Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End Read Online Free PDF Page A

a chokehold from behind with what little strength I can muster. Oh, it’s not strong —
    Bukin punches him hard in the gut. The Gogol folds forward. I release my hold and Bukin pops up, steps in front of me, and in one swift movement, twists the Gogol’s neck. The motion makes a cracking noise. The Gogol relaxes for a moment, and then falls forward.
    Bukin swings around and glances down at me on my knees.
    “What the fuck is going on?” he shouts.
    “I, I don’t know,” I choke out. I can’t believe he just killed the Gogol with his hands.
    “Are there any more?” I ask.
    “Negative,” he says, regaining some of his color.
    Dazed, I take in the room.
    “What’s that smell?”
    Bukin sniffs the air. “Smoke! The place is lit.”
    “But we’ve got to find Sgt. Henderson,” I say, whining a bit.
    In the distance, between alarm rings, several thuds give us pause. There! Again! Together we head toward the noises, and in the far corner of the room we silently identify a hidden door. Each of us takes up position on either side, me as backup for Bukin, who signals he’s going to open it. Fine by me .
    He counts down from three with his fingers. Three. Two. One. He steps on the ground in front, and runs his hands around the wall. A door panel appears, and he yanks down a lever. The door vanishes; the dim light pours into the room.
    Nothing jumps out at us. Instead, we make out a figure, huddled on the ground, facing us.
    Sgt. Henderson.
    He looks up at us with the eyes of a child. Quickly we rush to disconnect his trodes (chain-like bindings that squeeze tighter if you struggle). My hands are shaking so bad, Bukin has to help me unlink Henderson’s legs after he’s unlinked his hands and taken out the gag.
    “Are you able to walk?” I manage to ask Sgt. Henderson.
    He nods.
    “How about run?” counters Bukin, hauling Sgt. Henderson to his feet.
    I’ve lost all sense of how much time has passed, but I know we’re in real trouble. I put my hand over my mouth and realize I’m bleeding from my chin. Must have happened when I took that fall.
    Bukin props Sgt. Henderson up with one arm readying to leave when he asks, “What about the other guy?”
    Bukin and I glance at each other.
    “What other guy?” asks Bukin reluctantly.
    I scan the room, numb, straining to see in the dark corners. The smoke’s dense. This place could blow. In the corner I make out a lifeless form, huddled in a ball.
    “Bukin,” I yell, without thinking, and head toward the body. “Right here.”
    “No way! We stick to the mission,” he shouts.
    I stop about 10 feet from the lump. Uncertain, I turn back. Bukin and Henderson are well on their way to next room’s exit.
    I hesitate before joining them, glancing back at the body. That’s another human. Or, it looks like one . It may not have intel, but it’s a life. Sweat drips into my burning eyes. Seconds are ticking by. ESE protocol. What is it? Rescue this person, too?
    Is there enough time? My body’s trapped in mind’s hesitancy. Never mind getting to the rendezvous, this place is on fire.
    You can’t leave someone behind .
    But helping someone is what cost you the test last time .
    I think I’ve made up my mind, when, after taking one step out of the room, I stop. King’s words come rushing back to me: Do not go gently . The poem’s message is to die fighting. He must have meant die trying.
    I have to, at the very least, find out if this person is still alive. I dash quickly to the body, slide the rest of the way on my knees, and haul over a limp shoulder to check for signs of life.
    The shock’s deafening.
    It’s Daz.

Chapter 3
    “Daz,” I cry out after the shock passes and I feel his breath on my cheek. I take in his bruised and bloody face, and cough on something acrid.
    I’m choking on . . . smoke! My throat and chest are on fire. How long have I been sitting here holding him?
    “Daz, wake up!” I croak, emerging from my reverie. He’s unconscious. There’s