Unyielding (Out of the Box Book 11)

by Robert J. Crane

  Harry waved me off. “They’ve got a satellite overhead, I think.”

  “You think?!”

  He closed his eyes. “Yeah. Satellite overhead.” He opened them again to find me staring at him. “What? I imagined Colin taking me to the Pentagon and running from room to room until we found the one where they’re watching us. Question answered, eh? Too bad you die in that scenario …” He shrugged. “I’m not all knowing.”

  “That’s not very comforting, Harry.”

  “You’d need to stuff me with feathers in order to call me a comforter,” he said.

  I just stared back at him. “You probably had … what … fifty scenarios pop through your head, and that’s the best joke you could come up with for the occasion? Stuff you with feathers? How about I stuff my hand up your—”

  He chortled. “I really just wanted to have the conversation go down that path, honestly, so I could hear you threaten me with amateur proctology.”

  “What?!”

  “Here they come,” he said, sidling up to a wall and motioning for me to get over to a sliding glass door. “I’m about to lose power … or some, anyway.” He made an annoyed noise deep in his throat, as though he’d never been this inconvenienced. “Sapper, what a bastard …”

  I leaned against the wall by the sliding glass door, papered over so that I couldn’t see out and my enemies couldn’t see in. The helicopter rotors grew closer and closer, the sound closing in on us as our options narrowed, and I shut my mouth, suppressing the questions that were rising like my panic, hoping that Harry knew what the hell he was doing.

  58.

  Harmon

  I watched the helicopter hover over the house, the ziplines rolling out the sides and back. I couldn’t actually see that part, except watching through Scott’s eyes at a distance as he and the boys zipped down, surrounding the house on all sides. It was loud in his head, though, and I recused myself, feeling a little exhausted from the day’s mental labors. As much as I might have wanted to watch from within, it was going to be a safer bet to watch from the monitor, hoping that this time—finally—they might get the drop on Sienna Nealon.

  Dammit.

  “Have the F-22s stand by to level the house if this goes wrong,” I said.

  There was a moment’s pause, disbelief sinking in. “Uh, sir …” the colonel said. “This is a US city. We can’t do that.”

  I prepared to press against his mind. I needed to be careful; pushing him would mean someone else was likely to slip my grasp. Probably McSorley, McCluskey or Shane, whom I’d had to badger into voting for my education bill. Weak-willed little tree slugs. “Pray tell, why not?” I asked.

  “Uh, well,” the colonel said, “the F-22s are loaded with AMRAAM missiles—those are air-to-air only—”

  I sighed, loud enough to encourage him to shut up. “Do you have any drones standing by?”

  “Yes, sir,” the colonel said. “With Hellfire missiles which will—”

  “Great,” I said with false enthusiasm. “Do move them in so we can execute if need be.” I tried to sound reassuring, but I didn’t care as long as he followed my orders.

  “Aye, sir,” the colonel said. I had to push him a little because he wasn’t eager to blast a suburban area in the US with drone fire for some reason. “I feel compelled to warn you, sir, that a Hellfire missile explosion is not a contained thing.” He was pressing against my will, and his was stronger than the general’s had been, probably because his sympathies had not been naturally with me. I’d need a new military liaison soon, someone more malleable. “There will be collateral damage—”

  “That’s a shame,” I said, twisting a few of his thoughts while I feigned interest, “but Sienna Nealon has caused enough death that to let her flee again would be to sign the death warrants of enough innocent Americans to justify this action.” I spoke as coldly as I could. I didn’t relish the thought of killing innocent people, but by the same token, I’d reached my limit with Sienna Nealon. She was the only one now who could stop me. Well, her and this unknown speedster.

  “Aye, sir,” Forster said, appropriately chastened. “Drones moving in, and the team is standing by for your order.”

  I frowned. Why did they need to wait for me? “Execute,” I said, hoping they would take that literally and spare me from unleashing bombs in a civilian neighborhood. After all, if that got out, it wouldn’t reflect very well on me.

