Deprecated

by Michael Karr

  The man let out an angry cry of pain.

  Not allowing him even a second to recover, Rylee followed the heel jab with an elbow to his chin. The contact was solid. A crunch sounded in her ear. A grunt of pain. He staggered backward, and she turned to run. She still had time—though precious little—to make it. She fully remembered her task now.

  Strong arms seized her from behind, holding her in a bear hug that forced the air from her lungs.

  “I was going to be gentle,” the man growled. “But now you force me to be rough.”

  Rylee threw her head backward, intending to bash his nose or teeth. But her neck only whipped, her head hitting nothing. Curse these PNUs. His reflexes were too good. One of his hands moved from her middle to her throat, and started to squeeze. Using her manicured nails as weapons, she clawed at his hands. Still, his grip held firm.

  Again, she tried to jab his foot. He easily evaded. It was growing harder for her to breathe. If she didn’t do something fast, she would be unconscious, or worse.

  Think, Rylee. Think.

  The pistol!

  If only she could…there. She broke her right arm free, and started blindly swiping at his head with it. He dodged without difficulty. But it didn’t matter. She merely wanted to distract him. To get him to expend precious PNU processing power on avoiding her harmless blows.

  Slowly, carefully, she moved her left hand down, down. For the first time that night, she felt grateful that her skirt was so short. With shaking fingers, she grabbed the pistol from its holster strapped to her thigh and pulled it free. Blackness started to creep into the edges of her vision. She had to do something now.

  The pistol in her left hand—the wrong hand—she pointed the muzzle at the floor, hoped she didn’t hit her own foot, and pulled the trigger. Whether the shot was true or not, she didn’t know or care. The earsplitting bang of the gun startled her captor just enough that his grip loosened. Like a feral cat, she ripped herself free of his grasp, whirling around as she moved away. Bringing the gun up as she spun, she fired off two rounds, sweeping from left to right.

  The creep managed to dodge the first shots, but the second caught him in the chest. A grunt forced its way from his lips, and he sank to the floor, eyes wide.

  Then Rylee turned and ran. Whether the gunshot wound proved fatal, she didn’t know. And she wasn’t about to waste another bullet. It was enough to stop him. That’s all that mattered. Kicking off her accursed shoes, she reactivated her PNU and dashed forward.

  Rounding a corner, she entered the hallway that connected to the laboratory. She could only hope that by a profound miracle she still had time, and that no one heard the gunshot. Maybe Grayson’s EMP frazzled hearing, as well.

  Her PNU vision glowed inside her mind, illuminating the doorway up ahead that she needed to reach. How much time?

  Five seconds.

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  Willing her legs to move faster, she ran with every ounce of strength she could summon.

  Three seconds.

  Come on…

  She nearly collided with the door when she finally reached, the door handle jabbing into her side. It didn’t matter. Her hand was on the handle. Instantly, the same exchange she experienced at the morgue started. The wordless request for her security certificate. Her relinquish of it. The click of the door as it unlocked.

  A push. And she was inside, panting heavily. She checked her time. Three seconds over.

  Blast it! Had they seen her through the cameras? That perverted jerk in the hallway…of all the girls to try and ensnare at the party, why did he have to choose her? Now she wished she’d spent another bullet on him. Right where he really deserved it.

  She re-holstered Adrianna’s pistol. The subcompact semiautomatic had just saved her life. Maybe Adrianna wasn’t as bad as she seemed.

  Four rounds remained in the gun. Way too few. If the guards had spotted her, and were coming after her, she’d need to make every shot count. What she wouldn’t give to have her rifle at that moment. Curse this dress. It barely hid her own body. If she could have worn Norm clothing, she would have been better armed. And that creep in the hallway probably wouldn’t have tried to…do whatever he was planning.

  This was no time for cursing her absurd wardrobe. She needed to act—quickly. She strode deeper into the lab. If the guards came after her, she could claim she panicked, trying to get away from Sleazeball in the hallway. Which was not entirely a lie.

