by M. R. Forbes
Isaac nodded. “Pozz that.”
Bullets started smacking into the car again. Max fired to the left side of the sphere, hitting a pair of militants trying to sneak up on them, his aim nearly perfect.
Hayden stayed low as he walked to the back of the car. “That way?” he asked.
“That way,” Isaac confirmed.
Hayden took a deep breath before suddenly morphing into Cyrus again, only now carrying a bandolier and a pair of revolvers. He glanced back at Isaac, who had to remind himself the image was some kind of hologram or projection.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter 41
Grace looked back over her shoulder. Her father was behind her and gaining quickly.
She had waited ten years for the chance to meet him again. She had searched half the continent, wandered from one ocean to another, seen and done things that she never imagined in the name of fulfilling the last request he had ever made to her.
Find me. Kill me.
The first part was a success. Sort of. She hadn’t found him.
He had found her.
Or rather, they had stumbled over one another. Her in pursuit of Shurrath and Sheriff Duke, him in pursuit of Isaac. Fate was ironic that way.
She reached the corner of a building, ducking behind it and sprinting along the wall, trying to keep herself at an angle that would prevent him from throwing a microspear into her back. She didn’t think he would do it; had they been apart for so long just for him to backstab her? She wasn’t confident he wouldn’t.
She reached the next corner, looking back again. He had closed half the distance, but it almost seemed as though he was intentionally hanging back. Why? Was he still at war with himself, fighting the need to take his only child’s life? Was he trying to help her win?
She looked to her left, finding a doorway halfway down a narrow alley, leading into a crumbling apartment building. The door was on the ground beside it, worn and rotted from age. Grace charged it, making it through the frame only an instant behind a spear that impaled the rotten wood beside her, sinking in deep and sending splinters out into her shoulder. She was in a stairwell, and she started climbing, the rotten steps giving too much beneath her weight to be safe. The entire building was unstable.
Somehow, she made it to the first landing without going through any of the steps. She raised her bow, nocking an arrow and spun around, expecting Cyrus to be right behind her.
He wasn’t.
She dropped to a knee, aiming at the doorway. He would have to come through to reach her. Wouldn’t he? She pivoted on her knee, aiming the bow up. Nothing there either. Had he paused in the chase? Had Isaac or Sheriff Duke interrupted him? Grace was tempted to go down and out to look. What if it were a trap? What if he was waiting out of sight for her to appear? A quick stab and it would be over.
“Damn it, dad!” she shouted. “Can’t you fight fair?”
“I’m waiting for you, pickle.”
Grace winced as she spun back to the steps, looking up. Her father hadn’t called her pickle since she was five. She didn’t see him, but she knew he had gotten above her somehow.
She put the bow away, holding the spear-tipped arrow in her hand. There wasn’t enough space in the stairwell to use the weapon and maneuver well at the same time.
She climbed the steps, some of which cracked beneath her feet. The whole thing felt so unstable, like the building would topple if she shifted her weight a little too hard in one direction. “Why did you go up?”
“Privacy. It isn’t safe near the ground.”
She could hear the gunfire outside, along with the roar of a car’s engine racing through the streets. Had Sheriff Duke and the others abandoned her? Listening, it was clear the car wasn’t headed away. It was running in circles, likely waiting for her. Looking for her.
She kept climbing, three more flights to the fourth floor. The stairwell was collapsed further up, the door hanging open. Cyrus was standing on a stained carpet that covered an open office. Desks, chairs, and other old equipment was spread chaotically around the room.
“There you are,” Cyrus said, smiling warmly.
“Dad,” Grace said. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough. I was hoping never to see you again.” His expression was heavy. Sad. “Part of me is screaming to kill you and be done with it. Another part wants to give you a fighting chance. But you can’t defeat me, Grace. I’m too strong. Too fast. Shurrath changed me.”
“Can you really kill me?” Grace asked.