  59.

  Scott

  The Black Hawk’s rotor wash was hammering at Scott, pushing him against the side of the house. He made a motion to Booster, who nodded; his skills were in play, which meant hopefully that Speedster was slowed down, and Sienna was brought to a crawl. They’d been pursuing her doggedly for days now, from Denver to the shores of the Great Salt Lake to here, in the sprawling reaches of Salt Lake City itself. She hadn’t really had much time to rest, so hopefully that meant she was dogged out. She’d certainly been about ready to fall on the shoreline, though that had been a few hours ago. Surely she hadn’t rested up, not with them after her?

  Well, if she had, hopefully she was still resting now, and they’d just take her quietly, like they had that woman in Cheyenne, the one with the—

  Baby?

  Scott drew a sharp breath, like cold water had scrambled over him again, washing down his head, his hair, his face, his chest. He drew a frigid breath of early morning air, the purple dawn in the distance feeling as though it was jolting him awake.

  What the hell am I doing? he asked himself, feeling the weight of the submachine gun slung against his chest. He stared at the black length of the weapon, like someone had shoved an unexpected puzzle piece in his hand and he was looking at what he had so far, trying to figure out where it went. It was as though he’d thought he was putting together a scene of a mountain meadow in full, flowery bloom, but with the adding of this piece, realized it was a bloody murder scene instead.

  Augustus signaled to him from across the door, trying to catch his attention. Scott took a breath and stared up at his teammate with wide, panicked eyes. “What the hell are we doing?” Scott asked, taking gasping breaths.

  Augustus just stared at him, blankly for a moment, and said. “Oh. Right.” And he reached out a hand, ripping up the yard behind him quietly, cloaking himself in earth and rock, growing three feet in the process, like a golem, only a slit for his eye and his hand exposed enough to keep a finger on his weapon’s trigger.

  “That wasn’t what I m—” Scott cut himself off. He remembered the voice that had invaded his mind, ripping through his thoughts—no, snaking through them—as easily as if it had the keys to his brain. “Harmon,” he whispered to himself, trying to recall what he’d said on the shores of the lake …

  “We need to go,” Reed hissed in the night, almost lost under the chopper’s wash. “Now.”

  “Yeah, man,” Augustus said, clad in his earthen battle armor, only his eyes showing through the crust of soil. “Let’s kick this off.”

  And without waiting for confirmation from Scott, he stepped back and blasted a dirt-covered foot through the sliding glass door before wading into the house.

  60.

  Sienna

  I knew it was Augustus leading the charge the minute I saw a swollen, dirt-clad foot come crashing through the newspaper-covered sliding glass door. He didn’t stop with the foot, either, using earthen shoulder pads to shield his face as he stepped through, sending the glass fragments shattering to the floor.

  I was limited in what I could deploy against him and remain non-lethal. It would have been easy to shoot him in the eye hole, probably—with my strength and dexterity turned down by the booster, it might not have been as easy—but I didn’t want to kill him. He was armored, too, which was bad news for me, especially since my strength wasn’t what it should have been. He was carrying an M-16, and I didn’t want that to come in play, so the obvious answer came immediately to mind—

  I reached out and flicked the pin out of the rear assembly
of his gun. It shot out and bounced ineffectually off his dirt-armored chest, and he swung his weapon around to fill me full of lead. I slapped the bottom of his magazine, though, and the M-16 broke apart at the rear where I’d knocked the pin out, rendering it completely useless as anything other than a club until he repinned it.

  “What the—” He stared for a second at the M-16, now a right angle in the middle of the weapon where it should have all been neatly mated together in a long rifle. I didn’t stand there and wait for him to figure it out, though; I flicked the front pin, too, and the M-16 broke cleanly in two.

  “Tee hee,” I said, and launched myself backward as he swiped at me with the barrel and upper receiver. It missed my nose by an inch, and I cursed my newfound slowness even as I heard the crash of a door getting kicked in behind me.

