Chapter 24: Rules of Survival

Neumann did not take them back to the main hall the next morning.

Instead, he led the nine deeper into the training level and stopped outside a pair of adjoining stone rooms. A clock hung above the door. Numbered hooks held gloves, waxed sleeves, red cord and two long iron tongs. Three lidded bins stood beneath a sign Severin could not read.

Martin looked over the equipment. "I already miss the wooden swords."

"Why? You were pretty shit with those too," Severin said.

"Exactly. At least I knew where I stood."

Neumann opened the door.

A man lay on the floor of the second room with one sleeve dark around the forearm. He wore gloves, and one eye remained fixed while the other followed the room. Severin had never seen him before, but he wore the same black coat Hans did. A square brass canister sat several feet away. Three small red flags stood at different points around the room.

Neumann pointed inside. "There’s one casualty and one suspicious object. Three places in the room are confirmed contaminated. Get the man out if you can do it safely. Don’t carry anything out with you that shouldn’t leave the room, and don’t ruin the scene for whoever comes after."

Paul stared at the Pilgrim on the floor. "What contaminated it?"

"If you needed to know, Weber, I would have told you."

"Then what’s in the canister?"

"Do you want to join Hale for push-ups?"

Paul shook his head quickly. "No, sir."

Neumann gestured to the equipment on the hooks. "Use what’s here. If you can’t do something safely, say so. Don’t touch something just because it’s there."

He stepped aside.

Hoffmann took position beside the doorway. "There’s one entrance. Nobody goes in until we know who needs to."

Montoro nodded. "Peters, record entries and equipment while Weber counts what we have. Richter, check the casualty."

Anna crouched just outside the room. "Sir, can you hear me?"

The Pilgrim turned his head. "Unfortunately."

A few of them smiled.

"What’s your name?"

"Doesn’t matter."

Anna glanced at Neumann.

"You heard the man," Neumann said.

She looked back at the Pilgrim on the floor. "Any difficulty breathing?"

"No."

"Where were you injured?"

"The arm. My hand feels... wrong."

"Wrong how?"

"It’s burning. My fingers are going numb."

Anna studied the dark patch around his forearm without crossing the doorway. "I don’t see any heavy bleeding. Can you move your legs?"

"I think so."

Behind her, Paul had started laying equipment on the floor.

"Let’s see. Four pairs of gloves. Three sets of sleeves. One drag sheet and two tongs. Some cord, a few tags, two metal boxes... and a bucket."

"A bucket?" Bennett asked.

Paul checked inside it. "Yeah. Empty one, too."

Madeleine looked at the brass canister. "Did he actually say that thing caused it?"

Montoro looked at her.

"He only said it was suspicious. Doesn’t mean it caused anything."

Neumann said nothing.

Hoffmann pointed at the nearest red flag. "We know those points are contaminated. We don’t know about the rest."

Severin looked past him.

One flag sat near the canister, another by the left wall, the third several strides nearer the casualty. Between the last two was a clear stretch of bare stone wide enough for one man.

Montoro started dividing the cord between Hoffmann and Martin. "Mark a clean line from the door. Bennett, stay ready for the lift. Hale, you’re with Keller on the route."

Severin pulled on a pair of gloves and strapped the waxed sleeves over his forearms before taking one end of the cord.

Martin crouched beside him and fed it along the floor without entering the room. "How far?"

"Hold there."

They fixed the first section across the doorway, leaving one controlled opening. Peters wrote everything down.

Severin looked at the casualty again, five, maybe six strides beyond the clear gap.

Anna was still asking questions.

"Do you feel any pain in your chest?"

"No."

"How’s your vision?"

"Fine. My hand’s the problem."

Anna’s next question came quicker. "Which fingers?"

"The last two."

Severin knew what waiting looked like when somebody was hurt. Men did it around broken machinery while a foreman decided whose problem the blood was. Police did it in Blackhaven while someone found the right constable.

The Pilgrim was six strides away.