Cyrus nodded. “I have to. You’ll destroy everything Shurrath has worked for. Everything I’ve worked for.”
“You told me to kill you, all those years ago. You made me promise.”
“I know.”
“I have to try.”
“I know. I wish things were different for us. I still remember when you used to sit on my lap, and I would read you bedtime stories. I still remember when you thought pickle was a funny nickname.”
“I remember that too.”
“One free shot, Grace. That’s all I can give you. Don’t miss.”
“Dad?”
Cyrus spread his arms out wide and closed his eyes.
Grace felt her gut clench, her heart pounding, tears burning her eyes. She grabbed her bow and in one smooth motion nocked, pulled and fired.
Cyrus barely moved, but he moved enough. His eyes were closed, but he shifted his weight and turned his torso, leaning just far enough to avoid the missile. It hit the wall behind him and fell to the floor with a clatter.
Grace was already reaching for another arrow. Cyrus’ eyes opened. The sadness was gone. The familiarity was gone. She had seen it before. Too many times before. Shurrath had planted a monster inside her father that had remained even after the Relyeh left.
Now it was awake.
He came at her, moving so fast she could hardly react. She had the arrow in her hand, and she swung it at him as he approached, nearly catching him off-guard. He went under it, grabbing her around the waist and driving her back and to the floor, coming down hard on top of her. His face hovered over hers.
“Dad, don’t,” she said, looking into his vacant eyes.
The humanity and recognition returned for a moment. Just long enough for her to wriggle out from under him and stumble away.
He grabbed her ankle, pulling her down. She rolled over, slashing the arrow up at him. The spear-tip caught his cheek, drawing blood. She pressed the attack, getting to her knees and lunging forward. He grabbed her beneath the shoulders, lifting, turning and throwing. She flew through the air, landing in a pile of old rubbish, her back cracking hard against the edge of a table that splintered apart beneath her weight. She groaned, tears streaming down her cheeks as Cyrus produced another microspear and started toward her.
Grace reached to her thigh, feeling for a sidearm that wasn’t there. She tried to grab another arrow, but there was no time. She rolled to the side as he stabbed down at her, moving away and kicking at his ankle. The blow took him off-balance, and he slipped sideways, regaining balance as she threw a hard punch into his jaw. Cyrus took the strike without effect, grabbing her throat.
“You were supposed to kill me!” he shouted in her face. “Damn it, Grace!”
Tears rolled from Grace’s eyes as she stared into his. She couldn’t breathe, his hand crushing her neck. She swung her right arm, the sharp end of a broken piece of table biting deep into Cyrus’ throat.
He gurgled and gasped, still holding Grace tight as he returned the favor, shoving a microspear into her stomach. She could feel the tendrils extending out inside her, traveling up her inner body cavity toward her heart.
A gunshot rang out, sending a splatter of cloth, flesh, and blood out from Cyrus’ chest. Three more followed in rapid succession. Cyrus’ eyes went wide and he let go of Grace’s throat, stumbling back, pulling the microspear out as he retreated. Intentionally?
Two more bullets hit Cyrus, still driving him back.
Grace could see the dark shape moving out of the shadows near a window over her shoulder. Sheriff Duke. He fired again, hitting her father two more times.
“Fall down,” Hayden growled, dropping the spent casings out of the revolvers and quickly reloading.
Cyrus hadn’t fallen yet. Wouldn’t fall. The wounds were closing again.
Grace could hardly breathe. Her throat was damaged. Her insides were destroyed. She was in bad shape. Dying. She was sure of it.
Cyrus’ eyes met hers. They were moist with tears, dark with anger, large with joy. All of these years, he had wanted her to kill him, while at the same time knowing he couldn’t just let her do it.
Now the choice had been made.
Grace didn’t hesitate. She took three quick steps toward him, grabbing the hand holding the microspear. He tried to fight back, but while the gunshots hadn’t dropped him, they head weakened him. She used both her hands and all of her strength to turn his wrist over and shove the microspear into his chest.
