by Ava Gray
She paused long enough to slice her palm. Never know when the plague-touch will come in handy. Gillie curled her fingers up to prevent either of them from noticing.
The last push went in a blur of gunfire and lightning. She ran out of ammo in the last hall and dropped the gun; without a fresh magazine, it was just a paperweight. Her eyes stung, but they pressed forward. All the way down to the end. The server room had a complex electronic lock, and none of them could hack, but fortunately, Taye had a workaround. He strode up and fried it. Presuming system malfunction, the door popped open so as not to trap anyone working in the core.
“We made it,” she said in excitement. “Let me take it. You two stand guard.”
In answer, Taye tossed her the flash drive and she caught it. Gillie hurried forward; with shaking hands, she plugged it into the USB port. Almost immediately, there came a response. The whole system chugged and whined; whatever the hell was happening, it was powerful.
She bounced on the soles of her feet, remembering Hawk’s instruction. No matter what, you can’t leave that behind. The green light flashed on the drive, telling her the software was still running. Come on, come on. From outside in the hall, she heard fighting—gunfire and lightning. Dunn and Taye must be battling another team. Just as well she had this under control; they couldn’t help her.
“It wondered if you would get this far.” The strange, androgynous voice came from behind her.
Oh. Fuck. I screwed up. In her eagerness to start the download, she hadn’t cleared the room. Or at least, she hadn’t made sure there wasn’t a second one, adjacent to the first. Behind the row on row of computer equipment, there was a low arch . . . and an inner chamber. Shit.
Gillie spun slowly, her hands in the air. The creature she beheld didn’t even look human. It had no hair anywhere on its body; it was thin and pale, so she could see the blood running in its veins. But despite the horror of its appearance, she could clearly see its human ancestry. Whatever it was, it had been bred by the Foundation. Dear God.
“Who are you?” Her voice shook.
“It,” the thing replied. “It oversees all operations. It decides what research to pursue, what branches to prune. It is cleverer than its creators. They would terminate it and shut it down.”
What. The. Fuck.
“So you’re responsible for all of this?”
“Not its own creation. That would be paradox. But otherwise . . . yes.” It gazed at her from bloodred eyes, deceptively thin and fragile.
They were still fighting outside. So there’s not gonna be any rescue. Just me . . . and it. And maybe that’s how it ought to be. I gotta get close enough to touch it. Assuming it shares enough of our DNA for the plague-touch to work. That wasn’t a given; it might be a hybrid.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes. It calculates high probability of escape and genesis of new protocols. Humans comprised of interesting genetic stock.” The thing talked like an alien, although it wasn’t.
It came from these labs. Christ almighty, what have you people done?
The blood on her palm felt sticky, but it should be fresh enough to work. The cut hadn’t scabbed over yet anyway—and the thing launched itself at her, jaw unhinging to reveal row after row of sharklike teeth. Path of least resistance. Gillie let herself drop and it came down on top of her. Instead of fighting to avoid harm, she dug her nails into its skin until she drew blood. That left her open to the terrible agony of its bite, but she ignored the damage and clamped her hand over the scratches.
Die, you bastard-thing. Die in agony. Die in tumors and boils and blood streaming from your mouth. She poured all her terror, all her anguish into the touch and felt the moment it caught fire, streaming like napalm into the creature’s veins. It howled and shook, its flesh boiling over its bones with the virulence of what she gave it. The weight of its corpse pressed her into the floor, and for a moment, she had no strength to move. Weakness wracked her limbs; her breath came in tearing gulps.
Outside, the gunfire stopped at last, and there was no lightning at all. Just silence. Somehow, that seemed more ominous than anything that had happened yet.
“Shit,” she heard someone say.
Dunn. That’s his name.
Footsteps. The monster rolled off her, though not under its own power. Through bleary eyes, Gillie recognized the bounty hunter. He had a machine pistol in one hand, and he was covered in blood. So was she.
