Legacy: The Girl in the Box #8

by Crane, Robert J.

  “I run this place,” I said, “good luck locking me in anywhere. I can override any door I want opened. No, if they trigger the shutters—and they should, to keep us from dusting them with snipers—then they’ll be the ones locked in. Security will be the only place they’ll be able to raise and lower the shutters.”

  “But that keeps our people trapped,” Ariadne said, “and we have an awful lot of young metas over there.”

  “No argument here,” I said as I hit the edge of the building and reached a locked room. I ran a card key over the door and it beeped, sliding open to admit me. “Hopefully they’re not dug in, because I need to deal with the Century force on my own.”

  There was a pause before Ariadne spoke again. “You’re not a one-woman army, Sienna.”

  “Oh, yes, I am.” I took a breath as I entered the tunnel that led from HQ to the dormitory’s basement. The overhead fluorescent lights clicked on in a long sequential pattern that left me staring at a dank, acrid-smelling hallway. The tunnel was left over from the original Directorate, designed to be used when periods of snowfall made transiting from building to building uncomfortable. I hadn’t used them since shortly after I came to the Directorate because they tended to lock them down in the summertime, but they had survived the destruction of the Directorate with only a nasty, smoky smell to show for it. I ran down the hall, feet pounding against the concrete as I headed straight for my target. “Coordinate a response, Ariadne. Keep them contained, because if they’re with Century—and I can’t imagine they’re not—then their objective is to wipe us all out, so we’re effectively already dead. Make sure they don’t survive the attempt.”

  Ariadne’s reply came back eight octaves higher than usual, coated in frustration. “That’s insane—”

  “Do it,” I said. “That’s the position of the head of Ops, okay? Do not negotiate, do not bargain, kill them all as soon as you can, because I guarantee you that they’ll be trying to do that to our people.”

  “Why not just blow up the building then, and save ourselves the trouble?” Ariadne asked with measured sarcasm.

  “Why, that’s a lovely idea,” I said. “I might just have to do that.”

  There was a pause. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m joking.” I took a breath as I came to the end of the hallway. “Probably.”

  “You cannot be serious—”

  “I’m entering the dormitory and switching to silent,” I said, placing a small headset on my ear and clicking the volume lower. “Do what I’ve asked. I’ll contact you if I need anything, otherwise maintain radio silence.”

  “But—”

  “Radio silence begins now,” I said, cutting her off as I ran my key card over the scanner next to the door. It beeped and I placed my hand over the biometric scanner. It read my palm quickly, probably noting that my lifeline was getting shorter by the moment, and the door hissed open into the dormitory basement. The good news was that it wouldn’t open for anyone but me, and only while I was alive. The bad news was that whoever Century had sent, I doubt they knew or cared about that little detail.

  I crept into the basement, my senses hyper alert and listening for any sound. There was plenty of it; scuffling of feet, gunfire from above, shouting. Either the extermination of my people was well underway or there was still a fight going on. The shouting led me to believe it was the latter, which meant I had a chance to tip the balance. Most of the metas who were here in the dorms weren’t much in the way of fighters and were low on the power scale. That meant that while they were stronger and faster than a human, they didn’t stand half the chance I did of being able to outmaneuver someone pointing a gun at me or being able to completely overwhelm a group of armed mercenaries with my superior speed and reflexes.

  I pondered the fact that the force assaulting us was carrying guns. I’d run across some of that kind before, armed mercenaries whom Century had employed to take out smaller groups of metas a few at a time. I suspected that meant that we weren’t facing much in the way of metas this round, just men with guns. I kept my hand firmly on my submachine gun. Men with guns I could handle, so long as I was armed. Hell, I could handle metas, too, but this might actually be easier if I did it right.

