Chapter 46

It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for 😋 more to come in the next chapter, trust.

Maggie sits cross-legged on the cold floor, absently tapping her fingers against her knee as she sings herself some song about hanging from a tree, complete with a morbidly cheerful tune. Under normal circumstances, this would earn her a concerned intervention. Under current circumstances, everyone is already too far gone to bother.

Steve is pacing for the hundredth time, hands on his head like maybe if he presses hard enough, the Russians will disappear out of embarrassment. Robin is slumped against the wall, muttering theories under her breath. Dustin keeps checking his watch even though it stopped working hours ago, and Erica is lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling with the expression of someone filing a mental lawsuit.

None of them know how long they’ve been stuck in the Russian death trap. Time has lost all meaning down here. If Maggie had to guess, though, she’d say at least twelve hours.

She stops singing abruptly and groans, scrubbing a hand down her face.

“Nancy is gonna be so mad at me.”

Steve pauses mid-step.

“Okay, I don’t love that sentence,” he says, “Why specifically mad at you?”

Maggie shrugs, staring at the floor, “Because I disappeared into a secret underground base run by Cold War nightmares and did not leave a note.”

Erica snorts, “That’s on you.”

Robin looks up, “Wait, you’re worried about Nancy Wheeler right now? Not the Russians? Or the guards? Or the fact that we might die in a metal box with no foreseeable way out?”

“Yes,” Maggie says immediately, “Because Nancy does not do well with unexplained disappearances. She does even worse with dangerous ones.”

Dustin tilts his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, “You say that like she’s… personally invested.”

Maggie shoots him a look, “She’s invested in not having her friends kidnapped by foreign governments, Dustin. Very radical stance.”

“Hm,” Dustin hums, unconvinced, “Sure. Friends.”

Steve squints at them, “Am I missing something?”

“No,” Maggie and Dustin say at the same time.

Erica props herself up on her elbows.

“I am,” she says, “But I’m guessing it’s gay.”

Maggie chokes. Robin coughs suspiciously loud. Steve looks between them like he’s watching a tennis match he doesn’t understand.

“What?” Maggie recovers quickly, “No. That’s— no. That’s not—”

She gestures vaguely, “Not relevant.”

It’s not as if Maggie’s tried excessively hard to hide her homosexuality. If she wasn’t joking about everything all the time, it would be plain and obvious. And Dustin is an inquisitive child who notices everything. Maybe plus the fact that Maggie and Nancy have their own magnetic pull to each other 24/7. Dustin’s suspicion deepens, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut for now.

A distant metallic clang echoes down the corridor.

Everyone freezes.

Maggie is on her feet before she realizes she moved, heart slamming against her ribs.

Robin whispers, “That wasn’t us. We’ve got company.”

They all usher themselves up through the hatch on the top, closing it behind them.

They hear footsteps and muffled voices, inherently Russian.

Maggie’s pulse roars in her ears. She thinks of Nancy then. Of her stubborn jaw and worried eyes and the way she had squeezed Maggie’s hand just a little too tightly before they split up earlier that day, like she knew something bad was coming.

“I swear,” Maggie mutters under her breath, “if we survive this, I am never sneaking off again.”

Dustin gives her a sideways look.

“You better survive it,” he whispers back, “Nancy would kill us all.”

Maggie huffs out a shaky breath, pressing herself against the cold wall as the voices grow closer.

Yeah. She knows. And if she makes it out of here, alive and intact, she is absolutely letting Nancy yell at her.

The moment the Russian footsteps retreat, the silence snaps tight. No one says it out loud, but they all know. This is it. This is the window. If they miss it, they’re not getting another one.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He drops down first, sneakers skidding as he lands hard, the metal canister clutched in his hands. He shoves it under the door, jamming it tight.

“Let’s go,” he calls, voice sharp.

Erica doesn’t need to be told twice. She drops down and immediately flattens herself, shimmying under the door. Dustin goes next, rolling under fast and graceless, popping back up with wild eyes.

Robin follows, barely missing getting clipped as the door groans against the pressure.

Then there’s Maggie.

She hops down, lands lightly, and instead of moving like a sane person in imminent danger, she pauses. She takes a look around. She sighs, dramatically, because of course she does.

“You know,” she says, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulder, “I’m kind of gonna miss this place. It’s grown on me.”

She wipes at her eye, committing fully to the bit, “So many memories. So much human experimentation.”

“Marigold! Now!” Steve yells, the metal canister beginning to crack and scream under the door.

“Fine, fine,” Maggie relents, hands up, “No respect for nostalgia.”

She drops smoothly, sliding under the door, and popping out the other side just as Steve dives through after her.

The canister explodes. The substance melts straight through the floor behind them like acid.

Robin stares at the smoking hole and then at Erica.

“You still wanna drink that?”