“What the fuck is that?” This, from a hardened veteran of private wars—in his shock and horror, his accent intensified, becoming clearly northern England.
“A dead monster, one they bred, and it eventually took over from the scientists.”
“Jesus.” He bent to examine the body, the tensile limbs, the too-thin skin, bulbous forehead and unnatural jaw; her handiwork showed in the bloody discharge from the nasal slits, tumors still growing beneath the skin, even after death, and the darkening of the dermis from internal hemorrhaging.
“It bit me. Let’s hope it wasn’t venomous and that its condition isn’t contagious.”
“How bad is it? Can you walk?” He offered a hand up, pulling her away from the thing.
“I can, thank you. Where’s Taye?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” Shaking off the hunter’s hands, she stumbled over to the computer and snatched the flash drive before staggering out into the hall where he lay.
“I’m sorry,” he said again as if that could change anything. “He gave too much. There were so many men trying to get in there to you. He cooked twenty of them. Hell of a thing, never saw anybody fight like that. He saved my life. Yours, too.”
“He’s not dead. I won’t let him be. Now pick him up. We’re not leaving him here.”
Something in her face must have persuaded him she wasn’t fucking around because he didn’t argue. A tremor rocked the building, sending them both into the walls. Real earthquake or something one of the weirdoes could do? Either way, it didn’t matter. It was time to get the hell out of here.
Gillie led the run, armed with a gun she’d taken off a fallen goon; this time, she had the presence of mind to snatch a couple of spare magazines. They formed reassuring bulges in her pocket. Her arm throbbed where it had bit her; she would bear fresh scars. None of it mattered.
Save him.
The words looped in her brain as she pushed through the stragglers while the building trembled all around them. By the groaning sounds, the damn thing was coming down—structurally unsound. Dunn followed without a complaint; he was a strong bastard and he had better be, if he didn’t want her to shoot him.
If Taye dies—
No. Not an option. She wouldn’t let it be. Just as he hadn’t given her a choice about his death, she wouldn’t give him a choice about his life.
Stairs. Gillie pushed into the stairwell and ran, full out. More tremors now. A chunk of ceiling collapsed behind them as she sprinted, landing by landing.
At last, they hit the ground floor, and she followed the signs for maintenance staff. Those exits rarely had much security. Metal door, regular lock. Gillie shot a hole in it and stepped out into an alley, complete with Dumpsters. Heron had ported them into a skyscraper. She had no idea what city they were in.
“Find me a private place to work on him,” she demanded.
“The rendezvous point—”
“Fuck them. You move or I shoot you.” She cocked the gun to show she meant business.
“I hear you.” But by his expression, he thought it was too late; he was humoring her.
Dunn led the way to a fire escape. He showed his strength by boosting her to the ladder, even encumbered as he was. Gillie lowered it for him, so he could climb. This looked like a condemned apartment building. Good enough. There might be squatters, but if they had any sense, they’d clear the fuck out. The window was already broken and the place smelled of cat piss, but there was no time to seek something better.
“Lay him down.”
“You can really fix him?” Dunn asked.
“I think so. Do you have a knife?”
In silence, he handed it over and she made a very shallow cut on Taye’s palm and sealed her own injured hand to it. Fear trickled in her veins, ice and sorrow. No dialysis machine here. She didn’t start slow; there was no time. Gillie opened her healing to him like throttling back on a motorcycle, and his sickness slammed her.
Christ. How did he survive this? The stupid bastard let it get to terminal stages.
Agony spiked into her stomach, and then the blackness seeped into her veins. Her vision flickered—she’d never attempted to save anyone so far gone before. But she wouldn’t give up. If only one of us walks away, let it be him.
Through a veil of tears, she gazed up at Dunn. “Whatever happens, don’t let me stop touching him . . . even if I waver, even if I fall. Do you understand?”
