Renegade: The Ten Sigma Series Book 2

by A W Wang

  I check for weapons anyway and find he’s telling the truth. A bit surprised, I drag him into cover, scanning the shadowy landscape.

  “Where are your friends?”

  “Close, I can call on them to surrender if you promise not to kill them.”

  Worried about a trap, I reply, “I won’t promise anything, but if they don’t come, I’ll kill you and track them down.”

  “You spared me in that city. Please trust me, I owe you a life.”

  I tighten my grip on his chest. “I’m not in a very trusting mood.”

  “We could have shot you.”

  “You could have tried, and you would’ve failed. I knew you were following me.”

  He nods. “Fair enough. But we also could have gotten help, and Flying Eagle would have known you were coming.” He swallows hard before hastily adding, “You’re here to murder him, right? I want to help.”

  Surprised but happy with the prospect of not having to kill teenagers, I carefully reply, “We’ll talk, and I promise not to harm your friends unless they try something stupid. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I lean back, releasing my grip from his cloak.

  He takes a deep breath. “Manuel, Alberto, stand up.”

  Across the ravine, two figures rise and raise their hands.

  Five minutes later, we meet at the bottom of the ravine near my speeder.

  Near the edge of the gently flowing water, the three teenagers sit awkwardly in the faint starlight. Javier, who I just ambushed, is sixteen and the leader. Next to him is Alberto, who rubs at the bruise I gave him in the alleyway when I spared his life. The third and youngest by a few months is Manuel. He’s the skinniest of the three.

  For the benefit of my guests, who don’t have enhanced eyesight, I crack a glow stick, which casts an eerie yellow over the rocky surroundings.

  “She’s here to kill Flying Eagle,” Javier announces.

  When I make no move to correct him, the two others nod, grim-faced, sending approving stares.

  Rather than discuss my plans, I ask the trio, “How did you happen to be here, tracking me?”

  Javier answers, “We’re part of the outer patrols. Since the battle, Flying Eagle has been sulking, and he’s paranoid about an attack. This was the most likely path for anyone coming south, so we made sure it was our sector.”

  I frown and make a note to plan my missions better, along less obvious routes.

  “You’re different from anyone else, nicer,” Alberto says. “We were hoping you’d come to kill Flying Eagle.”

  “I’m not so sure nice and kill belong together.”

  “You didn’t kill us when you had the chance,” Javier says.

  Although I’m pretty certain that’s a flaw, I decide against correcting the assessment. “Flying Eagle is your leader. Why are you so willing to betray him?”

  The teens glance at each other, and Javier says, “We’re all from the coast in neighboring towns. One day, the Liberation Front came. The men destroyed a lot of houses and took many people. We followed and joined them to find those missing from our families.”

  “My sister,” Alberto laments.

  Manuel kicks at a rock. “They’ve probably been sold as slaves.”

  Javier says, “You see, too much time has passed. We had to do things to get into their good graces. Awful things.”

  “Necessary things,” Manuel hisses.

  I sigh. They’re only kids. Sure, they’ve seen a lot, but the forces they’re fighting…

  It’s a far different world from the one I left.

  A minute passes while I listen to the trickles of the water and study the fury etching their faces. With a long breath, I decide they deserve the truth. “I’m not here to kill Flying Eagle.”

  They blink and send surprised stares. “Why? What could bring you here if not for that?” Javier says.

  I put up my hands to forestall anyone doing anything stupid. “Flying Eagle is not my friend.”

  “Then, what?”

  “He needs to remain alive because I need him to do something. What that is is between me and him. But I promise, he’ll come off for the worse.”

  When nobody responds, I say, “There are a few things I need to know.”

  “If you aren’t going to kill him, why should we help you?” Manuel says.

  “Because bad things will happen to him.”

  “That man deserves to die,” Alberto says. “He’s been doing terrible things for his amusement.”