Dustin turns slowly, eyes huge, “Holy mother of God.”

In front of them stretches a hallway. It’s impossibly long, metal walls gleaming under a soft blue glow. Pipes snake along the ceiling and the air feels cold.

“Well,” Steve says, “I hope you guys are in good shape.”

He pats Dustin’s chest on the way past, “Lookin’ at you, roast beef. Let’s go. C’mon.”

Dustin scowls but moves. The rest follow, footsteps echoing loudly.

“Why me?” Dustin mutters to Robin.

They walk. And walk. And walk.

Time stretches again, the silence settling. Maggie lasts approximately two minutes before cracking.

“You have to admit,” Dustin says finally, gesturing around, “as a feat of engineering alone, this is impressive.”

Steve scoffs, “What are you talking about? It’s a total fire hazard. There’s no stairs, no exit. There’s just an elevator that drops you halfway to hell.”

“Very wheelchair accessible though,” Maggie adds thoughtfully, hands clasped behind her back like she’s on a museum tour.

“They’re Commies,” Erica says flatly, “You don’t pay people, they cut corners.”

“To be fair to our Russian comrades,” Robin says, “I don’t think this tunnel was designed for walking. Think about it. They developed the perfect system for transporting that cargo.”

She gestures vaguely ahead, “It all comes into the mall, then they load it up on trucks. Nobody knows the wiser.”

“You think they built this whole mall just to move the green poison?” Steve asks.

“I very seriously doubt it’s something as boring as poison,” Dustin says, “It’s gotta be more valuable. Like promethium or something.”

“What the hell is promethium?” Steve asks.

Robin lights up, “It’s what Victor Stone’s dad used to make Cyborg’s bionic and cybernetic components.”

Erica grimaces, clutching her stomach, “You’re all so nerdy it makes me physically ill.”

Steve shakes his head, “No. No, don’t lump me in with them. I’m not a nerd.”

“Why so sensitive, Harrington?” Robin teases, “Afraid of losing cool points to a ten-year-old?”

“I’m just saying I don’t know jack shit about Prometheus,” he snaps.

“Promethium,” Dustin corrects, “Prometheus is Greek mythology, but whatever. Point is, it’s probably being used to make something.”

“Or power something,” Robin adds.

“Like a nuclear weapon?” Steve says.

“Totally.”

“Awesome,” Steve mutters, “That’s great. That’d be great.”

Maggie has gone quiet.

That alone is unsettling.

As Robin keeps talking, Steve notices Dustin slowing. Maggie too. They exchange a look, an unspoken fear between them.

“You think the Russians know?” Dustin whispers.

“About—” Maggie starts, then stops.

“They could,” Steve says quietly.

“So it’s connected,” Dustin presses.

“Maybe,” Maggie says, “And if it is…”

“How?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know,” she admits, “But it’s…”

“Possible,” they say in unison.

Robin stops walking and turns slowly, eyebrows raised.

“I’m sorry,” she says sweetly, “is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

They open their mouths at once, when the walkie talkie crackles to life and Russian voices spill out. Everyone drops at the same time, knees hitting concrete, shoulders knocking together as they huddle low.

Robin presses the walkie closer to her ear, eyes distant as she listens, translating on instinct now.

Her lips move silently for a second before she whispers, “It’s the code.”

Maggie’s stomach tightens. Of course it is.

“Wherever that broadcast is coming from—” Dustin starts.

“It’s close,” Robin finishes, voice tight, “And if there’s one thing we know about that signal…”

“It reaches the surface,” Maggie murmurs.

Robin nods once, “Let’s go.”

They move again, this time faster. Maggie keeps glancing over her shoulder, expecting boots, guns, and lights. Every shadow feels like it’s leaning toward them.

Then they hear footsteps. And along with it, the whirr of some kidn of vehicle moving.

Steve throws out a hand and they duck behind a thick wall where the tunnel forks, pressing themselves into the shadows. Maggie holds her breath, heart slamming. The vehicle rolls past, close enough that she can smell oil and metal.

She does not enjoy this tour.

Once it’s gone, Robin exhales shakily, “That was close.”

“Too close,” Dustin says, voice barely there.

“Relax,” Steve whispers, trying to sound convincing and failing, “Nobody saw—”

They round the corner and immediately freeze.

The room opens up, filled with bright lights, metal walkways, Russian soldiers everywhere, and scientists in lab coats weaving between machines.

“Shit,” Steve whisper-shouts as they dive back out of sight.

“I saw it,” Erica says immediately, “First floor. Northwest.”

Steve cocks his head, “Saw what?”

“The comms room.”

“You saw the comms room?” he asks.

“Correct.”

“Are you sure?” Dustin asks.

“Positive,” Erica snaps, “Door was open for a second. Bunch of lights and machines and shit.”

