The reach of her protocol expanded, subjugating his muscular system, hijacking his perceptions, superseding conscious control of his body, and then finally sequestering his bewildered consciousness to an isolated corner of the mind normally reserved for the storage and recollection of memory. She had no need of his memories, after all, and Haley found that her possessions were more effective if her host was trapped and captivated by a world composed entirely of his own memories, rather than becoming the equivalent of a backseat driver in their mind, screaming and attempting to wrest control of the wheel from her.
The process took twenty seconds – longer than usual, given his nanite-enhanced system and implanted psychic protections. Haley was in control of Trevor Mann.
One of the other rogue Operators was shaking Trevor, trying to jar him from the fit that had left him drooling and convulsing, bent over the rifle that had held Alex firmly in its crosshairs only moments before.
“Trevor? Are you okay? Were you hit?”
Haley made his face smile, struggling to operate the unfamiliar facial muscles.
“I’m fine,” he/she said, pausing to spit out the mouthful of bile that his stomach had kicked up during their brief battle for control. Incidentally, Trevor had also soiled his underwear, bit his tongue severely, and suffered a series of small strokes that would forever impair his ability to walk without dragging his left foot, but Haley didn’t think that would be much of an issue, given how soon he would be dead. “I think they tried something telepathic?”
Inside the room, she could see how cunningly the building had been prepared. Though the outside of the building was little more than oxidized metal and peeling latex paint, the interior was metal lined and effectively bulletproof. Each of the three rogue Operators had a mobile shooting rest established next to one of the windows, firing out of precut slits in the bulletproof Lexan that had been installed in place of the glass, along with enough ammo to fight a small war. It was no wonder that Katya’s well-aimed shots had no effect on them.
“Are you sure? Your voice sounds weird, and...are you bleeding?”
The Operator studied Trevor Mann with a mixture of concern and suspicion, and Haley felt the vague tingling that signaled the onset of a telepathic probe. Time to move.
Trevor Mann placed the muzzle of his Colt against the stomach of his concerned companion, at the point where two Kevlar plates almost met, and pulled the trigger three times, armor-piercing slugs tearing through his flak jacket and bursting out the back, blood splattering against the ceiling of the reinforced room. The man coughed and tumbled forward onto Trevor, sending both of them to the ground.
The other rogue Operator abandoned his rifle in confusion, reaching for his own pistol while he tried to sort out exactly what was going on with his two companions. Trevor Mann struggled out from beneath the body of the dying man at Haley’s insistence, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. She forced him to stand, and Trevor nearly tumbled face-forward, reeling across the room like a drunken man, his face frozen in the rictus of a cadaver, with blood and saliva leaking from the side of his rigid mouth.
“Trevor...what the fuck, man?”
Three meters. Haley forced him to lurch forward, struggling to keep him upright as Trevor Mann fought to reassert control over his subverted body. He had little success, but he did make controlling the unfamiliar body more difficult.
“Stop right there,” the Operator ordered, leveling his own Colt. “I’m serious. Another step and I shoot.”
That suited Haley just fine, so she continued on, a pistol clenched in Trevor’s right hand. The Operator opened fire, and Haley felt the impact of the slugs in Trevor Martin’s chest and stomach, partially blunted by the flak jacket, but still bruising flesh and chipping bone. While Haley felt the impact, she felt none of the pain; she had left that particular sensory input for the body’s original owner. Trevor Mann cried out, trapped in a corner of his own mind, assailed by pain and memory, while Haley drove his body relentlessly forward in the face of gunfire. Her possessed body absorbed another round that tore away his right ear and blinded one eye, and another that mangled his left shoulder, shredding bone and ligament. Then she was close enough to half tackle, half fall on the other Operator, taking another shot to the chest in the process, this one penetrating partway through the Kevlar plate. Under normal circumstances, Trevor Mann probably would have blacked out, but Haley was not dismayed.
