Hot smoke filled the bunker, choking the stale air with the sting of ash and burnt embers.

  “It’s the vents,” Mul came staggering out of the gloom in Oralia’s direction with his tunic tugged over his mouth and nose. Panicked citizens stumbled blindly in the dark around him, deaf to Novera and Trant’s desperate pleas to remain calm. Mul raised his voice to be heard over the din. “Cray’s smoking us out. I guarantee you the bastard’s got his archers covering the hatch, waiting to pick us off one by one like rats fleeing the gutter.”

  Oralia snagged a passing soldier by the arm. “Block the vents. Try to keep as much of it out for as long as possible.” She released him and turned to Mul with fresh orders. “Find Rali and tell her to start moving people through the new tunnel. Soldiers at the front, ready with shields in case they’re discovered, followed by anyone who can make it out on their own. Keep them quiet.”

  Mul’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead as if to say, ‘And you?’

  “I will be here, helping move the injured.” Oralia sent him off with a soft snap of her tusks. “Go.”

  The air scorched the inside of Oralia’s throat, moving down deep into her lungs until those too felt as if they were on fire. Following Mul’s lead, she tugged the top of her tunic over her mouth and nose, instructing those around her to do the same. Novera and Briony were a frenzy of activity, scurrying about assisting the injured onto their feet and arranging helping hands for those unable to make the journey on their own.

  Sergeant Windshot was among those staying back to assist. Briony was forced to set her feelings about him temporarily aside and recognize that a helping hand was a helping hand regardless of to whom it was attached. “Lorn, take Daana. There are not enough stretchers for everyone, and she’ll be one of the easiest to carry,” the faun instructed, motioning for the sergeant to step in and take over. “Ashwyn, over by Sascha. Oralia is going to need your help getting him out of here.”

  Sascha opened his mouth to protest, only to be cut off by Ashwyn. “Save your bitching and moaning for someone who cares, big boy. We both saw how well that worked out for you last time. I have no doubt your missus will drag you out by your beard if she has to.”

  “Beard?” Oralia knelt and tucked herself beneath Sascha’s other arm. She gave the signal, a sharp nod of her head, before the pair heaved together, lifting Sascha from the ground and onto his feet. Under normal circumstances, Oralia would have abstained from speaking, but this was the sort of situation that benefited from a good verbal needling. “It would be a shame to damage something so lovely. No, I would much rather drag him out by his nose hairs.”

  “They do need some trimming,” Ashwyn agreed.

  Sweat beaded down Oralia’s hot forehead as she peered through the haze of smoke and jostling bodies. Mul was making good progress ushering the able-bodied through the freshly dug tunnel. The main bunker area was already half empty, with more and more filing out by the second. Soon, the only ones left would be the laggers, both the injured and those staying back to assist.

  The crowd parted up ahead, muttering and cursing as a familiar, boulder-esque shape bowled her way through. “Gangway, swabbies! Clear a path or it’ll be the plank for ya!”

  The panicked crowd was one bad idea away from a full-blown stampede. Unable to shout what she wished to say, Oralia had no other choice but to wait until Rali was within earshot before tearing into her at a volume just shy of a hissed whisper. “What are you doing? Hanging back here is a veritable death sentence, you and I both know it. Get out while you can.”

  “And take her with you,” Sascha butted in, still glaring daggers at Oralia.

  The worsening situation had all the hallmarks of a nightmare. Trapped underground with the main entrance cut off. Smoke and ash steadily filled the space, rendering the remaining air unbreathable. If by some miracle they survived the threat of suffocation and or tunnel collapse, there was also the matter of Cray’s remaining forces waiting to pick them off the moment they emerged onto the surface. Rali should have been more panicked. Downright terrified that the living nightmare that had been haunting her for ages had reared its ugly head one last time, and yet, it was not fear nor panic that crossed the dwarf’s face, but annoyance.

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  “Oralia no-middle-name Dawnsight, what was our rule?” Rali demanded.

  Oralia continued to shoulder Sascha’s weight as she and Ashwyn staggered forward one painstaking step at a time. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Our rule,” Rali said again before being forced to prompt Oralia’s memory. “About lone-martyr shit?”

