Fire and Smoke

by Mark Ayre

  Two agents had reached Eve’s van. They opened the back doors as two more came toward Adam.

  Gripping Caldwell, he faced her to the door, where the agents would soon appear. Through the rear windows, he watched the agents at his sister’s van squabble. Perhaps they each wanted the chance to collect her.

  Ahead of the other, one man jumped inside.

  Hands landed on the back doors of Adam’s van. He tightened his grip on Caldwell. As soon as they opened, he would burst out and run for his sister. He would escape with her, or they would be captured. He would never leave alone.

  Eve was dragged outside.

  The squabbling intensified. The two men who had been about to open Adam’s van paused, glanced back. Someone shouted.

  “What the hell?” Caldwell asked.

  Adam could only stare.

  The woman the agents held was not his sister.

  It was Bethany.

  In a rush, Eve returned to consciousness.

  Above her, there was a man in jeans, a white shirt, and a black leather jacket. Even through the haze, she could make out his broad wolf's grin.

  She sat up. Arms raised, he retreated two steps. Must have seen the look in her eyes.

  “Hey, don’t go smiting. If not for me, you’d be locked in the back of that van down there, sedated and preparing for transport to an awful place. Like your brother.”

  Hand raised in his direction, as if that alone could stop him from reaching her, she looked through the trees. Below, she saw the van into which those bastards had dragged her. Two men prepared to open its doors.

  “You might want to sit a second,” the man said. “I’ve injected you with a concoction that combats their sedative. It’s the reason you can’t feel much. But you were in an explosion. Any second, there’ll be pain.”

  Pain. Yes. It approached like a distant army, appearing over the hill, charging toward the castle of her health. The blast had torn her clothes, cut her, and bruised her skin. Her shield had saved her life, but it had not protected her from damage.

  “Who are you?”

  “Donnelly. And you’re Eve. I advise you to get in the car and leave with me. It’s the only way to guarantee your safety.”

  “Why wake me then?”

  “I’ve seen what you do to people who piss you off. Guessed you wouldn’t be too pleased if I took you away without giving you the chance to save your brother.”

  The doors to her van were open. Two more agents rushed toward her brother’s current prison.

  “Who are you?”

  “You already asked,” he said.

  “You didn’t answer. Your name,” she added before he could speak, “means nothing. You got me out of that van. How?”

  “Driver owed me a favor. Listen…” He came to her, grabbed her arm, and pressed a folded slip of paper into her hands. “If you manage to save your brother, open it and find me. There’s a lot to this you don’t understand.”

  Though she took the paper, she ignored his words. “So that van’s empty?”

  “Not quite. I used a decoy.”

  Eve spun in time to see Bethany dragged into the open. Someone shouted. A few moments later, the second van’s doors burst open. A woman flew out.

  Apparently, no one followed.

  “Adam,” she said.

  Leaving Donnelly, trying to ignore the mounting pain, she rushed through the trees and down the hill, straight toward her brother.

  Adam couldn’t wait. Kicking open the van’s doors, he hurled Caldwell into the two nearest agents.

  Like bowling pins, they scattered.

  “It’s Adam,” she shouted. “Shoot him.”

  He ran. The agents tried to cover all routes, expecting him to run for the motorway, to the slope leading into the trees, or for the service station.

  Instead, he made for the second van, by which stood two agents, sandwiching Bethany. The first, Adam knocked unconscious, smashing his skull into the side of the van. A knee to the stomach disabled the second.

  Bethany vanished.

  They ran.

  Ducking behind Eve’s transport, they dodged a barrage of fire by centimeters. Adam wanted to take them to the motorway. Weaving, they might have avoided fire long enough to escape… if only he could have held onto the invisibility.

  Blood ran freely from his nose, his head pounding. He hadn’t had sufficient recovery time since their escape from the hotel, let alone since turning an entire van invisible. Mass mattered.

  Their only hope was the service station. Adam dragged them forward.

  Three-quarters of the way there, he collapsed.

  They reappeared.

  “There they are,” Caldwell shouted. “Fire!”

  “We need to go,” Bethany pleaded.

  “Run,” he said.

  Weakened, he couldn’t stand. There was no time for recovery. Every gun pointed in his direction.

  Again, he yelled at Bethany, “Run.”

  The agents began to fire.

  “Wait,” Donnelly shouted.

  Against her better judgment, Eve paused. She didn’t turn to face her savior.

  “You put an innocent girl’s life at risk,” she said. “I’m not sure you want to be calling me right now. I might kill you, even if you did save my life.”

  “Accept my apology,” he said. “And take this.”

  A bag flew over her shoulder.

  “It’ll help you stay out of hell.”

  A chill ran along her spine. Donnelly might not know about the effects of her power. It might have been a meaningless expression. She wanted to turn—to force him to explain his comment.

  No time.

  In the parking lot, Bethany disappeared.

  “Adam.”

  Sliding forward, she grabbed and opened the bag.

  “Yep,” she muttered. “That’ll help.”