  I got to the nearest staircase and ascended. I knew where I was, and it was in a back hallway of the dormitory building. I opened the door to the corridor and didn’t hear any noise nearby. I dodged out with my weapon covering the corners, sweeping for enemies. I didn’t look in any direction that I wasn’t already pointing the gun, and I started to move forward, toward the main lobby. This had been the way to my room, and a line of windows to my left was shuttered closed, steel grey metal blocking any light from coming in from outside. The lamps flickered above, on emergency lighting, and red emergency lights flashed from boxes mounted every twenty or thirty feet at the sides of the hallway. In the distance I could see the entrance to the lobby and could hear gunfire coming in bursts.

  I slipped along the wall, trying to make myself invisible, melting into the shadows where possible. I could see men advancing across the mouth of the hallway ahead, firing their weapons as they headed not toward the cafeteria but toward the long hallway opposite mine, the one where most of the metas we had on campus were staying. We’d kept almost everyone on one side of the building because it was easier to keep things regulated. I had worried at the time that it might make them more vulnerable, but I thought cloistering them together might also be more defensible. It appeared I had been right on both counts.

  And of course the beauteous thing about it was that my enemies had left their backs totally exposed to a flanking attack by yours truly.

  I stuck to the shadows, moving slowly, quietly, though the gunfire was deafening, echoing down the hall. The smell of discharged gunpowder hung thick and heavy in the air as I eased along through the red light, the faint clouds of smoke from so much weapons discharge casting a thin haze into the air. I kept on, trying to remain as quiet as possible even though I could probably have driven a truck down the hallway, honked the horn, and run right into their midst without them noticing until the treads were upon them.

  I came to the mouth of the hallway, where it met the opening, and saw what I was up against. There were twenty or thirty of them, all spread throughout the lobby. They were totally focused on the hall, and gunfire was coming steadily from that direction, which made me wonder who on my team had guns and was resisting their advance. Whoever it was, they were doing a pretty good job of stymieing the mercs, holding them back from charging. They were all wearing Kevlar vests and tactical helmets, which had the potential to stop a bullet, though it was hardly a foregone conclusion. Shooting them would still hurt them, and although they were cushioned, I knew I could break bones through their padding and armor. For maximum effect, though, I really needed to get those helmets off.

  The good news was that I had a plan to do just that.

  I slipped on a gas mask as I stood in the shadows, unobserved by everyone. It was a newer model with a wider lens for me to see out of, one that dipped back further so it didn’t obstruct my field of vision like a lot of the old bug-eyed models did. I thumbed a canister of tear gas off the belt I had grabbed from the armory and then another, pulling the pins loose with my index finger before I heaved them toward the middle of the lobby.

  That drew attention immediately, causing three mercs to look back at me. I met their gaze with quick bursts from my submachine gun, which roared in the hall and lit the walls with muzzle flash. I ran forward and slid feet-first like a baseball player behind a makeshift barricade that the mercs had set up from a table they’d dragged out of the security room. I fired blind over it twice, letting the rounds rip with the best aim I could from my hidden position. I heard bullets come back at me, tearing into the surface of the table and ripping through, showering me with splinters. I tried not to pay attention to how close they were getting, but it’s tough to ignore it when bullets are tearing through your cover.


  I heard the sound of the tear gas canisters burst, and I smiled. I counted to five then rolled right, coming out and surprising a guy who had been creeping toward me trying to flank me. I pegged him in the head, landing a few rounds in his neck before I kept rolling right, coming up in a squatting position after my next roll. I shot to my feet and fired left, hitting another guy who was emerging from the growing fog as he looked up, shocked to see someone coming at him.

  I could see flashes in the tear gas, could hear the sound of gunfire and coughing in the midst of it, my finely tuned meta senses combining with adrenaline to keep me on point. I dodged left as I felt bullets whipping to my right and I grabbed at another dark figure emerging from the mist as he came within arm’s length of me. I threw him without letting him get close, just whirled and tossed him by the front of his vest before he could whip his gun around or react to me in any way. I heard him land after a twenty-foot flight, and it didn’t sound like one he’d walk away from. I was already moving on, though.