  Before her, a white corridor stretched for a good fifty yards. White tile floor. White walls. White ceiling and lights. White. She blinked a few times. Rylee had never seen so much white before. If possible, it was brighter than the bathroom.

  Numerous doors lined both walls, at uneven intervals. She stopped at the first on the left, opened it without the need for PNU nonsense, and stepped inside. A large storage closet. She scanned the room quickly, and spotted what she was looking for. A short rack of white lab coats, all neatly hung in a row. Taking one of the coats, she pulled it on over her dress and stepped back into the corridor.

  Should she see any other workers in the lab, the white coat was supposed to help her look less conspicuous. Because a girl wearing a lab coat over a party dress, excessive makeup, and no shoes would not look the least out of place. Right. Well, she would just have to hope that everyone else was at the party.

  A bank of elevators stood at the end of the corridor. Her destination was on the fifteenth floor. As she made her way toward them, she activated her PNU’s probing mechanism. It would alert her of any others around. Grayson had told her this was a normal practice in the labs. Unfortunately, this would also mean anyone else probing the labs would see her. A trade-off. Just like Adrianna’s pistol. Sacrifice handling, firepower, and capacity for concealability.

  Reaching the elevators, she called it by pressing one of the buttons. Vaguely, she realized this would be her first time riding in an elevator. Probably her last, too.

  A ding and a glowing light alerted her that one of the cars had arrived. The left-most elevator doors parted, and she stepped inside and pressed the button for the fifteenth floor. Rylee breathed out, releasing some of the tension in her muscles. Maybe she could do this, after all. Maybe she wouldn’t get caught.

  As the elevator doors closed, she watched the corridor, eager to see it disappear. Without warning from her PNU, the laboratory doors at the opposite end of the corridor burst open, and several gray-suited bodyguards spilled in.

  The elevator doors shut a second later. But not before the gray suits saw her.

  Would they know what floor she was going to? They could probe her. That was as good as knowing. Why hadn’t the gray suits appear in her probe? Did they have some sort of immunity to it?

  Her stomach lurched as the elevator zoomed upwards, and her mind reeled to come up with a plan. How many of the gray suits had she seen? Five. Wow, her memory—even under duress—was amazingly accurate. Calm. Be Calm. Immediately, she felt calmer. Maybe too calm. Was her PNU doing this?

  A plan. I need a plan.

  The elevator stopped moving with a jerk. She looked up. It wasn’t on the fifteenth floor. Or any floor, for that matter. She jabbed frantically at the buttons. Nothing worked. Voices reached her from somewhere down below. Muffled men’s voices. She couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  How to get out? If the gray suits had stopped the elevator, could they also recall it? She didn’t want to find out.

  If there was ever a time for her PNU to come to her rescue, it was now. Nothing came.

  She looked up and noticed a recessed square in the ceiling of the elevator car. The escape hatch. Could she escape through that? According to Serghei’s movies, it was possible. Of course, according to Serghei’s movies people could also fire a .45 pistol with one hand and easily hit someone over forty yards away. Total tripe. Just as shooting that padlock had proven.

  Still, she didn’t see any other options. The ceiling was just out of reach, if
she stretched out her arms and fingertips. Jumping up, she pushed against it with the flats of her hands. The escape hatch jostled slightly, but didn’t fly open as she hoped. Was it locked? Again, she tried, this time jumping higher and hitting it harder. Same result. Again. Nothing.

  Of course it would be locked. Curse elevators and the person who invented them. She should have taken the stairs. Stairs didn’t stop letting you go up and down at the whim of gun-toting gray-suited Elects. What next? What good was her blasted PNU if it failed to do anything for her now?

  Maybe she could shoot a hole in the ceiling. A stupid idea. Not only did she not have near enough bullets to try it, but she didn’t know what the car’s exterior was made of. The bullets could ricochet. And bouncing bullets were not cool.

  Couldn’t her PNU control the elevator, too? If she figured out the magic commands, maybe she could override what the gray suits had done.

