connell positioned himself by the door, weapon drawn despite his injury, while Nick continued gathering containers from shelves.

  Andrik joined him, frowning. "These aren't right. They were supposed to be in plastic containers. Gallons, not liters."

  "Bad intel," Nick muttered, glancing toward the door. "Where are the transport containers we brought?"

  Roland disappeared briefly to find O'Connell, returning moments later with four insulated containers.

  "We've got company outside," he reported, voice tight.

  Nick struggled with the sealed vials. "These shouldn't be sealed like this either."

  Roland attempted to open one, applying too much force. The glass cracked beneath his fingers. Precious liquid seeped out, glittering in the emergency lights.

  "Damn it," he cursed, thrusting it toward Nick, who barely managed to salvage the contents by pouring them into one of their containers.

  Gunfire erupted outside. Shouting. The chaos was building.

  "Let's get moving!" Andrik called Roland.

  They rushed toward the remaining shelves. As they reached for the bottles, the building shuddered violently. The shelving unit toppled, crashing down on both men.

  Glass shattered everywhere. Nick watched in horror as jagged shards punctured their skin. The antidote soaked through their clothing as they struggled beneath the metal frame.

  "You guys alright?" Nick called, rushing to help.

  "Yeah," Andrik grunted, straining against the weight.

  Roland coughed. "Burns like hell."

  "The antidote?" Nick asked, concerned about chemical reactions.

  "Like fire under the skin," Roland confirmed.

  Nick joined their efforts. "Together, on three. One. Two. Three."

  It took all three of them to lift the shelving unit enough for Andrik and Roland to crawl free. Flames erupted from the east wall, engulfing the remaining antidote stores. Nick clutched the single salvaged container—barely enough for testing, let alone their mission requirements.

  "We have to get out of here," he urged, pointing toward an oxygen tank dangerously close to the spreading fire.

  Andrik peered outside, then signaled them forward.

  The courtyard had become a battlefield. Their team members lay motionless alongside unfamiliar bodies. Headlights approached from the distance.

  Looking at Roland, Nick could tell his arm needed medical attention. Blood soaked through his sleeve, and his face had gone alarmingly pale.

  "What about the men?" Roland asked, looking around at their fallen comrades.

  Nick checked the nearest bodies. No pulses. "They're gone."

  Andrik and Roland tried to run to check the others, but the laboratory fire intensified, flames leaping to the parked vehicles. The heat seared against their faces.

  "Run!" Andrik shouted.

  The three of them barely reached the gate before the blast came. Nick felt the shockwave lift him momentarily, then slam him against concrete. The earth shook violently beneath them.

  Behind them, the entire facility disappeared in an inferno. The acrid stench of burning chemicals and flesh turned Nick's stomach. He fought not to vomit as he struggled to his feet.

  The approaching vehicle drew closer, headlights sweeping through trees.

  "We need to get out of here before the rest of their group arrives," Roland said, pointing toward the lights.

  The camp was hidden within the woods; they might be able to hide their tracks if they moved fast enough.

  "The sun's coming up soon," Andrik noted, looking eastward where the sky was beginning to lighten.

  Nick adjusted the backpack containing their only salvation. "I'm following you."

  Roland led the way into the dense forest.

  Nick couldn't begin to process what had just happened. Everything lost. So many lives. For this tiny chance at salvation that he now carried on his back.

  He studied his companions as they fled. Both were soaked with the antidote, glass fragments still embedded in their skin. Neither seemed to register the pain. Andrik especially seemed elsewhere, his expression distant, almost vacant.

  "What are you thinking about?" Nick asked between labored breaths.

  Andrik barely glanced his way, but when he did, his eyes were raw with emotion Nick hadn't expected.

  "Someone I need to get back to."