Cyrus’ mouth opened in shock and pain and then spread into a wide smile. He looked down at Grace.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
He finally fell.
And so did Grace.
Chapter 42
“Grace!” Hayden snapped, slipping his revolvers back into their holsters and hurrying to her. He caught her before she hit the floor, lowering her to a spot beside her dead father and crouching in front of her.
“Sheriff,” she said weakly, barely able to breathe.
“It’s okay,” Hayden said. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you out of here. We’ll get you back to Sanisco. Doc Hess can fix you up again.” He said the words, but he knew none of them were true.
He could tell she knew it too.
“No,” Grace said. “Shurrath.”
“I’m going to find him. I promise. I’m going to kill that alien son of a bitch.”
“No.” She said it as forcefully as she could, managing to open her eyes enough to stare up into his. “No.”
“I don’t understand.”
Hayden’s heart pounded, the old river of guilt flooding through his system. She shouldn’t have even been here. She was supposed to be in Sanisco, in the fucking hospital.
Grace responded slowly, straining to breathe, fighting to stay alive. “Can’t kill. Hunger.”
Hayden’s jaw clenched. “I kill Shurrath, another Relyeh will come for Earth? Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.”
“Yes. Another...worse.”
Hayden nodded. “Okay. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“Promise me.”
Hayden met her eyes with his again. He nodded a second time. “I promise. I don’t want to make things worse.” He had no idea how he was going to solve the problem without doing that. Maybe between him, Isaac and Natalia, they could come up with something.
Grace’s hand moved, sliding until she could touch her father. “Shurrath. Weak. The bond.”
Hayden looked at Cyrus. “Bond?”
“Connected.”
“Your father and Shurrath?”
“Pozz.”
“Permanent?”
“No.”
“So I need to take Shurrath into custody...and fast.”
“Pozz.”
“Okay. I’m getting you back to Sanisco first.”
She laughed as best she could, coughing up blood. “Dead woman. Leave me.”
“I don’t leave people.”
“Good man, Sheriff Duke. But go. No time.”
“I should stay.”
“No.” She patted her father. “We’re good.”
Hayden rose to his feet, looking down at her. She slumped sideways, lying across the floor and resting her head on her father’s chest. He bit his lower lip to keep from weeping at the sight, ignoring the tears in his eyes.
“Thanks for all you did, Grace,” he said. “You might have saved the whole planet.”
She didn’t respond. She was gone.
There was nothing more Hayden could do for her now but turn away, shifting his focus to the world outside. He could hear the roar of the car’s engine a few streets away, along with the following gunfire. He went back to the window. He had used the strength of his augments to scale the side of the building, wondering if it was going to collapse with each pull. Going down would be a lot easier.
He blinked his eyes to activate the Skin’s shields. Then he jumped.
The ground came up in a hurry, meeting the shields as he hit. Blue energy crackled all around him, but he landed as though he had taken a short hop, the impact absorbed by the Skin. He smiled at the outcome, though it faded slightly when he saw the symbols in the corner of the HUD change. Was he running out of stored power already?
Bullets started hitting him before he even had time to turn the shields off. He pivoted, drawing his revolvers again and finding a militant near the side of the building. He returned fire, a single shot hitting the man in the chest and knocking him down.
The car was moving horizontally to him, a couple of blocks away. He sprinted down the street, desperate to intercept it.
At first, he had wondered if he had made a mistake to turn west instead of continuing south. He and Max had spent two hours heading in that direction before he had reconsidered, a nagging in his subconscious convincing him he was making a mistake. He had always trusted his instincts, honed from being a fourth generation lawman. While a part of him wanted to ignore the gnawing in his gut, his broader sense of duty overwhelmed him in the end. His job was to protect people. Leaving Isaac on his own was the opposite of that. Maybe Ike was a Marine, but this wasn’t the world he had grown up in, and Hayden knew from experience how challenging that could be.
