Logan Howlett's Arc

Chapter 10 of 10

Logan turns from the bed of swirling liquid and faces the heavy door at the back. The shield etched into its steel catches the yellow light. Whatever the journal missed, it's behind that door. He puts his hand flat to the metal. Warm. Humming. Laura watches him from beside the child. "Open it," she says. Not a question. He braces and pulls the lever. The door breathes open on a slow hiss. Cold air spills out. The room beyond is glass — walls, ceiling, floor, all clear panels lit from inside. Pinks and blues bleed across the surfaces. And standing inside, lined up like tools on a rack, are more tanks. Six of them. Each one holds a child. Logan does not move. Six small shapes, curled and breathing, tubes running into their thin arms. Drawings taped to the inside of the glass. Bridges. Towers. A horse with one leg shorter than the others. He hears Laura come up behind him and stop. She makes a sound he has never heard her make. It is not a flinch. It is worse. A panel lights up near the door. Boots ring on the stair behind them. Logan turns with his claws half out and finds Link at the top, breathing hard. "We've got company topside," Link says. His eyes drop past Logan to the glass room and the small shapes inside. He goes very still. "More of them," he says. Flat. Then: "We're not burning this ship." Logan looks at Laura. She is already at the first tank, hand on the glass, reading the tubes the way she once read her own. "We get them out," she says. "All of them. Then we take the ship." Not burn. Take. The plan he came down here with is dead on the floor. He nods once. "Link," Logan says. "Hold the hatch. Buy us time." Link is already moving back up the stair. Logan kneels by the first tank and sets his hand to the seam. Behind him Laura is counting children under her breath. Six. The door he opened cannot be closed again. The mission is no longer a raid. It is a rescue, and it is bigger than any of them planned for.