  Adam and Bethany reappeared. Eve watched her brother drop. With reckless abandon, she flew down the hill, almost tripping several times.

  Someone shouted for the agents to open fire. The guns all turned Adam’s way. Eve was only partway down, but she skidded to a halt. Opened the bag.

  Bullets started flying. Eve stared at her brother.

  The sedative-tipped darts melted before reaching him. Eve heard the agents’ shocked mutters as she grabbed the gun from the bag and tossed the latter away.

  There was a pause. Then the firing resumed.

  The bullets continued to melt. For Eve, the sky began to ignite. Demons crawled across the service station roof. Eve couldn’t continue using her power.

  Bethany reached the service station’s steps, screaming when the doors burst open. Expecting agents, she took cover.

  Adam knew Eve was responsible. He wanted to look for her, but he took the hint. Grabbing the remainder of his strength, he took Bethany’s arms, jumped up the steps, and dragged her inside.

  Once they were out of sight, Eve dived behind a tree. The agents would know she was nearby. They would soon start searching for her.

  Her actions had bought her brother and Bethany a short reprieve. As long as there were agents here, they were in danger.

  Next job, then. Kill them all.

  Not half an hour ago, Henrich had told his boss they were a couple of hours away from having the twins at their final destination. Now this.

  He stared at Caldwell as she stormed across the parking lot, shouting. He had never liked her. A silver lining of this mess was that she would likely be terminated for her failure. Maybe he’d get to pull the trigger.

  “The girl’s here,” she shouted at him. “Take half your people and find her. I’m going inside with the rest.”

  “You’re not my boss,” he said.

  “Just do it.”

  He watched her rally his people, organizing them into two groups.

  His fingers caressed his gun. He glared at the back of Caldwell’s head.

  If she were due for termination anyway, why not do it now? No one would
care.

  Letting out a long breath, he turned toward the trees as Eve pulled the trigger.

  The service station comprised a large circle, with tens of tables and chairs in the center, storefronts, a corridor to the loos, and stairs leading up around the edges.

  Outside, Caldwell shrieked. Any second, she would lead a team after them. Before then, they had to hide.

  “Come on.”

  Taking Bethany’s hand, he led them around the chairs and tables to the open stairway.

  Pounding feet grew ever closer.

  “Are we invisible?” Bethany asked.

  “No.”

  A pounding head and shirt drenched with blood from his nose acted as a warning to what might happen if he tried to make them vanish. Even visible, standing was a struggle.

  Pushing Bethany on, he started up. Each step was a battle not to collapse. He’d only just made the bend in the stairs when the agents entered the building. He could only hope they hadn’t seen him. Not that he would be hard to find either way.

  After the turn, ten more steps led onto the next floor. On the last, Adam tripped, fell to his knees.

  The blanket of sleep draped his shoulders.

  Bethany arrived before he could surrender. Grabbing his arm, she tugged until he stood, then staggered on.

  To their right and straight ahead were three more fast food counters. Behind each was a door into the kitchen. They would be locked. Adam didn’t chance them.

  To the left was a wall in front of which stood numerous tables offering condiments, cutlery, and napkins. The wall spanned five-sixths of the floor’s length and split the area in half. Behind it was another seating area.

  Against the wall, on the other side, was a row of bins. Weaving through the tables, Adam and Bethany crouched behind the last of these.

  “What now?” Bethany asked.

  “Easy,” Adam said. His breathing was labored. Consciousness threatened to desert him. “We wait for my sister. Hope she gets here before the agents do, and that she can stop them before she departs her body.”

  “How long do we have?”

  They heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Adam closed his eyes. “Not very long.”

  Eve knew none of the agents. However, they’d been on her tail long enough for her to understand how they operated. She could pick out each group’s lead.

  The tall woman had led the operation to capture the twins, her troops dissipating at that mission’s apparent successful completion. The bald man led the collection team.

  Eve knew better than to think killing the leader would defeat them. Still, as their organizer, he was the sensible first target.

  In two hands, she lifted her gun. It was heavy, though not so heavy as the shotgun on her back. It didn’t feel as cumbersome as the first.

  Before a six-year-old Adam and Eve, their mother had placed a gun. Beside that, a magazine and a handful of bullets.

  “Instead of teddys and friends,” she said, “you get guns and murder. I’d say you got the better deal.”

  She had pressed the gun into Eve’s tiny hand.

  “Time to grow up.”

  Eve hadn’t killed until she was eight. Then, not with a gun. Each time, though, it had gotten easier. So many years after his first, Adam still struggled. Because she hated to see the effect murder had on him, even in self-defense, she was glad she held the gun.

  It was a twelve-shot magazine.

  The leader turned her way…

  Bang.

  …and died.

  There had been twenty-five agents. Caldwell had led nine into the service station, leaving fifteen.

  One down, fourteen to go.

  They swung in her direction, guns raised. Bullets flew.

  Every few weeks, the twins’ mother had taken them into the countryside, then had them shoot rows of cans. As Eve made her way down the slope, she pictured those cans.

  Bang.

