The top floor of the building had been converted from a series of uniformly floored rooms to a twisted carnival game of yawning gaps and unstable floorboards. Even the sections that seemed relatively stable were coating with wicked splinters and jagged roof tiles that had lodged themselves into the woodwork. It would be tempting fate a little too hard to mention the greater stability of the roof aloud, but Alter was still grateful that only a few small sections had given way. Fortunately, this part of the building appeared to have housed much fewer people as an increasing amount of evidence showed that the rooms had primarily been used as a shared storage area. However, this did not make it uninhabited, as soon enough after some careful exploration they were met by a living soul. Sitting upright in a rickety single bed, an elderly, white haired man, roughly in his early eighties, squinted at them with half-blind eyes across a ruined room. It was a small miracle that he hadn’t been sent tumbling downward, but the visible warping of the floor gave the clear signal that the clock was inescapably ticking.

  “Who’s that? Elanor? What is happening?” He called out with a voice that slewed across the tonal scale like a drunk metronome.

  “I don’t think the floor in here can stand up to much more weight, this is a one-person job. You two keep searching while I get grandpa out of bed and moving.” Alter ordered as he took a couple of tentative steps deeper into the room.

  The quivering questions and nervous rambling continued as he made slow progress across the fragile space. He was told about the nasty vibrations and strange crashing sounds, the funny smells and how Rhoa had always made better soup than he did. The absolute nerve of the man, he’d clearly never had a good bowl to save his life. His name also shifted dramatically, a sentence would start by calling him Elanor and then finish with Sebastian. The old boy was all over the place and as Alter finally made it to the bedside the tired, milky eyes looked up at him and a sudden, much needed moment of clarity caused his words to be smothered by his own surprise.

  “Who, who are you?” The old man asked, his voice fighting through an encroaching layer of icy fear.

  “A friend.” Alter responded with a reassuring smile. “I’ve come to get you out of here, this building isn’t safe.” He slowly held out an arm for him to take.

  Despite his demeanour, the man recoiled from the offered limb, his boney fingers firmly grasping the thin bed linen and pulling it defensively towards his chest. His face turned away from him, eyes desperately searching for the open doorway.

  “Elanor? Elanor! There’s a stranger in here, he’s trying to take me away!”

  A frustrated growl rumbled in the back of Alter’s throat. “Listen to me, this building is literally falling apart. We don’t have enough time to humour your delusions. Get up.” He reached across the bed and clamped a hand around a shoulder before beginning to lever the man forward.

  “No, no!” The man began to protest but he did not have the strength to resist.

  A loud, juddering groan was emitted from somewhere beneath him as the board under his left foot buckled and dropped by a couple of inches. His jaw clenched and his teeth clamped together hard, they were out of time. With a heave he lifted the man who still clung desperately to his bedsheet and lifted him over one shoulder. An intermittent rain of weak blows impacted his shoulder and the side of his head as the meek protests continued. Alter muttered darkly to himself as he began backtracking across the room. There he was prepared to heroically risk his life to rescue grateful and gracious civilians. But with all the grief he’d been given he felt more like a kidnapper than a saviour. As if to compound his discomfort, the old man suddenly shifted his weight, causing him to take a sideways step out of reflex. His foot plunged through the floor, snapped wood like spear tips dug into the flesh of his shin and calf.

  “Son of a –” He grimaced as he pulled his leg free, and watched with disdain as the sensation of blood trickling into his boot accompanied a slowly blooming red flower on his uniform.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Painful though it was, it didn’t inhibit his movement to the point where he had to drop his unwilling passenger. He made it back to the stairs without further incident, and continued his slow, measured and somewhat painful progress towards freedom. His squadmates continued to race to and fro, occasionally hurrying past him with varying degrees of wintriness etched upon their faces. Making it out into the night air, he saw the alleyway was much more alive now. People, some in guard uniforms, others in masks or simple, plain garb moved with purpose through the area. At the centre of it all was Boozehound who was crouched next to a line of wounded people waiting for assessment. A small number of guards hovered behind him, but these were men of the generic city watch, not Winslow’s unit. That said, the guard he had sent to establish Winslow’s status had returned and was waiting nearby. Spotting him, the young man began to head in his direction but stopped short and hesitated as he saw what he was carrying.

  “It’s alright, lad, give me your report.” Alter waved away his concerns as a pair of locals accepted his confused charge from him and carted him away.

  “Sir. The boss and others were alright, mostly, a few were wounded but able to walk away. They’ve vacated the area with the captives in order to prevent further discontent. Winslow himself has headed over to a regroup point nearby to find out if the Silver Wolves made it out in one piece. He said that you should leave once the regular guard arrives, we don’t know which ones might be in the pockets of the enemy.”

  “I think it’s a little late for that, but whatever.” Alter remarked as a fresh unit of guards jogged onto the scene, their leader in a slightly fancier hat immediately began shouting orders.

  “Sir?” The guard asked.

  “Never mind. Things seem to be reasonably under control here, we’ll do as he suggests once everyone is out of the building. Do you know where this regroup point is?”

  “I do.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Alter folded his arms and turned to face the building as a disgruntled looking Boozehound stomped his way over to them.

  “Guess who just got relieved of their duties?” He complained as he stopped next to them.

  “Don’t take it too hard, we were about to leave anyway. In the meantime, what’s your assessment of the casualty rate?”

  “Better than feared. Most injuries were either light or comfortably survivable. Those with bad injuries, well, it’s likely they never knew what was about to happen to them.” The medic shrugged.

  “What a charming thought.”

  One by one the remaining members of the squad were collected as they reappeared. There were no further rumbling reports of more collapses, and by the time they had all gathered and set out the number of locals being rescued had fallen considerably. After five minutes of brisk walking through increasingly empty, narrow streets they arrived in a small square. An ancient looking well stood in its centre, with a small cluster of familiar, dust-coated faces next to it. Winslow and Raymond beckoned them over as they arrived, their faces tired and noticeably non-victorious looking.

  “Good to see you're all in one piece.” Winslow began. “Did Ruffle cause you much trouble?”

  “Not really, you were right about him keeping the crowds from simply overrunning us. Then once the collapse happened he was quick to help get everyone to safety. Would’ve been nice if you could’ve told us about his abilities though.”

  Winslow blew out a breath and nodded slowly. “You’re right, that was an oversight on my part, I’m sorry.”

  “Ehh, we can get into that another time. I’m sure you’ve had to explain this already but what the hell happened down there?” Alter turned towards Raymond.

  “The infiltrators collapsed the tunnel after we grabbed the first few that came running through. They must’ve wanted to bring it all down upon us, too bad for them that the opposite happened. Like a lumberjack standing on the wrong side of the tree, their actions spelt their dooms.” The Huntmaster explained, his voice distant and analytical.

  “It was a similar story in the house itself.” Winslow continued. “We successfully took the attic, with some blood lost, but by the time we got around to storming the basement it was too late. We managed to drag a couple of them out of the rubble before I had to order the retreat. It’s by no means the result I wanted from the operation, but I’d still call it a victory.”

  “And the brown-haired man?” Riptide asked hopefully.

  Winslow smiled, a wide, predatory smile. “Oh, we’ve got him tied up real nice.”