  Manuel leans forward until the yellow from the glow stick is directly under his face. “Very terrible things. You have to finish him off.”

  “He might die, but that’s not my mission,” I reply, sounding too much like a ten sigma.

  Javier pushes out his arm and forces Manuel back with a glare. “Enough, she could have killed us in that city, and we owe her our lives. We’ll take care of him ourselves.”

  While neither Manuel nor Alberto looks confident in that outcome, they don’t offer any resistance either.

  Javier turns to me. “We’ll tell you what we know.”

  “Are there any of the special people? Like those in battle-mesh like Princess.”

  They shake their heads. Javier says, “All of them were all killed during the fighting. Whoever that was, did a really good job.”

  Ten sigma efficiency.

  Manuel says, “Many died there. The Liberation Front is spread thin, and many of the camps are empty.”

  “Where’s Flying Eagle?”

  Javier pulls out an electronic device and calls up a map. “There are several encampments, but he’s in the hills with what’s left of the main force.” He taps a location to the south. “Here, with a few guards and women until he can figure out a new plan.”

  “We want to come with you,” Manuel says.

  Understanding their wants and hating to burst their bubble, I say, “Flying Eagle will get his one day.” I hold up my finger. “But for now, I need him alive.”

  “Then after you’re finished,” Javier says.

  “After that, he’s all yours.”

  “We’ll return to the Liberation Front. We might be able to help with whatever comes.”

  “Just be careful.”

  They nod, not needing the advice. Of course, they’ve only survived this long by being careful.

  The teenagers stand when I rise and accompany me to the speeder.

  After I pull the vehicle from the nook, Javier says, “Who are you?”

  I start the engine “You don’t want to know. Only bad stuff happens around me.”

  They step away as I set my goggles and tug up my riding scarf.

  Without a goodbye or backward glance, I head south.

  Forty-Nine

  When I reach the higher elevations south of the Rio Grande, the morning sun has crawled halfway up the sky. I ditch the speeder at the edge of a micro-forest and make my way on foot, past the scattered remains of the Liberation Front. With each step up the steepening terrain, my confidence in Javier’s information grows. Things are exactly as described. The encampments are sparsely populated, and many are wounded.

  I stop, appalled by the sight of what Flying Eagle was doing to amuse himself.

  In the nearby trees, dead men and women dangle from nooses. Cuts and bruises cover their naked, tortured bodies. Ears and various other pieces of flesh are missing, no doubt finding homes as the human trinkets the men of the Liberation Front wear around their necks.

  As I stare, my old self wonders whether these people were taken from New Austin and if I could have helped them. On the other hand, the ten sigma in me decides the macabre sight is designed as an example to prisoners and a warning to the curious.

  I shake my head.

  Although Flying Eagle will hopefully get what’s coming to him, thoughts about the dead are irrelevant for what I need to accomplish.

  Just after midday and past two more clumps of hanging bodies, I arrive at the gourd-shaped valley where t
he main force has encamped. A single, well-guarded dirt road leads in, while high ridges border the remaining three sides.

  I spend the afternoon scouting the outer defenses and planning the attack.

  Then, I wait.

  While lazy clouds drift across the last vestiges of sunset, a queasiness pools in my lower half.

  Like dozens of snakes coiling around my intestines.

  I shiver, rolling my shoulders, perturbed by the slithering feeling of wrongness.

  When night falls, the anticipation of battle quiets the strange sensations, and happy to feel somewhat normal again, I begin the task at hand.

  Under the soft light of the half-moon, I skirt along the right-hand ridge. After eliminating a bunch of unlucky guards hunkering in a line of hastily constructed guard posts, I do a dusty climb to the crest and study the scene below.

  Enough puffy shrubs dot the flat expanse to make movement easy, while the long field of fire is an advantage for me. The bulk of the camp lies to my left, a group of shoddily made shelters lit by scattered campfires. Deeper into the valley, electric generators hum amid sturdier structures.