He had stopped questioning the decision when he and Max spotted the checkpoint in the road leading toward Tijuana, the more silent approach of the horses and the enhanced vision of the Intellect Skin allowing them to spot the enemy before the enemy saw them. They had watched Shurrath’s followers load Isaac into the car and head off toward the city. Then they had gone into the small, windowless building, killed the men who were left inside and taken one of their cars. The action had left them a few minutes behind Isaac, far enough behind they weren’t noticed but close enough to still help Isaac.
The Skin made it easy. The militants outside the sphere hadn’t questioned the two new arrivals. They recognized he and Max as Dutch and Matthias from previous encounters. They trusted both as loyal followers of the Relyeh ancient. The disguises had gotten them close.
It wasn’t quite close enough, but then fate had intervened. Or rather, history had intervened. Hayden had discovered along the way that the Intellect which had been cut into pieces and buried in the vault beneath the Pilgrim was the same one that had escaped from Dugway over two hundred years earlier, it had unwittingly provided Hayden an unexpected means of intervention in the present. It had taken a scan of Cyrus Salk. The find had opened up a whole new dimension for Hayden to pass as Cyrus. Thankfully, Shurrath’s occupation of the Major had stopped him from aging at all over the years, leaving the scan close enough to pass for the real thing. A closer inspection might have revealed some differences, but the inside of the theater was darkly lit.
The outcome had been nearly perfect.
But not perfect enough.
Yes, Cyrus was dead, but so was Grace. Hayden had learned Shurrath was using a goliath to destroy the cities of the United Western Territories, and he was currently racing to intercept a moving target being followed by who knew how many trife and enemy soldiers.
And time was running out.
Chapter 43
Hayden was almost at the intersection. He saw the mod car approaching to his left and the soldiers closing from the right. They were already firing on the modbox, sending round after round pinging off the heavy steel plates. Max shot back from the rear seat of the car—holding his rifle out the window, past the protective
armor, and firing nearly blindly—somehow hitting the enemy more often than he missed. A pair of militants fell back from the barrage, while the others tried to find cover.
“Max!” Hayden shouted, trying to get the Intellect’s attention over the noise. He saw Max turn his head and then say something to Isaac.
The car screeched along the asphalt, the brakes working to stop the heavy machine, the worn tires unable to find purchase. It skidded a dozen meters before shuddering to a stop a short distance away.
Hayden was there to meet it. Though the car wasn’t moving, the rumbling of other engines was still loud around them. They were about to have company.
“Where’s Grace?” Isaac shouted as Hayden pulled himself in through the right passenger window, nearly falling into Max’s lap.
“Gone,” Hayden replied sourly, straightening up and looking behind them. A large armored vehicle was coming up from the rear, its big knobby tires and spiked, armored grill the only thing visible from his position. “We need to move. Now!”
“Roger,” Isaac replied, putting the car back in motion. Rounds were still hitting it from the front, sparking off the metal that obscured all but the slimmest view of the road ahead. The heavy modbox didn’t accelerate quickly, the armored truck quickly gaining ground on them.
“What about Cyrus?” Max asked.
“Also gone,” Hayden replied. “Watch out!”
A second car pulled out in front of the street ahead, resting horizontally across it. At first, Hayden thought the passengers would start firing at them as they approached.
Then someone climbed out on the other side, bringing a rocket launcher to rest across the roof.
“Shit!” Isaac said, hitting the brakes and cutting the wheel, the car skidding and slipping as it struggled to change direction. The maneuver was somehow enough. The rocket went past them, close enough Hayden could hear the whine of its motor as it zipped by. It hit the ground a few seconds later, detonating ahead of the armored truck, which rolled right through the field of smoke and debris.
Max fired at the car through the passenger window on his side, hitting the truck driver. Isaac straightened them out again, accelerating toward the rear of the vehicle in front of them. The shooter ducked behind it, reaching inside to grab another rocket.