Hunter, Healer

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Daddy. Her father's face, the chilling little gurgle as he died on the kitchen floor, in her arms, choking on his own blood. Shot by Sigs.

  She gathered herself and reached .

  The man under her bucked and screamed as she poured her rage into him, a twisting, barbed flood of agony and grief. She tore at the root of his talent, clawed at it, and yanked it up by the roots, burning it, cauterizing the open, festering sore of his psionic ability. He screamed again, the sound of a rabbit in a trap, and Rowan let him go, rising up on her knees. Her hand flashed down, the butt of the pistol becoming a club. There was a solid chunk and he lapsed into merciful unconsciousness.

  "I'm better than you,” she rasped. “I'm one of Henderson's Brigade, you sack of shit."

  She sagged over his slumping, unconscious body, her breath coming harsh and loud. Then she pushed herself up to her feet. Sock feet, no kitbag, and a whole installation to get through.

  But at least she now had a gun.

  She rifled his pockets, coming up with a wallet, seventy-three dollars in cash, a white plastic card with a magnetic strip— door card, she thought, just like in a Vegas hotel, let's hope they don't use retinal scans in here— and another clip of ammo for the gun. It was a good thing she had pockets in her jeans.

  Her head throbbed with acid pain, and white-hot needles were bursting into her skull. She wiped at the wetness on her face—tears on her cheeks, and a hot thread of blood coming from her nose.

  I'm a mess, she thought, and it was such a practical, despairing, everyday thought that she laughed until she cried, hunched over the unconscious, bleeding Colonel.

  In the middle of her laughter, she got up and headed for the door. She was going to see if the magnetic card in her hand would open it.

  If not, she would figure out something else .

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I cannot believe I am doing this. Del nodded, the gun pointed up, and Henderson slid around the corner and covered. The sage-brushed chill of a desert night touched Del's cheeks. They were just about to penetrate the second ring of buildings on the east side. Sigma Zero-Fifteen was being infiltrated successfully. So far.

  The team had fortunately been right behind him, following the same signs to Rowan he had and monitoring him through the tracker Yosh had secreted in his kitbag. They were a little less than half an hour away when Del dialed in. After a short, crisp scolding from the old man, Del had gotten rid of the bodies and made the rendezvous, picking up the team in the Sig van and hitting the road. The information gleaned from the driver's broken mind told him that 511 was a cleanup team sent to wipe down the hotel room and head back to Zero-Fifteen in six to eight hours. It was a long drive that wasn't made any shorter by Del's inability to think of anything but Rowan. The mindwiped psion had been turned over to Eleanor, who would take him back to Headquarters and get him started on rehab. If there was anything salvageable in his broken, Zed-stained mind, they would try their damndest to save it.

  Rowan could do it, if she gets out of here. Christ. Please be safe, angel. Please still be alive.

  Everything had gone smooth as silk, the transponder on the Sig van getting them into the underground garage. Yoshi accessing the Sig intranet from the console in the van. Brew staying behind to help support Yosh and keep a weather eye on the parking lot. The complex was several concrete cubes and hangers tucked into the side of a mountain, a collage of underground labs and facilities burrowed into the rock that were virtually impenetrable. The back of Del's neck prickled. It felt like a trap.

  Cath followed them, Zeke lumbering silently in her wake. Boomer, carrying the plastic explosive, would peel away from them to visit the core, if they could infiltrate that deep. Blowing the power and security grid might give them enough time to get the hell out of here. For a seat-of-the-pants plan to infiltrate the most secure Sig installation in the country, it wasn't half bad.

  If they could pull it off.

  Adrenaline lay copper against his tongue. They might even get in and out of here unseen.

  Yeah. And next pigs will fly. Stay focused, Del.

  "Stop,” Yoshi's voice suddenly breathed in his ear through a comm-link held in with spirit gum. Everyone froze. “There's a sweep heading your way. Stay where you are."

  Del heard them pass—footsteps and the snuffling of a tracker-psion. Zeke exhaled a slow, soft breath.

  His imperviousness to psionic attack also generated a useful bit of psychic “static.” It was that static footprint that allowed them to move without detection. Once Zeke went with the other half of the team to take out the grids, it was up to Del and Henderson not to trip any psychic alarms.