  Where Flying Eagle is…

  After I descend to level ground, I make a last check of my selected weapons: a knife, pistol, and pulse rifle. With everything set, I head toward the most well-constructed of the buildings near the back ridge.

  As the dark outlines grow, I watch for any signs of treachery, but everything stays still in the distance.

  A heavy breeze swirls past, carrying the faint stench of latrines and the soft wails from unfortunate captives.

  I pause, tightening my lips at the suffering.

  One problem at a time.

  A few cautious steps later, I stop in a long shadow, studying my target.

  Although shabby, the wooden building is raised and affords more comfort than anything in the valley. Dim glows leak from between shuttered windows while dirt and greenery cover the roof as camouflage against overhead spies.

  At the front entrance, two guards sit on the stairs, smoking. The rest of the area is deserted.

  Not believing the good fortune, I touch my nape.

  The spiders are silent.

  This is too easy.

  “Sometimes that’s the way it is,” a ghostly voice says.

  I nod. The situation is similar to one of my first scenarios in the virtual world. The air’s drier, but the bluish moonlight over the scrubland is more than familiar.

  “And we kicked ass,” Suri says in my imagination.

  “I’m the one who’s going to get shot at, so I’m going to be a little careful,” I reply.

  “Remember who you’re dealing with. These guys would have trouble walking and chewing gum at the same time. So yes, sometimes it can be that easy.”

  “That trail of dead guards I left on the way in might be disappointed to hear that.”

  “You saw the people hanging in those trees, and just now, heard the tears in that breeze. Those men got what they deserved.”

  I frown. “Do you want to get to the point?”

  “Things were a lot simpler in the program, weren’t they?”

  “What do you mean?”

  An imaginary hand touches my shoulder, and I picture my best friend from the virtual universe, kneeling next to me.

  She sends a knowing smirk. “Well there, you only needed to stay alive. You didn’t have to worry about all this other stuff,” she says, gesturing at the surroundings.

  “I take it you don’t mean the shrubs.”

  When she snickers, I imagine moonlight jittering over her pretty eyes. “Sometimes, you’ve got to make use of your past.”

  I snort. “This whole time, I’ve been running to my past. I’m finally me.”

  “That’s not the past I’m talking about. You can’t just forget about your other half.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s not healthy.”

  I switch my stare to the north. “Maybe the women and girls I saved from those marauders would like to forget a few things.”

  “They have that option because they don’t have your talents…”

  When I turn to her again, only an empty patch of dirt meets my gaze. I take a deep breath and refocus on the task at hand. After a final check of the vicinity, I rise and follow the shadow to the building.

  The acrid stink of cheap tobacco wafts past as I nestle against the side wall.

  I sling my rifle and draw my knife, edging to the stairs. With the majority of the force guarding the captives near the valley entrance, nobody is around to watch me pounce. The sharp metal slices across the first man’s throat and into the second one’s chest before either realizes he’s dead.

  Heavy male laughter comes from inside while I set the men into resting positions on either side of the shallow staircase.

  I draw my pistol and spend a minute listening to creaking wooden boards and muffled voices, establishing the locations and number of threats. After identifying eleven separate people, I sigh.

  What difference does it make?

  Even with a hundred, they won’t have a chance.

  A slap interrupts the festivities, and a girl shrieks.

  Time to do bad things.

  I stand and rocket my boot into the door.

  The warped wood blasts inward.

  Scents of sex and odors of alcohol roll past as I leap into a smoky space.

  A naked girl turns. An angry red welt lies across her cheek.

  I fire, and the bullet plows through the surprised face behind her shoulder.

  While the shocked man collapses, she flees into a corner.

  I wave my pistol at a young woman only dressed in panties to do the same.

  A tall man, less drunk than the others, reaches for a rifle next to the liquor cabinet.

  I pop him twice in the chest, and he falls, knocking over half-filled bottles of alcohol.