“That could be a hundred different things,” Dustin argues.

Maggie peers around the corner just long enough to confirm she hates everything about this.

“Could also be the thing we’re literally here for,” she mutters, “Which feels worth checking before we all die.”

“I’ll take those odds,” Robin says.

Steve sighs, rubbing his face, “Okay. We move fast. We stay low. Nobody does anything stupid.”

Maggie raises her hand slightly, “Define stupid.”

Steve gives her a look, “You know exactly what I mean.”

They weave through the room, ducking behind crates, machines, and pillars. Maggie keeps her head down and her pulse roars. A scientist exits the comms room and Steve lunges, grabbing the door before it shuts, ushering them inside in a rush of bodies and whispered panic.

They turn. A Russian soldier is sitting at the comms desk. He stands abruptly, confused, and hand already moving toward the gun on his side.

Robin steps forward, blurting out Russian words from the transmission, hands gesturing wildly. Maggie watches the man’s face shift from confusion to suspicion in real time.

He reaches for his gun again. Steve makes a sound that’s halfway between a yell and a battle cry and barrels into him. They crash into equipment, knocking things over. The soldier throws Steve aside a few times. Maggie flinches, already halfway forward, before Steve grabs a phone and smashes it against the guy’s head.

The soldier goes down.

“Dude!” Dustin cheers, eyes wide, “You did it! You won a fight!”

Steve pants, stunned, and lets out a shaky laugh. Dustin immediately rummages through the unconscious man’s pockets, pulling out a key card.

“What are you doing?” Erica asks.

“Getting us our ticket out of here.”

She stares at him, “You want to walk all the way back there?”

“Well,” Dustin says, “we could hang out. Relax. Have a picnic.”

“Have a picnic?!” Erica snaps, “We came here for the radio.”

While they argue, Maggie notices Robin drifting away toward a staircase at the far end of the room. Something about the way she moves makes Maggie’s skin prickle.

She follows. The air changes as they get closer. A strange, glowing light spills down from above, painting the steps in blue.

An involuntary chill runs up Maggie’s spine. It feels like standing on the edge of a nightmare she’s already had.

Before she reaches the top, Robin goes sprinting back down, “Guys, you’re gonna want to see this.”

Maggie swallows and keeps going.

She reaches the top, pushes the door open, and the world drops out from under her.

Steve and Dustin come up beside her just as she stops breathing.

“Oh,” Maggie whispers, “we are so fucked.”

The room is enormous. Dozens of Russians swarm around a massive machine. A blinding laser slams into the wall.

And within it is a crack, like a ripped open seam. And it’s shrieking and glowing different shades of reds and oranges.

Maggie’s chest tightens painfully. She knows that light.

“They’re opening another gate,” Dustin says, “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

They turn and run as Robin fires questions.

“I don’t understand,” she pants, “You’ve seen this before?”

“Not exactly,” Steve says, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Then what exactly?”

“All you need to know,” Dustin says, breath hitching, “is it’s bad.”

“Really bad,” Steve adds.

“Like end-of-the-human-race-as-we-know-it bad,” Dustin finishes, voice cracking.

Robin stares at them, “And you know this how?”

Maggie, keeping pace, throws her a sideways look, “Let’s just say it’s the reason I died and came back to life.”

Robin almost trips, “I’m sorry, you did what now?”

Before Robin can unpack that extremely alarming sentence, Erica’s voice cuts through.

“Uh, Steve?” she says sharply, “Where is your Russian friend?”

The alarm blares instantly. A shrill, piercing sound that makes Maggie’s stomach drop straight through the floor.

“Shit!” Steve yells, bolting for the door and yanking it open.

Russian soldiers stare right at him. There’s half a second of mutual recognition and Steve slams the door shut.

“GO, GO, GO, GO, GO!”

They scatter, sprinting up the stairs and bursting into the control room. Scientists whirl around, frozen in shock.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Dustin shrieks.

They veer left.

“Lovely weather we’re having!” Maggie calls brightly, waving as she bolts past the stunned scientists, fear making her mouth run on autopilot.

They race down another flight of stairs and across a metal walkway suspended beside the massive laser machine.

“This way!” Steve shouts, slamming his shoulder into a guard and sending him crashing into a stack of barrels. The barrels tip, roll, and knock other guards down like bowling pins.

The deafening sound of gunfire erupts. Maggie ducks, heart in her throat, and pain detonates through her leg.

She cries out as a bullet tears into her thigh, the force nearly taking her off her feet. Her leg buckles, fire screaming up her body.

“Maggie!” Robin yells.

“I’m fine,” Maggie lies, teeth clenched, dragging herself forward as Steve hauls open a door and shoves them inside.

He slams it shut just as they stumble in. The door rattles violently as guards begin pounding on it, shouting in Russian, trying the handle.