  I came upon two more figures, huddled behind the security desk. They were emerging as they coughed, and I mercilessly hit the first in the neck with a knifehand strike that sent him to his knees, choking even worse than he already was. The next caught a perfectly aimed kick to the knee that caused him to scream in pain as he fell toward me, head thumping against the Kevlar on my chest. I saw him fumbling for his gun and knew I couldn’t chance it. I grabbed him around the neck just like you see in the movies, and I wrenched it so hard it broke his vertebrae. It was instinctual, it was thoughtless, and he fell from my grip like the dead weight he now was. I shoved aside the thought of what I’d done, pushing it off to the back of my mind for later.

  I was in my groove now, and the tear gas was starting to clear, dispersing in the massive atrium of the dormitory building. As it thinned, I caught glimpse of another cluster of three, just catching their collective breath, hands still on their guns. They were carrying European assault rifles, bullpup design, which I didn’t recognize right off because of the fog of tear gas in the room. My face was starting to sweat inside my mask, making it more difficult to see.

  I charged the three of them and swatted away the barrel the first pointed at me as he fired. I heard glass breaking as the rounds shattered the windows out front and then a sound of clanging metal as the round met the shutters outside. I jerked the barrel down even as I felt the hot metal in my hand and pulled my weapon around, firing a three-shot burst under his visor, which looked like an oversized motorcycle helmet. Crimson splattered the clear mask, and blood pumped down his neck as he fell limp to the floor.

  I didn’t spare any mercy for the next either, booting him in the groin with a kick that would have scored a fifty-yard field goal if it had been aimed at a football. The man on the receiving team screamed and dropped to his knees, all thoughts of keeping a grip on his rifle forgotten. I raised a knee to knock his helmet off and then finished him with a backhand to the face that shattered any semblance of a nose that he might have started out with.

  The last of the triad caught a shot in the gut, and when he doubled over I knocked his helmet off and planted a palm on his forehead, then shoved as hard as I could. From a normal human, it probably would have staggered him. Because it was me, the back of his neck cracked, his feet flew out from underneath him, and his skull hit the floor hard enough that it made a wet spot on my shoes that probably wouldn’t ever come off.

  I grabbed his gun as he fell and braced the stock against my shoulder. Seeing action heroes fire two guns in movies always made me cringe because normal humans can’t really do it effectively. The aim goes all to hell because the recoil throws it off with every shot and their reflexes aren’t good enough to bring it back to center in a time-efficient manner. Rapid fire is an even worse idea because accuracy progressively deteriorates every time the gun fires and the barrel rocks back.

  I had meta strength, however, and the recoil didn’t affect me at all. I kept the submachine gun and the rifle fairly steady as I fired them both at two clusters of targets, men in black who were emerging from the fog. Six of them came out firing or ready to, and I pegged the first with enough bullets to send him to the ground with a pain in the chest. The next two on each side took rounds to the chest and neck respectively, ending at least one of their breathing careers. I adjusted my aim upward for the third on my left, and he took three bullets to the helmet, shattering the visor and splattering it with gore. The other guy got hit in the chest and staggered back, landing hard. I surged forward and kicked one of the survivors in the guts, taking all the wind out of him, sending him flipping in a roll straight into a wall. Another was starting to get up, gun in hand, so I raised the rifle and fired into him only a few feet away. I could see the bullets penetrate his Kevlar and red begin to run down the black vest he wore. I shot the next two who were also moving, scoring a hit to the side of the helmet that penetrated through and one to the other guy’s legs that hit his femoral artery. His leg started to gush blood, and I knew he had only a minute or two of life left in him before he bled to death.

  “Looks like you guys are the Expendables,” I said, “but without the benefit of having Sly Stallone as the brains of your operation.”

  The tear gas was almost clear, and I knocked my mask off my head with an offhand flick of my wrist. The once-stale air now caused a sharp tingle when I breathed it, like I’d bitten into a jalapeno. I could see five more guys ahead, toward the hallway opposite where I’d entered, and I fired at the first with the rifle because they were far enough away I didn’t want to chance it with the submachine gun. I veered right and ducked behind the corner of the wall before peering out and firing again, using my precision to blast one of the guys in the head. I didn’t see him for more than a second before I had to duck behind the corner of the wall as it started to absorb a hail of bullets, but I knew he wasn’t getting back up.