  A third female in skimpy lingerie dives to the floor. A fat man with gold bar insignias rolls behind her, using her body as a shield and grabbing at his pistol.

  Before he can shoot, I blast him, and blood spurts from his eye.

  Crashes come as tables flip on their sides. The remaining five opponents are trying to make a stand.

  A head peers around the makeshift cover.

  I send a bullet into his skull.

  Four left. Three soon-to-be-dead men and Flying Eagle.

  An electronic pistol rises over the top of a barricade and blindly fires pulses.

  I duck to avoid streaks of superheated air, then I leap to the side of the room, shooting behind the fallen table.

  Squishy thuds come from soft flesh, and crimson splashes over the warped floorboards.

  The second-to-last dead man runs past, making a break for the door.

  I step backward and yank on his hair, snapping his neck.

  A naked from the waist down Flying Eagle steps out, wearing an eye-patch on the side of his face with the melted skin. Fury comes from his good eye, and he grabs the nearest chair and charges. As he slips on a puddle of blood expanding across the floor, I sprint to him, faster than he can react, and smash the chair.

  Before he registers any surprise, I deliver a side kick into his ribs.

  He tumbles down the wooden flooring before finally coming to rest as a heap of bruised flesh. Holding his chest and gasping for air, he rolls onto his bare bottom.

  I step toward him, keeping my line of sight above his privates.

  He raises his hands. “Let’s not be hasty. We can talk.”

  My nape tingles, and movement comes from behind the tables.

  I tumble to the side as bullets fly around the room. When the gun clicks empty, I react with lightning speed and jump over the wooden barricade. A gap-toothed man only has time to widen his eyes before I put a hole between them.

  Only Flying Eagle is left.

  The back door opens with a crash.

  Cursing, I eject the empty magazine and reload as I charge after the despot.
When my boots land on the dirt outside, he’s staggering away.

  Shouts come from the rest of the encampment.

  I holster the pistol and pull out my pulse rifle.

  A wall of dark figures approaches from behind the puffs of shrubbery.

  Flying Eagle hollers in a raspy voice, “Get her. Get her.”

  Tentative shots arrive from the newcomers. Because the men are frightened of hitting their fearless leader, most of the pulses zip high.

  I kneel and return fire.

  The barrage decimates their ranks. Dried vegetation bursts into flames, and from beyond, dark silhouettes twist and fall. Screams of agony pierce the night. The short, brutal fight ends a moment later when the surviving portion of the would-be rescue force flees, leaving only the dead and dying in their wake.

  Flying Eagle catches a second wind and runs, the moonlight shining on his pale bottom.

  I switch back to the pistol and charge after him. After a few quick strides, I grab his collar and yank the huge man to the ground.

  He raises his hands as I jam the barrel in his face. Terror widens his good eye, and a puddle soaks the parched dirt between his legs. The corner of his burnt lip doesn’t move when he croaks out, “No. Don’t. I’ll give you anything.”

  His fear engenders nothing but disgust inside me. This man and his allies ruined a city and made slaves of the group I saved.

  And destroyed the lives of countless others…

  My finger tightens on the trigger.

  One easy pull to rid the world of a monster.

  It’s not the mission.

  Sobered by the thought, I grab a fistful of his shirt and say, “I’m not going to kill you.”

  Although blubbers of fear still spill from his lips, his eye brightens with hope. He’s just a bully who got punched in the face.

  I yank him close. “You’re going to take a message to your special friends. If they want answers about those secret programs, then they need to come…”

  Fifty

  After delivering the message, I retreat through what’s left of the Flying Eagle’s guards. No issues arise from the scattering men, and when I reach the speeder, I nap until the first orange of sunrise touches my face.

  As I brush the sleep from my eyes, the rested feeling does nothing to dispel the apprehension leaking into my psyche. Despite Jonathon’s confidence and the easy destruction of the Liberation Front, my next set of opponents promises to be tougher.