“Help me!” Steve yells, bracing himself against it.

Maggie stumbles over, blood already soaking through her jeans, vision swimming. Robin grabs her before she falls, then both of them press their weight into the door.

“Here!” Erica shouts, “C’mon, let’s go!”

She and Dustin yank open a hidden hatch, revealing a dark passage beyond.

“Go, just get out of here!” Steve shouts over his shoulder, muscles straining.

“Go, come on, now!” Dustin yells back.

“No!” Steve snaps, “Just go get some help, okay?”

Dustin hesitates, eyes darting between them.

“What are you doing?!” Steve shouts, “Just go!”

“I won’t forget you!” Dustin blurts, voice breaking.

He looks right at Maggie, “I’ll tell Nancy you love her!”

Maggie laughs weakly through the pain, “You better.”

“GO!” Maggie, Robin, and Steve shout in unison.

Dustin disappears into the hatch, Erica right behind him, the metal slamming shut.

The door behind them finally gives. Maggie’s strength gives out as it bursts open and six armed guards flood the room, rifles raised.

She lets her hands fall away from the door, breath shuddering, leg screaming.

All three of them raise their hands slowly. The guards level their weapons.

“This is so not how I thought this would go,” Maggie groans before falling unconscious.

When she wakes up, the first thing she notices is that she’s not dead. Which is annoying.

The second thing she notices is pain. A deep, throbbing ache radiates through her leg, sharp enough to make her gasp as her eyes snap open.

She tries to move, but can’t.

Her wrists are tied behind the chair and ankles bound with rope. Her thigh is wrapped tight in a clean bandage, pressure heavy enough to keep the bleeding under control.

“Oh,” Maggie mutters hoarsely, “So you do care.”

A Russian soldier stands in front of her, arms crossed, watching her wake up. Another leans against the wall. A third lingers near the door.

No Steve or Robin.

The one in front of her speaks in heavily accented English, “You are awake.”

“Gold star,” Maggie says, trying to open her eyes, “You noticed.”

He ignores that. Shocker.

“You will tell us how you came here.”

Maggie shifts in the chair, testing the ropes.

“See,” she says, “I was gonna ask you the same thing. Hospitality here is confusing.”

The soldier steps closer, “You were with the others.”

“Define ‘with.’ I prefer ‘begrudgingly associated.'”

He sighs, clearly already done with her, “Names.”

Maggie tilts her head, “You want mine or the fake one I give strangers who shoot me?”

There’s a momentary pause. The soldier kneels in front of her, taking his thumb and pressing it to her bullet wound. A sharp jolt steals her breath and makes her bite down hard on her tongue. She can feel blood erupt as bright crimson begins to spread on the white bandage.

She exhales shakily.

“Okay,” she pants, “Rude way to ask.”

He crouches in front of her, eyes cold, “Again. How did you know about us?”

Maggie swallows. Her head swims, vision blurring at the edges. She feels weak, but she still has one thing left. She focuses.

She reaches inward, toward that familiar pull. Pain for pain. Wound for wound. She latches onto the soldier in front of her and pushes.

The soldier stiffens suddenly, gasping as if he’s been punched from the inside, hand flying to his side. He stumbles back, confusion flashing across his face.

Maggie smiles faintly, “See? Sharing is caring.”

The room explodes. Guns are raised, voices shout in Russian and someone grabs her chair to steady it.

Her head slams back against the metal as the strength drains out of her completely. Whatever she did takes everything with it. The connection snaps, leaving her dizzy and nauseous.

The soldier straightens slowly, breathing hard, staring at her now with something new in his eyes.

“Again,” he demands.

Maggie laughs weakly, “Oh, buddy. If I could do that again, you’d already be crying.”

He takes that almost as a challenge. He says something low in Russian to another soldier, who in turns hands over a three inch blade.

“We will see,” he sickenly grins as he shoves it hard into her shoulder.

Maggie cries out as more blood pours from her body, “MOTHER FUCKER.”

But now, she’s tired. Barely enough strength left in her to use her power. She decides it better to save it unless she needs to.

“Now who do you work for?” the man asks.

“The great Lord above,” she answers with a tired smile.

A swift punch is thrown across her cheek. Maggie coughs in pain.

Through gritted teeth, she says, “You guys ever think about getting a hobby? Knitting? Gardening? Less… whatever this is?”

No one laughs.

Her head droops forward, sweat soaking her hair, breath shallow. Her body shakes with exhaustion. The soldier leans down, close enough that she can smell his breath.

“You will break,” he says calmly.

Maggie lifts her head just enough to look at him, eyes glassy but still sharp.

“Maybe,” she whispers, “But you’re still not getting what you want.”

She slumps back against the chair, vision tunneling.

If she’s going to break, it won’t be for them, and she refuses to make it easy.