Montoro held a gloved hand toward Severin without looking at him. "More cord."

Severin did not give it to him. "Wait. There’s a way through."

Montoro followed his gaze. "We haven’t cleared it."

"It’s empty."

"Doesn’t mean it’s clean."

The Pilgrim flexed his hand and swore under his breath as Severin stepped across the cord.

"Hale," Hoffmann called.

The first two strides put him between the nearest red flags. Nothing happened.

He heard Montoro behind him. "Stop."

Severin reached the Pilgrim and caught him under the good arm. "Can you stand?"

"Shit. Seems like we’re finding out."

"Don’t," Anna called. "Severin, wait."

He was already pulling. The Pilgrim got one knee under himself, then sagged, and Severin tightened his grip.

Martin swore and came through the opening. "Don’t lift him alone, you idiot."

He caught Severin by the waxed sleeve.

Neumann’s whistle cut through the room. "Stop."

Nobody moved.

Neumann walked in without touching either of them. He pointed at the Pilgrim’s injured sleeve.

A fine yellow powder clung to the cloth around the false wound.

Then he pointed at Severin’s glove, where the same yellow powder clung to the fabric.

Severin looked down at the waxed sleeve. More of it streaked the fabric where the Pilgrim had leaned against him.

Martin opened the hand he’d used to grab Severin. His fingers were yellow too.

"Hale, you’re exposed," Neumann said. "Keller, you too. Both of you out."

Martin stared at Severin. "Great fucking job."

"Blow me."

"Can’t. Apparently I’m contaminated."

They moved back toward the entrance.

"Not through there," Hoffmann said sharply.

Severin stopped.

Hoffmann was already pulling the clean line farther into the corridor. "You crossed it on the way in."

Peters scratched something onto the slate as Neumann pointed to Severin’s boots.

A yellow print sat beneath one heel. Two more marked the floor behind him, and the third had smeared across a faint gray shoeprint Severin had not noticed before.

Peters looked at it, then at his slate.

Neumann said, "That was evidence."

Severin looked away from it.

"Sit against the wall," Neumann said. "You’re finished."

"Come on. That’s it?"

"You contaminated yourself, dragged Keller into it, fucked up the exit route and ruined part of the scene. What more do you want to fuck up?"

Severin sat with a muttered curse.

Martin dropped beside him. "Now can I complain?"

"You’re the one who followed me."

"I was trying to stop you from dragging a wounded man."

"Yeah. And that went well, didn’t it?"

"Very well. Fucking hell."

Inside, Montoro was already changing the plan. "Hoffmann?"

"New clean line stays here. Nobody crosses the old one."

"Peters, mark Hale and Keller as exposed. Weber, what did we lose?"

Paul looked over the gear. "One pair of gloves. One set of sleeves. Both Hale’s."

"Bag it in the smaller box."

Madeleine held the lid open while Paul dropped the dirty gear inside.

Anna pointed toward the Pilgrim. "We still need to move him."

Montoro looked at the remaining sleeves. "How many clean sets?"

"Two."

"Good. We’ve got enough for an extraction."

"That leaves none for the canister," Paul said.

Montoro looked into the room. "Shit. Then what do we do about the canister?"

Bennett folded his arms. "Leave the bloody thing there."

Montoro checked the remaining equipment. "Hoffmann?"

"We can secure the door. Nobody needs to touch it until a proper team gets here."

Montoro nodded. "Then it stays."

Severin hated how sensible that sounded.

Anna talked Bennett and Montoro through the approach before either of them crossed. Gloves first. Sleeves secured. Drag sheet carried folded and kept off the floor until they reached the Pilgrim.

"Don’t pull him by the injured arm," she said. "Get the sheet under his shoulders and hips. Try to keep him flat."

"You said he can move his legs," Bennett said.

"He can. Doesn’t mean he can walk."

"So the sheet?"

"He nearly went down when Hale pulled him up. We’re not trying that again."

Bennett glanced at the sheet, then nodded.