  Focusing her thought on her PNU, she attempted a few commands. Go up. Up. Tenth floor. Open…

  Abruptly, the elevator dropped downward, sending her stomach colliding with her lungs. She gasped, and held out her hands to steady herself, her reflexes responding with Elect speed. But as quickly as the car dropped, it halted again. Rylee looked around, suspicious. Had she done that?

  Then the display over the doors indicated the fifth floor. A ding sounded. Not waiting to see what would happen next, Rylee drew out her pistol, pressed herself into the corner, and aimed at the doors, just as they began to open.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Only four rounds left. Four rounds and at least five grays suits. Perfect. If she managed not to get killed, she planned to let Grayson know how much she hated his plans.

  The doors moved like they were being open by slugs. Her PNU-accelerated visual processing, spurred by her surge of adrenaline, made everything appear to move slower than it actually was.

  Did a line of gray suits stand waiting for her on the other side of that door? An empty corridor? An unsuspecting lab worker who called the elevator?

  Whoever it was, they likely wouldn’t expect to find a girl wrapped in a lab coat around a party dress, gun blazing. For that was exactly what she intended. Surprise was her only ally. If it was even possible to surprise an Elect already on alert.

  Rylee adjusted her grip on Adrianna’s pistol. A smaller gun meant a smaller grip to hold. The doors crept open. A sliver of light divided the reflective steel surface of the doors. Wider. An inch wide.

  She still didn’t see anything. Nothing that could be a person. Wider.

  Still no one.

  Wider.

  Just open already.

  By the time the doors were mostly halfway open, she realized she wasn’t going to get an easy shot at anyone. Likely, they waited on the periphery of the doors, out of the line of sight—and gunfire. They would have the advantage of surprise in that case. Unless…

  Without giving it a second thought, and as the doors continued to draw apart, she ducked, and charged forward.

  Rylee didn’t slow down as she crossed the threshold to the elevator. Or as she turned to the side, pistol raised, and fired. Not pausing to see if the gray suit standing there was hit, she turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees, letting off another round at the gray suit on the other side. That gray suit returned fire almost the same instant, but she dodged—how did she dodge? This wasn’t possible. What she was doing wasn’t possible. How did she move like this?

  The other three gray suits…where were they?

  Springing toward the gray suit who’d just fired at her, she raised her gun with one hand and fired. But it was only a diversion. At the same instant, she kicked, striking his right knee. With a grunt, the gray suit went down. Then she whipped around and fired off her last round at the other gray suit.

  He’d only held off shooting at her for fear of hitting his comrade. More often than not, bullets passed through human bodies without trouble—especially with the wrong kind of ammo.

  The gray suit dodged and returned fire. She moved to the right, anticipating the shot, while she kicked at the gun in the fallen gray suit’s hand. She needed that gun. Another shot fired at her. Dodged.

  She couldn’t dodge all day. And the cursed gray suit on the floor wouldn’t let go of his blasted gun.

  Focused on the gray suit firing at her, she didn’t notice the hand until it had already grabbed her ankle. Before she could even attempt to jerk herself free, the gray suit on the floor gave a powerful tug that yanked her legs out from under her. Even as she fell, her PNU took control of her muscles as it calculated her landing. A fall like that ought to have caused her to crash into the polished floor, her shoulder taking the full brunt of the blow. Instead, she rolled out of it, her hand and arm expertly guiding her to a smooth landing, as though it were a maneuver she’d practiced a thousand times before. But the injured gray suit was already prepared for her.

  A mace-like fist slammed into her side. Pain rippled through her body. And she doubled over.

  No pain. No pain. Ignore it! Desperate, she tried to fight back the pain. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She kicked her leg, hoping to strike the man in the jaw. He caught her foot, and jerked, twisting it into an unnatural angle. Pain exploded from her leg. She cried out, believing her bones would splinter and break at any moment.

  Too much! Too much pain. She was useless. She couldn’t move.