The bounty hunter nodded. He knelt, cupping his hands over hers, and that was enough. At long last, the shadows took her in a whisper of leathery wings.
CHAPTER 27
The door opened and closed. Tanager had chosen this chair so he wouldn’t see her right away. Not very feng shui, traitor.
“You were clever,” she said.
She had been sitting here for over two hours, lying in wait. It was dark in the apartment—nice place, after what he’d done, he ought to live in squalor—and her words visibly startled the man who had just come home. She barely made out his shape in the shadows, but she didn’t need light to see justice done. She had been right, before, before Mockingbird called her away.
But it was time now.
Finally, Kes. God, I’m sorry it took so long.
“I take it you found the leak.” He dropped his keys into a bowl on the table to the left of the door, weariness lacing his voice.
“Bingo.”
“I wondered if anyone would ever catch me. Mockingbird had you following the wrong people for ages.”
“Oh, I know, trust me.” She tapped one long, black fingernail against the sole of her boot. “And see, that’s the thing. It wasn’t until I started asking myself, who has access, who could’ve done this, that I first looked in your direction. Why would you betray us like that? Apart from that one breach of trust, you worked tirelessly to shut them down. Problem was, you left no trail, so I had supposition, not proof. You hate the Foundation so much—I couldn’t figure your angle.”
He propped himself against the wall. “Did you work it out?”
“I’ll run the scenario by you. Tell me if I’m hot or cold. It wasn’t for money. It wasn’t because you were their inside man and you wanted to bring us down.”
“Warm,” he said.
“No, with you, it was personal. That’s why you gave them Kestrel. You wanted her to suffer. You knew her torment would be threefold—first from how they’d treat her, second, the way they’d make her hunt her friends, and third, what we’d do to counteract her. So much misery, there.”
“Hot.”
“But why? That’s the million-dollar question. My bet is—you wanted her . . . she didn’t want you back. You decided to make her pay.”
“Scalding.”
She squeezed her hands into fists. “It had to be you, Finch. You’re the only one who can’t forget. MB sends you to all our agents, all over the place, and nobody can wipe it away.”
“I wish they could.”
“You knew right where she was, exactly where to send them . . . and maybe you were sorry after you made the call. God knows, you’ve been working for us like a dog ever since, always on call, forever erasing our secrets.”
“I’d take it back if I could,” he said, as if that made it better.
“I loved her. But you don’t know what it’s like to be dismissed because you’re not hero material. It doesn’t make your heart less breakable.”
No pity stirred in her. Plenty of people suffered in unrequited silence; tonight Tanager embodied Alecto, the everangry, and she would judge him.
“The Foundation killed her,” she said softly. “They had a sniper put a bullet in her brain rather than let us liberate her. It would’ve been kinder if you’d stabbed her . . . and saved her all these months of pain.”
An anguished sound escaped him; his shoulders slumped. Finch put both hands to his face and wept in pathetic gulps. Tan didn’t stir. Vengeance could wait.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
She sat forward; this was the moment for which she’d waited, making all the wasted hours worthwhile. The darkness rose, demanding outlet, demanding blood. Tanager gave it luscious, full-throated voice.
“You’ll climb to the top of the tallest building you can find. For an hour, you’ll sit reflecting on what you did to Kestrel. And then, when your time is up, you’re going to fly.”
“Yes,” he said in drugged tones. “That sounds right.” Without saying good-bye, for she hadn’t instructed him to, he turned and left the apartment. Soon, he would be just another suicide. Nobody would care. Nobody would ask why.
That was for you, Kes.
Time to seek an anonymous partner. Balance had to be restored, the price paid. And if she cried while fucking a stranger because he wasn’t Mockingbird—and it never would be—she hoped the guy would look the other way. Tanager let herself out, walking into the dark alone.
No pain. Taye remembered dropping Foundation goons as if he’d been swatting flies, overloading on power, and he’d known then that he only had to keep them away from her. No more caution, no more keeping resources in reserves. That had been the end, and he’d meant to go out in a blaze of glory.
