Free One Day In Budapest by J.F. Penn Page A

raining debris down from the scarred and shattered tenement block. They turned towards the weapons pile just as Zoltan pulled the pin and lobbed another grenade. This time the soldiers scattered, firing behind themselves at him and the weapons pile. The last soldier pointed a gun at the woman’s head as he turned away. Zoltan leapt from his hiding place and charged the man as the gun went off. His eyes had flicked up at the movement so the bullet just missed the woman’s head as she curled into a fetal position.  
    An explosion rocked the little square and as masonry began to fall, Zoltan threw his body over the woman, trying to protect her from the rain of hell. As the other soldiers ran from the scene, he felt a slicing pain in his cheek and a burning on the side of his face as he lay there, hoping that he could just save this one innocent.  

    ***

    Zoltan touched the scars on his cheek as he looked up into László’s face on the billboard, remembering that day. After the incident, their friendship had finally ruptured and split. László had inveigled himself into an officer’s position, allying himself with nationalist interests and eventually pursuing a political career. He was the embodiment of what most would consider success, becoming wealthy and influential in the public arena. Zoltan had followed his moral compass, giving up the pursuit of power to stand up for those who could not defend themselves.  
    He felt a light touch on his arm, and turned to see Morgan’s face, a question in her eyes. Zoltan knew that he could trust her, their fast friendship built on a shared belief in humanity that men like László would never understand or honor.  
    “Sorry,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Let’s go. The march will start early and as dusk falls, I fear that evil will stalk this city again.”  

CHAPTER 10

    When they reached the tourist-ridden precinct of Castle Hill, Zoltan led Morgan away from the throng down a dogleg alleyway.  
    “There’s an old entrance for the labyrinth workers back here,” he said. “Tourists used the official gateway but that’s been closed since 2011.”  
    “Why did they shut it down?” Morgan asked.  
    Zoltan shrugged. “There are many conspiracy theories, because it was stormed by the police and the Inspectorate for the Environment one July day. The tourists and workers inside just had to leave, with no reason given. Some say that the company running the place didn’t have the right permits, but others hint at something darker here, criminal activity or the occult. From what Georg found in the chat rooms, this could well be a secret Eröszak meeting place.” He stopped in front of a nondescript wooden door. “This is it.”  
    Pulling the tire iron from his bag, Zoltan levered the door open, cracking the lock mechanism as it splintered in the frame. A metal staircase led down into the earth, and already Morgan could feel cool air flowing up from below. Pulling torches from the pack, they trod lightly, but their footsteps still made a soft clang as they descended into the dark.
    At the bottom, a tunnel carved from the rock stretched into the heart of the hill. They stood silently for a moment, the sound of dripping permeating the damp atmosphere. Water welling from the depths of the earth under Budapest had brought with it healing properties, feeding the rejuvenating hot spring spas, and over millennia, the waters had also carved out a complex of subterranean tunnels and caves. Now Zoltan and Morgan followed one of these tunnels into the labyrinth, and in the chill air, it felt as deserted as it would have been when it was created.  
    They walked quietly, listening for any hint of what might lie before them. Morgan reached out a finger to touch the cool wall of stone, remembering the catacombs of Paris where she had run from Milan Noble’s men. But those corridors were walls of bone arranged in tribute to the millions of plague dead, whereas this place was