  Pain.

  From someplace far outside her abyss of agony, she heard voices. Nothing made sense. Then the pain in her leg subsided. Her side still throbbed, but she was free.

  Pushing off the floor with a burst of energy, she turned and hunched, ready to fight back. What she saw made her heart freeze.

  Preston stood in the middle of the hallway, his eyes wide, a gray suit behind him, the blade of a dagger resting beneath Preston’s chin.

  “That’s enough, Miss Day. I don’t want to have to bring harm to your friend.”

  Rylee shifted her eyes, scanning the scene. The other three gray suits were now present. And Grayson. And the CA. He was the one who’d spoken. He stood, looking at her with a placid expression on his face, his hands clasped behind his back. Despite the CA’s imposing posture, and the guns trained on her, her eyes locked back onto Preston.

  Still alive. Relief flooded her. But what was he doing here? What was the CA doing with him? And why had the CA called her by her last name, her real last name?

  She lowered Adrianna’s gun, activated its thumb safety—even though it was empty—and dropped it to the floor. She wouldn’t fight anymore, not while they held Preston like that.

  “I appreciate your cooperation,” the CA said. “Now, you’ll come with me up to my office for a little chat. I assure you, Mr. Hyde will be well taken care of.”

  The gray suits ushered her into an elevator car. Rylee felt a surge of panic at being separated from Preston so soon. She tried to say something, but the grey suits moved her too quickly. In a flash, Preston was gone.

  Rylee’s mind was so frazzled by the turn of events, that she was only vaguely aware when the elevators stopped, and the gray suits forced her out of the car. And not until they exited did she notice Grayson was also being led. The gray suits took them into a room that seemed as expansive as Duncan’s Warehouse.

  “Have a seat, please,” The CA said, gesturing to some padded chairs in front of a desk. Rylee glanced at the chairs. They were chairs that didn’t have holes in their upholstery, or boast hideous, faded colors.

  Neither she nor Grayson sat.

  “Let Rylee go, father,” Grayson demanded. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “There’s a body with a bullet hole in its chest that would indicate otherwise,” the CA replied calmly.

  “He attacked me,” Rylee said, finally breaking out of her stupor.

  “I don’t doubt it,” the CA replied. “William will go and explain your story to Chief O’Connor, who is more than anxious to know your whereabouts right now. He’s not needed in ou
r little discussion, anyway.”

  “What’s this all about?” Grayson said.

  “I have a few questions for Miss Day,” the CA replied. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

  “Malarkey!” Grayson snorted. “What’s really going on?”

  “That’s my business, son. Now go and tell Chief O’Connor that Miss Day will be down shortly. We need to treat any injuries she suffered during her attack.”

  “I’m no fool, father. I know you’re involved in the murders—somehow.”

  The CA didn’t even flinch at the accusation, but only raised his eyebrows. “That’s immensely clever of you,” he said, his tone mocking. “But you’re powerless to either prove it, or do anything to stop me. Now go.”

  Grayson’s nostrils flared as he silently considered his father. Then he turned, casting Rylee a furtive glance, and walked out.

  “Sit,” the CA commanded, once Grayson was gone.

  Rylee obeyed. She was glad to sit. What had just happened? Grayson outright accused his father of being involved in the murders, and his father didn’t deny it?

  The CA sat down on the front of his desk, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his suit coat. He neither smiled nor scowled. Yet his look made Rylee shiver inside. “I’m not one for drama, so I won’t hold you in suspense,” he said. “I have an important job for you.”

  He paused. So much for nixing the drama.

  “I need you,” he finally said, “to kill my son, William.”

  What! Rylee inhaled as though that gray suit had punched her squarely in the gut again. Kill Grayson? His own son?

  “Why?” was all she could stammer out.

  “That’s my own affair. However, as soon as you kill William, I will exonerate Preston Hyde for any involvement in the killing of Michael Pike, and I will ensure your grandfather is removed from the Deprecation list. Permanently.”