  I took a few steps back from the corner as the drywall continued to break down from the gunfire of my adversaries. The entire corner was just about chipped off now, with a half-foot indentation from where they’d tried to shoot through the wall to get to me. It wasn’t a bad idea, actually, but I’d backed about six feet away from the corner, anticipating that exact strategy. The further away I got, the less likely they were going to hit me on a blind shot.

  My shoe squeaked on the tile and I was thankful yet again that I always stuck with flats instead of heels. I was also wearing pants instead of a skirt because I knew what kind of job I was really in. Paperwork and desk bullshit aside, this was my office, in the thick of the fight. My purpose was to save metakind, and wearing heels and a skirt while sitting behind a desk was never in the job description.

  I dropped the submachine gun and took off at a run for the corner. Just as I reached it I slid like a baseball player, letting the seat of my pants slide on the tile. My momentum carried me forward across the unresistant surface and I went sliding across the mouth of the hallway, rifle at the ready. As I went past, I heard the remaining three open fire, but they were too slow and I was too fast. I opened up with the rifle and caught the first one under the chin. He sagged, all the starch taken out of him. The next I caught lower, just under his vest, bullets tearing into his belly, and he groaned in pain and started to drop.

  I couldn’t get a bead on the last of them before I disappeared behind the corner of the other side of the hallway. I pulled the rifle sling off my shoulders because I knew I was just about out of ammo. I reached to my hip and pulled my Glock and sprang to my feet. I ran at the corner again, but this time instead of sliding I jumped into the air, starting to execute a flip.

  In the movies, they show this sort of thing in slow motion, two guns firing simultaneously. It was utterly ludicrous for a normal person to even think about trying, but again, I was not normal. Even with my dexterity and reflexes, though, it was a hard shot with just the one gun I was holding. I managed to land two out of the five shots I fired, one hitting the last mercenary in the torso, the other
knocking his helmet off without breaking through it. I could see him trying to shake off the shock of what had just happened, even as he staggered under the pain and bruising from the gunshot to the chest. He bounced off the wall, trying to catch his balance, and took aim at me just as I landed, flat on my back.

  I absorbed the shock well, spreading it out over my back, my buttocks, my legs where possible, and one arm. The other I tried to keep focused on him, my gun hand still extended, but the impact sent my aim wide, and I’d pulled my finger off the trigger just before I landed in order to keep from accidentally firing. It took me a moment to readjust myself, to bring my gun up after the landing, and I knew as I brought it into alignment that I was too slow, that my gamble with the last blitz hadn’t paid off. I kept on, trying to get my gun up in time, but when the shots rang out, I was aiming at his leg at best, and I knew I was done.

  It came as a surprise when he was the one who slumped, a cloud of red mist around his head as if someone had blown a puff of blood into the air. He hit his knees, then pitched forward on his face, dead. I still had my gun up, aiming at him now, in case somehow I had missed something.

  “Sienna, is that you?” I heard Scott’s voice from somewhere ahead, beyond the barricades of furniture and tables that were blocking the hallway.

  I took a breath then another, as the adrenaline started to fade. “Yeah. It’s me. Who else would it be?”

  There was no response for a moment. “Did you get them all?” Scott asked finally.

  I looked back into the foyer of the dormitories, into the mass of dead, dying and wounded. “I think so. Just a minute.” I got to my feet, which were a little unsteady, and worked my way back into the foyer. There were a few men moaning, still bleeding, and I kicked their guns away as I made my way through, disarming them and punching a few in the jaw to put their lights out as needed. When I reached the security desk, I swiped my card and hit the button that started to retract the shutters. There was an incredible clatter as the building began to exit lockdown, and I saw men in tactical vests—familiar faces from our security detail—come pouring in through the main doors. I waved them in, and said, “Secure the area, sweep the building floor by floor to make sure it’s clear.”