  "Safe,” Yoshi said. “Boomer, Cath, Zeke, your turn coming up. Move to your right at the next intersection, hug the left wall. Del, Henderson, straight ahead."

  They moved out in waves, the team functioning precisely, like a well-oiled machine. If we pull this off ...

  Christ, if we pull this off I might just start believing in miracles instead of percentages.

  Cath, Zeke and Boomer peeled off and vanished at the next intersection. Del's gaze met Henderson's.

  The old man nodded, his mouth pulled tight in a straight line. It hadn't even occurred to him to disbelieve Del's report. If Del had been Sigma they would have been trussed in a trap by now. It was an odd feeling, realizing how much Henderson implicitly trusted him. He never thought he'd be so grateful for such an unspoken assumption.

  I owe him big. I owe him, and I'm not even nervous about owing him.

  They slid into the building Yoshi had marked, a massive concrete pile in four stories, ugly as sin but secure enough, Del supposed, inside the outer defenses. It took him forty-five seconds to get the maglock on the door to chuck open, and then they were swallowed by the building's maw. If Yoshi was right, Rowan was in here somewhere. Del just hoped she wasn't on an IV of Zed. He was fairly sure it wouldn't work on her, but with something like that you could never be sure enough. There were other procedures to break a psion, especially a female one. Rape, drugs, sleep deprivation, torture. Now there was an idea. Her capacity to heal would make her an ideal candidate for torture.

  Stop thinking like that. Concentrate. Just be safe, Ro. Please, angel, just be safe.

  "Stairs at your nine, Del. Zeke, tighten it up."

  Delgado blinked and eased around another corner. Clear. Of course, all the mindwiped psions that weren't on chatscan, codestringing, or intra-security patrols with handlers would be locked securely in their cages, and the handlers would be catching some rest. Mission Control was on the other side of the complex, and that was where any activity was likely to be. Over here were the labs and training rooms, deserted at night except for the patrols Del and Henderson were eluding. If anyone in Control found their comm channel, things would get real ugly really quickly.

  "Standby, Zeke. I'm initiating the code for the doors. Del, you're going to go down to the end of the hall, turn right, four doors on your left. That's the best pinpoint I have on her according to the listing here.”

  Yoshi's voice crackled. He sounded just as calm as ever. You couldn't tell he was navigating two teams at once through an unfamiliar complex on a console that might trip him up at any moment, working with an enemy computer system and stringing code by the seat of his pants.

  Del nodded, forgetting Yosh couldn't see him except through the security cameras. Brew was probably doing the security trip-loops, jacked into the cameras and running safe footage through them to keep any other onlookers blind. Henderson covered another ghostly hallway, made sure it was deserted, and moved to the next cover position. It was agonizingly slow. All Del wanted to do was charge in, guns blazing, and drag her out.

  As if the thought had summoned it, there was a sudden clattering racket around the corner at the end of the hall. The pops and zings of gunfire echoed suddenly against linoleum and metal doors. Del's heart started to hammer.

  "Oh, shit.” Yoshi sighed. “Guys, Rowan's making a break for it an
d just ran across some armed guards.

  Brew, take over with Zeke and Cath, on my mark, mark. Del, Henderson, get the fuck down , she's heading your way."

  "Get down,” Del mouthed, but Henderson was already in a crouch, his own comm-unit glinting in the dimness. Del found himself crouching too. There was no cover in the hall. They had to fall back.

  "Ro's making a break for it.” He felt compelled to say it, as if speaking made it more real. That means she's ambulatory, and thinking.

  "Cheeky girl,” Henderson mouthed, and pulled the hammer back on his automatic. “Shit."

  Del agreed wholeheartedly. They dropped back to the defensible intersection, Henderson behind a bank of stacked chairs, and Del crouched and melding with the shadows. Running feet, more gunfire, and a high agonized scream of pain. The empty hall, smelling of industrial floor-wax and human pain, echoed and rang eerily in the dark.

  "Just hang tight, guys,” Yoshi murmured. “She's not hit, not hit, not doing half bad. She just took out two guards, nice shot. Here she comes. Get ready. She's got four more guards after her."