She forced the Colt against the Operator’s throat, and then pulled the trigger until the gun stopped firing, and the Operator was left gurgling and clutching at his torn esophagus and the blood spurting from his severed jugular. Haley ignored him, rolling over and studying Trevor Mann’s belt with his remaining good eye, finding what she was looking for after a few moments of struggling to focus his blurry vision. The last few movements were relatively simple, then she abandoned his body, floating out and up toward the ceiling like a cartoon illustration of the soul leaving the body.
Trevor Mann regained his senses and control of his body just in time to realize that he was holding a live grenade to his chest.
The bulletproof room did a good job containing the explosion.
***
Alex fired until his magazine was depleted, then tossed it aside and slammed another home, accidentally burning the side of his little finger on the hot barrel. He was firing mostly blind, as he could not risk sticking his head far enough out of cover to use the reflex sight. Katya seemed to be picking her shots more carefully beside him, lying prone with the barrel of her gun carefully threaded through a hole in the body of the car, but he hadn’t thought to find any such vantage before the bullets started flying, and he was too panicked to do so now.
A few meters away, Min-jun’s barrier absorbed the brunt of the fire from the occupied warehouse while Mitsuru calmly picked her shots from behind it. Despite the situation, Alex found himself remembering the night she had saved him from the Weir, in the park not far from his high school, under an ugly jaundiced moon.
“Fuck!”
Katya’s swearing jarred him back to the present. He glanced over at her, and was horrified to see that she was clutching her left hand, blooding dripping from a wound just above the wrist.
“Oh, shit! Are you okay, Katya?”
Alex stumbled to the opposite side of the car, crouching over her protectively. He leaned forward, past the limited protection the wrecked car provided, and shouldered his rifle. He sighted on the charging Weir, flipped the fire selector to automatic, and opened up, firing a long burst and then readjusting the rifle to compensate for muzzle climb. He dropped the first Weir, then started in on the second. When that one fell, he turned the weapon on the warehouse, expending the rest of the magazine on the unseen shooter that had wounded Katya. He did not retreat back behind the car until the clip was spent. Then he fell back under cover, his back to the car and his shoulder pressed against Katya, tossing the rifle aside and tugging the first-aid kit from a pouch at his belt.
“Are you okay? How bad is it?”
Katya grinned at him, her face pale.
“I’m good. Went through the meat,” she explained shakily, holding up her hand so he could see the rounded chunk that was missing from the side of her hand below her little finger. “I’ll live.”
“Fuck. I thought...”
“I know. It’s cool. Calm down.”
Alex realized what he had done, leaning out into the field of fire, and was almost sick on the spot. He fought back dizziness and nausea with an effort, not wanting to lose whatever points he had just gained by throwing up in Katya’s lap.
“Did they stop shooting?” Katya cocked her head, as if she could hear anything over the racket that Min-jun’s rifle made. “I think they stopped.”
“Holy shit,” Alex said, glancing at his discarded rifle. “Did I get them?”
Mitsuru might have yelled something. There was no time to be sure.
The Weir leapt atop the wreck of the car they crouched behind
. It was silver and transformed into a monstrous wolf-human hybrid, matted coat covered in intermingled blood. It vaulted from the wreck and dove down at them, all claws and teeth.
Alex grabbed for it, one hand latching to its shoulder, the other clenching around the Weir’s ear. He pulled sideways and shifted beneath, wrenching the thing as hard as he could. The Weir landed half on top of him, one shoulder hitting him square in the chest, while the other slammed into the pavement. The air was forced from his chest in one agonizing blow, but Alex held on to the Weir, twisting the ear and digging his thumb into the hollow of its shoulder, searching for a pressure point, while attempting to drive his knee into the Weir’s exposed genitals.