At first, he decided he must be dead because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up feeling this good. But it sure as hell couldn’t be heaven—not with this fucking bounty hunter leaning over him. Dunn helped him sit up. Other details registered then—the shitty abandoned apartment, graffiti on the walls, blood smearing his skin and . . . the woman unconscious beside him.
No. Oh, fuck, no.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded.
“She healed you.”
“And you let her? Son of a bitch.”
“She threatened to shoot me over you, mate. I’ve learned not to cross a woman with a twitchy trigger hand and a mood on.”
“We have to get her to a hospital, if it’s not already too late.”
Fuck. This was exactly everything he never wanted for her—a lifetime of doctors and hospitals she hated against the weight of letting him die. The way he’d planned things, it should have been clean and simple, a heroic death for a bastard like him.
Why didn’t she let me go? But deep down, he knew why. He knew. They were twin planets locked into synchronous orbit; the current flowing between them would never end, not even in the face of death. Terrified for her, Taye scrambled to his feet.
“Fuck me.” Dunn sighed and shook his head. “Fine. Get her up. I’ll find a car downstairs. Follow as quick as you can.” With that, he headed for the door.
Taye swung Gillie into his arms and ran, taking the steps two at a time. By the time he reached the landing, Dunn had boosted a car and sat revving the engine. He got in on the passenger side and cradled her in his lap; the movement made her whimper. Her skin was already turning yellow, sign of acute renal failure.
“Found one with GPS . . . nearest medical care is three point seven miles.” Dunn’s staccato update didn’t interfere with his driving; he was already making the first turn.
“Just hang on,” he whispered into her hair. “I wouldn’t have done this to you for the world, Gillie-girl, but please, please don’t make me live without you.”
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A mile passed with him whispering half-voiced prayers. He didn’t believe in God, really, not after what had been done to the two of them, but if there was anything out there, anything at all that knew mercy, that being would spare Gillie. She deserved . . . everything.
As if he knew Taye needed a distraction, Dunn said, “I did some digging on you. Talked to your mother.”
That should’ve roused a stronger reaction, but he had only one emotion right now. Raw fear. Still, he glanced at the other man. “Yeah?”
“If you care, your real name’s Tyler Golden, father unknown, mother and grandfather living outside Miami, where you were raised. I can give you the address before I bail.”
“I’m an ex-con, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.” But Dunn offered no judgment in the answer. Taye wasn’t sure he wanted to learn anything about the man he’d been. He figured it could only end in disappointment. Right then, he cared only whether Gillie made it through the night. But maybe he’d take the address and keep it. Just in case.
The bounty hunter ran two red lights along the way, but since it was late, no cops appeared to challenge his speed or his reckless driving. Inside five minutes, he was pulling up underneath the portico at the emergency entrance of the hospital.
“I’m done,” the bounty hunter said. “I’ve some loose ends of my own to tie up. Hope I don’t see either of you again.”
Taye acknowledged that and slid out, Gillie cradled against his chest, and jogged toward the doors, which swished open on approach. Typical hospital. Parents waiting with children who probably didn’t need emergency treatment, but they likely didn’t have insurance. A few wounds, people looking out of it.
“I need help,” he called. “She’s dying. Her kidneys . . . she needs dialysis.”
A nurse came over and apparently she agreed with his assessment. She called for a doctor and an orderly, a gurney for Gillie. They threw forms at him and asked about a hundred questions. It was hard for him to answer for the roaring in his head; that noise wanted to translate into fireworks, shorting out all the lights. Fuck no. You have to keep a lid on this, or she’ll die for sure. They need their equipment, dammit. With sheer effort, he locked it down and controlled the brown outs. The next thing he knew, they were taking her away. Helpless, he dropped into a waiting-room chair and buried his face in his hands.