  Shouts echoed, and another scream, high and girlish.

  God, I hope that's not her.

  Then the cacophony tumbled nearer. “Guys? They're setting the detonators now. Get ready to move like a motherfuck.” Yoshi's voice dropped to a murmur, the only audible sign of strain.

  "Lovely,” Del murmured.

  "Always a pleasure,” Henderson murmured back. He raised his gun, and Del's own automatic came up in a weirdly synchronized movement.

  "Oh, wonderful.” Yoshi sounded disgusted, and Del's pulse kicked up a notch. “The whole complex is starting to wake up. Can we move it along, please?"

  And then, skidding around the corner, Rowan appeared. She dropped down, taking advantage of cover and aiming back around the corner, her pale hair glowing in the dim light. He heard her breathing come fast and light. She squeezed off two shots, reached into her pocket as she ejected the empty clip, and reloaded with blurring-fast fingers.

  He couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried. The connection blazed to life between them, his head suddenly thudding with pain and her fear singing between his veins. She hadn't been slammed with Zed or shaved yet. How had she gotten loose? He didn't fucking care. All he cared about was that she was alive

  , and he almost rocketed to his feet and ran for her. Rowan! Dammit, move back here. We've come to get you out.

  She glanced around wildly, not seeing them. “Rowan! ” He had to shout over the sound of running feet and the howling, which had taken on a weird animalistic quality that raised the fine hairs on his nape. She backed up, covering the intersection in front of her, her ribs flaring with deep, rough breaths. Moving too slowly. They would be on her soon. They were right behind her.

  Her mind flooded his with pain and urgency. One clip left. Pick your shots, headshots if you can.

  Remember, most gunfights end with a lot of noise and nobody getting hurt. Pick your shots. Take your time, her voice whispered in the middle of his brain. He could feel her head hurting, her feet bruised from slapping the floor, and the exhaustion weighing her down. She wasn't going to last much longer before making a fatal mistake.

  He moved forward, sliding along the side of the hall. “What are you—” Henderson began, shocked at his breaking cover. It was the first time Del had ever heard the old man sound surprised in the middle of a job.

  Rowan didn't whirl, but she stiffened and began backing up more quickly, a fast light shuffle.

  "Come on! ” Justin shouted. “Trust me, Rowan. Let's just get the fuck out of here!"

  That did it. She whirled and ran for them, her hair a pale banner and her sock feet hitting so hard he winced sympathetically. Then they had no time, because the trackers piled around the corner.

  Human, but scrabbling on hands and feet like monkeys, the bald psions drooled and gibbered. Thin as scarecrows, their bodies moved in ways human joints weren't supposed to move. They howled as soon as they saw her, and streaked forward on thickly callused bare feet, their palms slapping the flooring.

  Revulsion cramped Del's stomach. Training took over. He picked a target and squeezed the trigger.

  There were three of them, Henderson picked off another. The third was rapidly drawing nearer, Del shot and missed.

  Goddammit.

  " Down!” he yelled, and Rowan threw herself down, rolling with sweet natural grace as he and Henderson peppered the lone tracker with lead. She gained her feet again in a skidding rush, not bothering to look behind her, and he realized just how beautiful it was to see her running again. He'd missed seeing her go all-out. She looked like a cheetah, as if it was no big deal to be moving over the ground so easily.

  She almost ran into him, barely slowed, Henderson whirled and took point to lead her out. Del checked the hall, turned on his heel and fell in behind to cover. The crackle of her talent washed over his skin, a lightning storm about to happen. Bullets pocked the wall as they slid around the corner, the guards shooting wildly and uncomfortably close.

  As they scrambled down the stairs, he wished he could stop and give her some shoes. When they hit the gravel outside she was going to get hurt.

  Yoshi's voice suddenly crackled to life in his ear. “Keep moving. You're clear for now, so go. Go, go, go. The timer's set, counting down, twenty seconds. Eighteen. Fifteen. Watch your flank, Del. There's heavy fire coming your way, Henderson take the left turn. Move, guys. Move.” A pause sizzling through the comm-unit, Yosh letting them work and keeping his mouth shut when he had nothing to offer. Then,

  “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. We have liftoff."