The Weir howled and struck at Alex with its free arm, claws tearing through three layers of Kevlar and dragging painfully along the top of his sternum, without quite breaking through to pierce the skin. It lunged forward, attempting to bite out his throat, and Alex twisted its ear, trying to force its head back. The Weir twisted and its teeth snapped shut short of his throat, the beast close enough that Alex could feel the foul warmth of its breath on his face. He abandoned his hold on its shoulder and fumbled for the knife sheathed at his waist.
It snarled and again tried to tear out his throat, claws digging into Alex’s upper arms, and again he twisted the ear. In a horrifying moment, Alex felt something give, and realized that the ear had torn free of the Weir’s head in the struggle. The Weir howled and Alex tossed the severed ear aside in disgust. The Weir lunged for him again and Alex just managed to get his arm up between them in time, the powerful jaws closing on his forearm. The Weir’s teeth embedded in the armor plate on the top of his arm, but sank freely into the soft flesh on the underside. Alex cried out as he found the hilt of his knife, tugging it free of the sheath and bringing it up to his chest. The Weir shook its head, teeth shredding Alex’s forearm and splattering him with blood. Then the Weir released its bite, digging its claws further into Alex’s shoulders while it raised its head. Before it could attack his exposed throat, Alex shoved the knife up with all the force he could summon with his shoulders pinned, driving the point through the bottom of the Weir’s jaw and up into its mouth. The Weir reeled, and Alex freed his other arm, putting more force behind the knife, attempting to force it up into the Weir’s head.
The Weir leaned forward, all of its weight sagging onto Alex and crushing his torso, impaling its own head on his knife. It took a moment before he realized that it had stopped fighting, the savage eyes gone suddenly dull. Katya helped roll the Weir off of him, shoving the body aside so he could scramble free.
“Are you okay?” Katya asked urgently, taking inventory of his injuries. “Where are you hurt?”
“I think I’m fine,” Alex said, inspecting the puncture wounds on the inside of his arm. “Mostly. Did you get it?”
“I finished it off,” Katya admitted modestly. “You did most of the hard work.”
Alex extracted the Glock from its holster on his side with his good arm and chambered a round.
“Are there more?”
Katya’s nodded, both hands balled into fists, needles protruding from between her fingers.
“You ready?”
“Yeah,” Alex said, aware that he actually meant it. “Let’s do it.”
Katya moved, and he followed close behind, clearing the wrecked car, staying low and dashing to cover. Alex fired a handful of shots before he realized what was happening.
The warehouse was little more than smoldering wreckage. The remaining Weir were not charging as much as they were crawling aimlessly, howling as they burned. From the midst of the burning wreckage, Xia strode calmly out, the light of the fire reflecting from the treated surface of his goggles.
***
Emily pulled the Changeling behind her as she ran through the hallways, following the map she memorized, that Vivik had inadvertently obtained for her weeks before. Every few meters, Eerie stumbled, but Emily tugged her onward mercilessly, forcing her back to her feet if she didn’t care to be dragged on her knees. Whatever injection Eerie had received continued to ravage her system, and she moved with all the grace and self-possession of a rag doll.
Despite herself, Emily felt a passing pang of sympathy.
The Far Shores personnel they passed simply watched with wide, terrified eyes, or fled at the sight. Either was fine with Emily. She had killed a number of security personnel on her way in, trapping them in flooded corridors or blasting them with pressurized jets of water, and then done the same to another group she had encountered while searching for Eerie. If she didn’t have to fight any more of them, that would save her some hassle.
Despite the incident with the dog, Emily basically felt good about the operation. The plan hinged on timing, and by her internal clock Emily was running a few minutes early.
She found the right hallway on her third try, determined not to get lost in the winding interior of the laboratories secreted in the subterranean heart of the power plant. Fortunately this portion of the facility was built directly below the massive cooling tanks, so it was little trouble for Emily to create enough pressure to punch a hole in the ceiling and bore through a half-meter of concrete to access the enormous supply of water. She allowed Eerie to rest sprawled out against the side of the hall while Emily stood beneath the steady flow of water her breach had created as if she were standing in the shower, waiting for sufficient volume to accumulate to tear open the laboratory security door.
