The church came into view from the doorway, just to the north. Its spire had shattered; what remained was a spike of pale gray wood pointing at the sky. The shingles were scattered about the roof, some stacked together like forgotten piles of papers. The air battered my cheeks. The thrumming of the blades above battered my eardrums.
“Thirty seconds to drop!” Bryce’s voice bit through my earpiece.
I looked over my shoulder. The teams were paired and lined up behind us, facing the exits. I braced my weapon tightly against my side.
“Ten seconds!” the captain shouted behind me.
The main doors of the church were visible below, and the chopper now hovered in place just behind the trees encircling the building. Someone dropped the two lines on each side of the doorway, and they slithered down toward the ground.
Gina reached over and gripped my arm for a split second.
“Drop, teams!”
Sucking in a breath, I crouched alongside Gina, gripping my line, and the chopper floor disappeared from beneath my feet. Weightlessness overtook me. The rushing air blurred my sight, and the friction of the line whizzing through my gloves warmed their damp fabric.
Treetops surged closer, then branches, trunks—ground—
Gina and I hit the soil in tandem. We dropped our lines and stepped away silently, unlocking the safeties on our guns and moving into position. My peripheral vision showed the other teams landing behind us and filing toward the church. The building’s walls may have been painted once, but all that remained were thin streaks of gray on the rotting wooden boards. It was taller than I’d expected, its roof reaching far above us amongst the treetops.
Gina led the way. The back window—our entrance—was at shoulder level. Pinecones crunched under my boots, so I lightened my steps.
We reached the window. Gina eyed the windowsill—no glass left, totally busted out—and swiftly lifted herself up and through the flaking wooden frame. I waited three beats and followed suit, heaving myself inside.
I landed quietly on the old floorboards. In front of me, Gina scanned the room, gun butt against her chest. The edges of the main sanctuary were entirely dark. The altar’s giant cross loomed above us from the back wall. The window we’d entered was one of two lighting the room—crisscrossed boards covered the others, save the one Zach and Roxy were crawling through on the west wall. Dust floated through the few beams of light we had.
Must and earthy mildew filled my nose. The now-distant and barely audible murmur of the chopper was the only thing I could hear besides my clipped breathing. Most of the pews were in scattered pieces, and old hymnals were strewn between them.
I followed Gina as she crept toward the altar. We knelt on either side of it, squinting through the haze. One, two, three, four… I counted my teammates as they shifted through the darkness, covering the perimeter of the sanctuary. Everyone was accounted for. Bryce’s behemoth frame stood beside one of the massive, cracked pillars. I couldn’t see his mouth moving, but I heard the gravel of his whisper in my comm: “Team B, say the word when all four corners are covered. Team A, stationary.”
Zach and Roxy scouted the west wall, and I could see Colin and Greta securing the darkness framing the main door. I glanced above, mentally repeating my next orders. You will be the first to head up.
The vaulted ceiling was so tall I couldn’t tell where the walls ended and it began.
“Team A, have you located the stairs?” Captain growled.
“Stairs near corner of altar and west wall, confirmed,” Gina whispered. My eyes darted to the narrow staircase.
“Ground floor secure,” Zach said softly in my ear.
“Right. Team A, visually secure the stairs. Then head up. If I’ve got your bearings right, there should be a balcony beyond that,” Bryce instructed.
There wasn’t much visibility up the staircase, but the next landing was clearly far up. Some of the slatted steps were cracked… some not there at all. Gina’s gaze caught mine, and she nodded to reassure me.
“Stairs clear. Light steps, Lyra,” Gina breathed over the comm, holding my eyes with hers.
“Team A, move up,” our captain grunted.
Gina instantly responded, stepping delicately as she ascended. I left several steps between us as we climbed. My eyes bounced between her feet and the steps emerging from the dark above us.
A step groaned under Gina’s left foot, and we instantly froze. She looked back at me, a warning to be careful. I nodded. Despite my care, the same step creaked under my weight, but it held.
Cobwebs latticed between the railing and the steps. I glanced at them for just a second, and I heard a step whine and then snap—crack—Gina’s right foot was falling, and she was going down with it.
I snatched the back of her belt and threw my weight back as hers pulled me forward, my muscles straining. The broken wooden step clattered on the floor below, echoing off the east wall.
“Freeze!” Bryce hissed in my ear.
Gina’s sharpened breaths were the only sounds that followed. I held on tightly to her belt; she gripped the railing, taking most of her weight off me. Her eyes closed in relief, but only briefly. She flashed a thanks to me with a glance. All remained still.
“Team A. Secure?” It was Zach.
“Secure,” Gina replied.
“Continue,” Bryce ordered.
Gina exhaled and turned back up the staircase. Shaking just slightly, I found my breath and followed her.
We covered a few more steps, accompanied by one or two more creaks but no more collapses, and found ourselves entering what looked like an attic—not a balcony. There were scattered wooden pillars, piles of old furniture, and a window in the wall far ahead. Another glowed behind us. The windows’ light haloed above us from the opposite ends of the room, relieving the gloom just a little. We moved off the stairs and carefully tested the wooden floor with our feet.
“Next floor confirmed, Captain,” Gina said quietly on her comm. “Not exactly a balcony. It’s an attic. Moving forward.”
Something pale moved in the corner of my eye, and I jumped. The tip of Gina’s gun darted toward it. We halted. It didn’t move again. I squinted, making out a sheet draped on an old table. Inches of dust covered every surface. It fluttered again in some unseen draft.
I nodded to Gina to move forward. False alarm.
We silently passed other tables and chairs, all enveloped in cobwebs. The attic was dead quiet. We peered around, our forms casting even more shadows in the extending darkness.
“Western stairwell visually confirmed,” Zach whispered.