  Oralia flinched as the earth rumbled ominously overhead. Buried underground alive. While it wasn’t the first time, she feared it was about to be the last. “This does not qualify. As you can clearly see, I am not alone.”

  “How dare you. I’m offended, honestly. Why is it you have no problem dying with Sascha and your stupid sister—”

  “Stupid?” Ashwyn interjected.

  “—but not me, huh? Your best friend in the whole wide world is not worth dying with, is that it?” At the very least, Rali proved capable of running her mouth while being helpful at the same time. She stood at the mouth of the newly renovated tunnel, directing the laggers where and how to step without tripping over discarded piles of dirt and rubble. “I feel like this is a recurring theme with you, honestly. I’m starting to take it personally.”

  “Most people would be delighted with the opportunity to not die with me,” Oralia countered.

  “There you go again. Trying to push me away with your so-called reason and logic.”

  A noticeable gap had formed up ahead. All of the able-bodied had already made it through, along with the stretchers and the less severely injured. Only the slowest remained now. Sergeant Windshot was at the head of the remaining laggers, struggling to carry Daana’s limp body in his arms. Novera and Briony shuffled behind him, each on either side of Trant, who, like Sascha, insisted they go on ahead. The women, naturally, ignored him.

  Oralia, Sascha, and Ashwyn made up the rear, well behind the others.

  The dirt ceiling rumbled overhead like a mountain with a stomach ache. Sergeant Windshot froze, barking at the others to be quiet as he listened.

  “Fall back!” Mul’s bulky form came sprinting out of the gloom ahead of them. The rumble worsened, sending clouds of dust and sediment pouring down from the shuddering ceiling. “We’ve had a collapse at the end. The whole thing’s coming down!”

  The sudden about-face had the unfortunate effect of placing Oralia and Ashwyn at the head of the escapees. Oralia had purposely taken the rear position to not impede their pace, and now, in a mere matter of seconds, they were doing just that. Pulling with all their might, the sisters heaved Sascha back through the rumbling tunnel, out the the mouth of the corridor, and into the now-empty bunker beyond. The rest were hot on their heels, shoving and pressing to escape the cascade of rubble that spilled in from the sides, sealing the tunnel behind them.

  Trembling with exhaustion, Sascha sank to the ground, sucking deep breaths of filthy air into his heaving chest. He and Oralia traded looks. Oralia’s expression, wrought with worry and guilt, was assuaged by his gentle words. “Don’t concern yourself with me.” He spoke slowly, laboring through each word as if it were his last. “I’m not going anywhere. Go do what you do best.”

  What she did best? Oralia was beginning to think that getting trapped underground was among the things she did best. Along with endangering the lives of those she cared about.

  Her gaze lifted from Sascha and swept the dark room. Smoke and dust hung thick in the air, making the intake of each precious breath more difficult than the last. With the collapse finished, the walls no longer shook and shuddered, but remained eerily still. No sounds trickled down from above. No screams, no shouts, no thundering of feet as those who escaped met their gruesome end.

  “Hatch is stuck,” Mul’s voice called from further down, his body obscured by the floating debris. “They must have blocked it.”

  Oralia admired his gumption, having taken it upon himself to search for alternative escape routes. The grizzly truth was much harder to swallow, however. With both exits blocked, and smoke and ash steadily poisoning the air, there would be no escape. This was it. The end. Death had caught her at last.

  Daana stirred in Sergeant Windshot’s arms. The startled look on his face seemed to imply that he’d forgotten that he was holding her at all. He hastily placed her on the ground and apologized for letting her head flop all over the place.

  Daana’s arms went stiff at her sides with her hands balled into tight fists. Her mouth clenched, stifling the whimper that tried to slither free.

  Ashwyn knelt beside her. “It’s alright, Peaches. You did good. The fight’s over. You can go back to sleep now.”

  The groans and grunts amplified as his Daana whipped her head back and forth, fighting an invisible adversary. Ashwyn moved to place her hand on the elfing’s slick forehead, only to jump back in surprise when Daana’s eye shot open. The girl lurched upright, screaming.

  “Daana, Daana, easy.” Briony moved in to help.

  “It’s coming!” Daana’s eyes were wide and rimmed in white. There was a glazed, far-off look to them, as if she were seeing beyond the physical realm. “Get down!”