  A massive faraway boom shook the air as Henderson kicked the door open, and then they were outside, cutting across a graveled drive, Del's boots crunching, and more bullets popping and digging into the dirt.

  Darkness, movement, and confusion reigned supreme and conspired to make every shot miss. Fire began in the bottom of Del's lungs. He'd abused not only himself tonight but before, with no time to heal between Carson's bodyguard and this little shindig. But Rowan's pale head in front of him made it worthwhile.

  Henderson jerked and skidded, as if he'd been hit. Rowan, right behind him, caught his arm and hauled him upright. And yes, it was official. She had perhaps gone crazy, because she was laughing as she hauled the old man along, her eyes wide and wild and her waxen cheeks slick and shiny with tears Del could feel against his own face.

  Then, wonder of wonders, he heard tires on the gravel. A black van, headlights dark and dead, speeding toward them and throwing up chunks of crushed stone. “It's us, guys. We're coming to get you, so continue on present course. Zeke got clipped and Boomer's furious, but otherwise we're at a hundred percent."

  Henderson didn't bother correcting him about the hundred percent. Neither did Del. He needed his breath for running. A skidding, smoking half-turn and the side of the van was open, Brew leaning out.

  Rowan all but boosted Henderson in and Del was right behind her, crowding her, his hands on her waist.

  He fairly threw her into the van and hopped in, grabbing the quick-release catch. Cath floored it. Boomer already had his comm-unit off and was ripping open packs of gauze. Del slammed the door, the noise of bullets suddenly distant. The blackness pressed like a wet bandage against his eyes despite the faint glow of monitors. The plastic explosive had worked better than even Yoshi had suggested. All the lights in the complex were out.

  "Goddammit! Mother fuck! ” Cath was swearing, a low steady monotony of obscenities so familiar Del could have mouthed them with her. He ignored them, sliding his guns back into the holsters. The air was suddenly close and rank.

  "Rowan? Ro?” I sound like I'm fifteen again.

  "How bad is he?” Rowan's voice broke. She sobbed openly. Brew was already sliding into the passenger seat while Yoshi braced himself in the tiny chair, his fingers dancing over the keyboard while he strung code. They weren't out of the woods yet.

  "Ba
d news, Cath!” Yoshi yelled. “Front door's closed!"

  Cath's only answer was an unrepeatable term that raised even Del's eyebrows and the sudden jolt of acceleration as she smashed the gas pedal to the floor. Del lost his balance and fell, managing to land on something soft and familiar. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die kissing her . He found her cheek against his in the darkness. The van careened over a bump, and Rowan let out a short cry of pain he smothered with his mouth.

  "You're bleeding pretty badly,” Boomer muttered. “Dammit, old man, say something."

  "You sound like an old woman.” Henderson's voice, tight with pain. Del wondered where he'd been hurt and found he didn't care. “Quit it."

  "You're stepping on me.” This from Zeke, uncomfortably wedged in the back of the van.

  Del didn't care who was stepping on Zeke. He slid his fingers into Rowan's hair and kissed her again, savagely, teeth pressing into her lips. She gasped into his mouth, and he tasted the chemical sourness of some drug. Fear smashed into him. Zed? Or something else? There was a slick wetness on her cheeks, and she shuddered so hard it was almost convulsions. Her hip was braced against the door and a small wounded sound rose in her throat.

  "I'll be all right. Just my leg. I'll need a fucking cane.” Henderson said, his hand white in the dimness as he reached up to steady himself against the edge of Yoshi's console.

  "Watch the guns, watch the guns!” Brewster's voice hit a pitch Del had never heard before.

  "Get ready!” Cath shouted. “Or this is gonna be one fuckuva short trip!"

  "Oh, cra—” Whatever Henderson intended to say was lost in the impact as Cath barreled through the fence. Bullets chewed along the side of the armor plating on the van, but with the grid down and the backup power disabled, the entire brooding anthill of Zero-Fifteen was critically disabled. By the time the Sigs got their wits about them, the Society ops would be lost in the urban wilds of Taos, scattering to rendezvous back at Headquarters. The van would be abandoned, the bodies of Section 511 would be found at the bottom of a dry gulch, and the Society would have pulled off another hat trick.