  At first, they had missed with every shot. Over time, their aim improved until they were faultless even from a considerable distance.

  Bang.

  Even shooting cans, Adam had despised the action. Only under coercion from their mother would he fire.

  Bang. Bang.

  Eve would never confess that she enjoyed it. With the cans, it was a game—with humans, it was more difficult.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Now, even when the targets were human, she pictured mobile cans. Voila, a game.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  She feared losing her humanity. The more years spent on the run, the more lives she took, the harder it was to hold on to it.

  Bang.

  Click. Click.

  Empty. Including the boss, she had killed nine with twelve shots. A hundred darts might have hit her, if not for her shield. She held it as she reloaded, even as the sky turned to fire.

  It weakened her.

  Looking at the survivors, she said, “You can’t hit me. If you stay, you’ll die. Your choice.”

  As one, the cowards made their decision.

  Two ran for an SUV. This brought them closer to Eve. With two shots, she killed both.

  After the others, who sprinted for the motorway, she sent five more bullets.

  One died, another screamed and collapsed to the tarmac, holding her shoulder. Eve aimed for the final runner, then lowered. They were out of range. No point wasting ammo.

  When she released the shield, the fire receded a little, though not entirely. The building shimmered, demonic shadows crawling across its roof. Hell tugged at her soul.

  Knowing she could not afford to use her powers again, she gripped her gun and ran toward the service station.

  They would not escape.

  Through the building’s entrance, Caldwell organized her people. Three would stay in the central hub, guarding the stairs, toilet corridor, and main entrance, while three would head to the loos. The final three follow her upstairs.

  Adam was weak. The receptionist was nothing. Still, she rose with caution. In each hand, she held a gun. On the left, a stunner for Adam, but in the right, she gripped a killer for Bethany.

  On the top floor, she noted the three fast food joints and the doors into their kitchen areas. Locked. There was no toilet up here. Adam and Bethany had to be in the eating area if they weren’t hiding behind a counter.

  One agent remained at the peak of the stairs. Another checked behind the counters before following Caldwell and the final agent to the turn in the wall.

  There were ten tables and maybe thirty chairs, all crushed close—fast food, meant to be devoured in discomfort.

  They were under none of the tables, so they had to be behind the row of bins.

  She pointed. One agent circled the room’s wall. The other took a more direct route to the fugitives.

  Caldwell stayed back, guns raised.

  They had no chance.

  It was game over.

  The expression sitting ducks came to mind.

  Atop the bin beside which they sat were eleven stacked trays. Before the agents ascended, Adam grabbed seven. Because he was a gentleman, he gave Bethany four.

  When the agents hit the stairs, Adam took three long, deep breaths, gathering his strength. He’d need everything he could muster.

  Tapping Bethany’s elbow, he said, “Remember these.”

  “What?”

  He put a finger to his lips, but he nodded at her elbow again.

  They waited.

  Many times, Adam had sat in silence, listening to the approach of evil boots. Thus, he knew four villains had come up the stairs, but only three had proceeded beyond that point. All of these had turned into the seating area of the floor.

  One agent would circle the wall, planning to fire from a distance while another would take the direct route. Guns would be aimed in his direction. The third, presumably Caldwell, would hold back.

  He had to surprise them.

  Closing his eyes, he fought off memories of his mother.<
br />
  “You must know where every enemy is at all times. It is unforgivable to lose track of anyone, regardless of whether you’re dealing with one, one hundred, or a million.”

  Squeezing his eyes, he placed each agent.

  Then, he sprang up.

  Flicking each wrist, he fired two trays like frisbees—the first toward the wall-hugging agent, the second at Caldwell.

  The closest agent, he charged.

  With the third tray, he smashed the guy’s hands, sending the gun flying.

  Chucking the tray like a gun’s spent magazine, he grabbed the man’s head and crushed it into the table as though trying to make a hole.

  With a cry, the man dropped. A stamp of Adam’s boot sent him into unconsciousness.

  The woman slowly recovered from his tray attack. As she stood, Adam bolted across the room and kicked a table with all his might.

  It slid along the floor, sending a chair flying, then struck the woman in the legs. She sprawled backward into the wall, and Adam followed.

  Diving over the table, he caught the woman and cracked her head against the tiles. Unconscious, she collapsed.

  The man left to guard the stairs appeared at the end of the sitting area, gun raised. Adam prepared to pounce.

  “That’s enough.”

  Slowly, he turned.

  Though he had lost track of Caldwell, he was unsurprised to learn she had made her way to the bins and grabbed Bethany by the throat, pressing a gun to her temple.

  “No more,” she said. “It’s over.”

  Keeping low, Eve jogged to the service station, pressing her shoulder to the wall by the front door she had recently blown open.

  Someone would be watching the door, the other nine agents spread throughout the building.

  Eve was a fantastic shot, but she wasn’t magic. To kill a target, she needed to place them, then aim. During this time, they might shoot her. If she burst in, firing blind, she would fast expend her clip. If she were lucky, she’d kill a couple of her enemies. Then they would kill her.