They went in, and this time nobody rushed.

Hoffmann called their route from the doorway while Peters recorded every step he could. Madeleine moved the clean box out of the way before Bennett came back with the Pilgrim’s feet. Paul stood beside the new boundary with another tag ready.

The Pilgrim stayed limp enough to make them work, and Montoro stopped when his boot almost brushed one of the red flags.

"Hold."

Bennett held while Montoro shifted the drag sheet by inches.

"Now."

They cleared it without a whistle.

By the doorway, Severin understood how long six strides could take when nobody was allowed to guess.

Anna met them at the clean edge. "Set him down there."

They lowered the Pilgrim to the floor without carrying the drag sheet farther while Neumann checked the clock.

"Casualty out," Montoro said.

"What about the object?" Neumann asked.

"We leave it."

"Why?"

"We don’t have enough clean gear left to recover it safely."

"Good."

Paul looked relieved enough that Severin nearly laughed.

Neumann pointed into the room. "Evidence?"

Peters answered. "The gray print’s partly destroyed, but the three contaminated points are still where they were and the canister hasn’t moved. Hale left three prints, and the casualty moved during the first extraction."

"And the cause?"

Paul looked at the canister. "That thing contaminated him."

Madeleine turned her head toward him.

Neumann looked at Paul too. "Prove it."

Paul opened his mouth, stopped, then tried again. "We can’t."

"What can you prove?"

Paul looked back into the room. "There was contamination. It was on his sleeve, and the canister’s suspicious. That’s it."

"Exactly," Neumann said. "That’s all you fucking know."

He looked around at them. "Same goes for creatures. Work out what kind you’re dealing with before you decide how close to get."

Neumann finally let the Pilgrim sit up. The man rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Severin.

"Next time, try not to haul me like freight."

Severin frowned. "You got out, didn’t you?"

Martin laughed.

Neumann ignored them. "Richter. Was he dying when Hale moved him?"

Anna looked at the Pilgrim, then at Severin. "No. He was awake, breathing fine, and he wasn’t bleeding heavily. His hand was getting worse, but we had time."

Severin looked at the yellow smear along his boot.

Neumann followed his gaze. "You wanted to help him."

Severin looked up.

"That was fine. Everything after that was shit."

Martin leaned his head against the wall. "I feel better already."

Neumann pointed at him. "You followed a contaminated man into an uncleared room."

Martin sighed. "Right. Never mind."

A few people laughed.

Neumann turned to Hoffmann. "An Imperial Police officer comes through that door and wants to know what happened. What do you tell him?"

Hoffmann answered at once. "We got the injured man out, and the room’s under Order restriction until it’s examined. Nobody goes in until we clear it."

"You tell him about the canister?"

"Only if he needs to know."

"You tell him it caused the injury?"

"No. We don’t know that."

Neumann nodded.

He looked around at the others. "If you can’t do it safely, pull back and leave what you can intact. One strange object in the room doesn’t mean it caused anything. Rush in and turn one casualty into three, and you’ve fucked the job."

Neumann turned to Severin and Martin. "Clean it."

Martin looked at the yellow marks leading back toward the room. "All of it?"

"What do you think? You’re the ones who made the mess."

They spent the next half hour with brushes, buckets and rags while the others returned the unused equipment.

The yellow powder had traveled farther than Severin expected: his glove, waxed sleeve, Martin’s fingers, the stone outside the room and the edge of the smaller metal box.

Peters stood nearby with the slate.

Martin scrubbed at a boot mark. "If he makes us do this every time we fuck up, I’m quitting."

"Keep scrubbing and stop complaining."

Peters turned the slate around while Severin rinsed the brush.

At the bottom of the incident record, beneath the original casualty, he had written two additional exposures.

HALE, SEVERIN.

KELLER, MARTIN.

Martin read it over Severin’s shoulder. "At least everything’s fucking recorded."

Severin handed the slate back to Peters and reached for the brush again.