  I hit my back, staring at the door for a brief second. I knew Augustus would recover, but I didn’t know how long it would take him. “That guy!” Harry shouted from across the room, and I glanced to see him pointing with one hand and smacking Reed in the nose with the other. My brother didn’t look like he was taking the beating gracefully, but I followed Harry’s point to the door that had just crashed in.

  There were two guys standing backlit by the chopper’s searchlight. One of them was the Medusa, and the other was probably the Booster, hidden just behind the Medusa.

  I snapped off three quick shots, but Mr. Medusa’s hair got in my way, the bullets caught harmlessly on his locks as I cursed and rolled. Augustus brought a foot down where I’d been lying just a second earlier and crashed through the floor into the crawlspace beneath the house. I cringed as I kept rolling; that blow would have disemboweled me easily.

  “Here, let me,” Harry said, and I saw him drop Reed, whose nose was pure red, like it had been smashed properly. Harry produced a gun in one hand while warding off attacks from Gothric the Medic with his other. I boggled; where in the hell had he gotten it? I blinked and saw Reed had an empty holster on his belt. Harry blind-fired three times over his own shoulder, the sound deafening in the close confines of the house, muzzle flash illuminating the battle.

  I didn’t see any way he would have been able to hit anything, let alone somehow dodge Mr. Medusa’s wavy hair, which had blocked all three of my shots, but as I turned to look at the door, I saw Booster’s skull was much more open to the air than it had been a second ago—as in the entire top of his head was missing and Mr. Medusa was staring back at him in horror.

  Power surged through me, lightning speed, and I felt it, like I was coming out of the water and taking a deep breath for the first time in ages. “Wheeeeee,” I said, shooting to my feet. Mr. Medusa was bringing his head around, weapon at the ready—

  I fired twice with my purloined Glock and twice with Gavrikov’s flames compressed into a bullet-sized shot. Medusa caught both bullets with his hair, but when he tried to catch the flame bursts, the first passed right through and hit him in the chest, and the second caught him in the face. His skull broke open like his compatriot’s as things melted that weren’t supposed to melt, and he dropped in an instant.

  “This is why we had to do this,” Harry shouted over the fray at me. “Because if we don’t take them out, they’ll follow us when we try and make our esca—” He froze as he tossed Gothric into a nearby wall. It wasn’t a fatal move, and Harry’s eyes had glazed over. “Uh oh,” he said, and I only had a second to wonder what would make him fearful before I found out.

  61.

  Harmon

  It was obvious from the overhead thermal imagery that the battle wasn’t going well. The helicopter had moved off, and the thermal satellite scan showed three very clearly hostile “tangos,” as the military called them—Sienna Nealon, her speedster friend, and one other—cutting through my FBI task force and the Revelen spec-ops team with ease.

  “Disappointing,” I said.

  Someone was still lurking outside, pinned against the wall and failing to enter the fight. I had a feeling I knew who it was, and it was another unfortunate mark against the fellow. Scott Byerly was quickly turning into the worst personnel staffing decision I’d made since I’d sent Sienna Nealon packing.

  “Weakness,” I sighed. To hell with the colonel, to hell with McSorley, McCluskey and Shane. I needed this finished, and I could see that there was only one way I could manage it.

  I closed my eyes and plunged into the all-too-small mind of Scott Byerly, ripping him off the wall outside the house and jerking him, unwilling, into the battle within.

  62.

  Scott

  It came in the form of pain, all the nerve endings in his skull afire. He resisted, of course, because now he knew what the voice was, in clearest terms—Gerry Harmon.

  Yes, the voice said, you’re such a clever fellow, figuring out after almost a year that I’ve been playing with your mind. Good on you. But unfortunately, that doesn’t mean I can’t still play, it just means I have to devote more of my attention to doing so, which is … annoying. So annoying. Now …

  Let’s move.