“Catch your breath,” Emily advised. “We have a minute.”
Eerie looked dazed and dismayed – but then again, her eyes were strange under normal circumstances, so interpreting her expression was never much more than guesswork.
“Why would you help me?”
Eerie’s voice was shrill, her throat tight with fear and confusion. Emily would have paid good money for a picture of the way Eerie held her head in her hands, as if her whole world had come tumbling down. That was a certain measure of revenge, in and of itself.
Not enough, of course. Not nearly.
“I’m not helping you,” Emily snapped, stepping out of the steadily increasing stream of water to crouch beside the Changeling. “That’s not what this is about.”
“What is it about, then?”
“Putting them in their place,” Emily explained, jerking her thumb back to indicate the laboratory they had fled. “The Far Shores.”
“Why?”
“They had an opportunity to cooperate with the Anathema. They passed on said opportunity, and now they are experiencing the consequences.” Emily smiled at Eerie, who was shifting along the wall to avoid the growing pool of water. “You’ll understand soon enough.”
Eerie shook her head.
“I don’t believe you,” the Changeling said firmly, her misplaced confidence rattling Emily slightly.
“What do you mean?” Emily tried to laugh, but it came off wrong – the sound was hollow and unconvincing. “Don’t act like you know things, okay? You couldn’t possibly understand what it is that’s happening right now.”
“I’m not so sure,” Eerie stood up slowly, one hand against the wall for support. “I’m not stupid, you know.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Emily admitted. “So what?”
“Emily, do you hate me?”
Emily studied the Changeling closely, hunting for any sign of mockery or superiority, but she learned nothing at all from her impassive face.
“Not anymore. Maybe a little, at first.”
Eerie tucked her knees to her chest, and leaned her head back to rest against the wall. Her skin was flushed red, and her thyroid gland was visibly swollen.
“What do you want me to do?”
Again with the infuriating sincerity that forced Emily to curb her desire to lash out. She wished the water flow would increase faster.
“What do you mean?” Emily asked contemptuously.
“So you won’t be angry with me,” Eerie explained, looking ill, with her eyes half
closed. “We always used to get along. You were one of the nice ones.”
“I think we are a bit passed all that,” Emily said, laughing nervously. “You must have noticed by now that I tried to remove you.”
“You mean the fake email during the Anathema attack? Steve and Charles at the old PE building? I thought maybe that was an accident or something, a mistake on your part. They really wanted to hurt me, you know.”
“That was the general idea, actually.”
“Why?”
Emily didn’t want to be annoyed. It messed with the feeling of superiority she was trying to cultivate. She had moved beyond the Academy, embracing her new role and her life in the Outer Dark. Her time in Central had not been happy, she reminded herself, and the Changeling had been a key part of that misery. It was important to remember that she had been justified – after all, they had taken every other option away from her.
“Because you remind me of being weak,” Emily said bitterly. “I know I never told you this, Eerie, but by now even you should understand – I don’t like you. I don’t care what happens to you at all – actually, I hoped that Steve and Charles would take care of you for me. It wasn’t hard to persuade them, you know. Nobody likes you.”
“Not true,” Eerie said, biting her lip. “Alex likes me. And that’s why you’re angry.”
“No. Don’t be stupid. This is hardly just about some boy,” Emily snapped. “That’s why I didn’t like you back then. Now I have a whole new set of reasons.”
“Then why did you help me?”
Emily sighed, frustrated. She checked the time and the water pressure, but it would still be another couple of minutes before she could break down the door and start doing what she had come here to do.
“I have a new job, these days.” Emily’s mood was buoyed just by the mention of her current importance. “I’m not the pathetic, lonely girl that you remember. I’m not weak like you. I have responsibilities now – and little as I might like it, saving you was one of them. Don’t worry, though – your safety is a temporary condition. Central is doomed, you know.”
The Far Shores (The Central Series) Page 50