  Scott’s back left the wall and his body twisted as his legs worked without his command. He stepped around and into the confines of the abandoned house, boots crushing the shattered glass shards that lined the doorway. Augustus was rising just inside, his hulking earth armor a dark shadow in a poorly lit room, about to step forward and fight again.

  That slithering feeling ran through Scott’s mind. Belay that, the voice sounded, and suddenly Scott could see Augustus through the armor, as though he were here, too, in his mind. And you, as well. Reed was there, too, and dazed, his nose bleeding profusely, the three of them present in Scott’s mind, Harmon speaking directly to them.

  What do you want from me? Scott asked, Harmon’s face like a swollen statue that obstructed his view. Harmon was all there was, from here all the way to the ends of the universe. Scott’s eyes were blinded by the man, by his enormity.

  “I want you to stand there and shut up while I do the job you were supposed to do,” Harmon said in a clipped voice.

  Scott, with no other choice but to obey, felt as though he were being smashed, suffocated … he didn’t want to give in, but what else was there …?

  Resist.

  Like her.

  He chafed at the bounds around him, but the pressure was too great, like the water he’d buried Sienna in when he’d thought she was a monster. She wasn’t, though, was she? She was a … a …

  Hero?

  “A MONSTER,” Harmon’s voice insisted, blotting out everything else.

  Okay, Scott thought, choosing his fight. He looked around, around the edges of the face that filled his consciousness, looking for an out, even as Harmon began to speak through him to someone else.

  63.

  Sienna

  “You’re a nearly interminable pain in my ass,” Gerry Harmon’s voice sounded from Scott’s mouth. It was a creepy effect, and I could tell it had that same impact on others because Colin shuddered visibly. “Most people I fire have the good grace to go the hell away, but not you.”

  “I’m so very special,” I said, swallowing hard. Augustus was just standing there, looming, covered in dirt. I could kick his ass out the door and across the lawn, but I was waiting to see what was so damned important that Harmon had decided to pause and address me directly.

  “You really are, I’ll give you that,” Harmon said, Scott’s lips moving in the most bizarre sort of puppetry I could imagine. “Far from normal, far from what everyone else is—”

  “Well, what is normal these days?” I threw out the first stupid comeback that came to mind.

  “Oh, you know,” he said. “It’s what you wish you were on the days when everything is just too much and you feel like you’re overwhelmed.” Scott smiled, a twisted sort of smile that would perhaps have looked more at home on Gerry Harmon’s face. “I’m not a psychopath, you know.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Colin Fannon muttered.

  “I can feel the pain I c
ause,” Harmon went on, apparently too caught up in his monologue to care about the peanut gallery. “But it’s necessary. Change seldom results from anything less than pain. Think about it—in the wake of World War One, there was a worldwide movement toward peace. They outlawed war, swore they’d never fight another one—”

  “All well and good,” I said. “At least until a guy came along and took full advantage of everyone else deciding not to go to war.”

  “Exactly,” Harmon said with a nod of Scott’s head. “Unity only works when everyone buys in. As long as there’s a rogue element, someone operating for their own wretched purposes … it will fail every time. So many different agendas, but they all have one thing in common—they’re out for themselves, to carve out their bit of happiness, without care for what happens to everyone else.” Scott cocked his head, a gesture that wasn’t his. “Do you know what Sovereign’s problem was?”

  I felt like I’d been hit in the face. “Uhh … that he needed a Fleshlight, desperately, instead of convincing himself that I was the only one for him while simultaneously embarking on a scheme designed to piss me off?”

  Scott made a tsk-ing sound, and I felt a swell of irritation that Harmon was lecturing me while hiding behind my friends to do so. Harry wasn’t saying anything, and he was still there, which suggested to me I was supposed to keep talking. “I like how you take world domination schemes and make them personal, make them all about you. As if you’re the only one they affect. Has your psychiatrist friend ever told you you’re self-involved?”

  “You’re the one who was just telling me what a unique pain in your ass I am,” I snarked back. “Clearly you’re feeding my ego.”