I watched with a mixture of horror and amazement as the mechanized suit moved towards Harris.
He pointed his left arm at Harris, aiming the flamethrower. “And you worried about Kit burning you.”
Harris didn’t say anything. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down as he stared at Dykovski.
Dykovski reached out for Harris with his right hand. The armored plates turned his fingers into long metal cylinders, and I wondered for a second how he could tap in the codes on his wristband with such fat digits.
A flash of pink as he turned his hand palm-up and I had the answer. The damned armor only covered the top, allowing him to still pull a trigger and/or input the data needed to blow our heads off.
Damned Agency techs thought of everything.
He gripped Harris’s shoulder, tearing the flannel shirt. “Don’t think I won’t kill you right here, right now.” His eyes flared with a mixture of insanity and pride at having such control over our lives. “Die here or die out there. Your call. I’ll pop your plug if I see you helping those rebels or not doing your best to put them down.”
“Harris,” I said quietly. “I’ll be fine. Go do what you have to do.”
His eyes met mine, sad and full of regrets. I knew deep down in my soul he wouldn’t raise a hand against the team. I’d rather he died out there with friends than in here with this monster, if I had anything to say about it.
He might also be my only way to contact the team and let them know I was still alive. I arched one eyebrow and saw the light come on behind his eyes.
“Okay, Jo.” Harris sighed, almost overdramatically, as Dykovski released him, and he walked out through the door, leaving me behind.
Dykovski seized my arm, painfully wrenching my shoulder as he pulled me against him. The cold barrel of the flamethrower brushed against my bare skin, raising goose bumps.
“You’ll make a good human shield.” He stepped forward in loud, clanking steps, getting faster with each movement as he got more comfortable with the armor. “Don’t think they’ll pay much attention to me when you’re in the way.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I shouted, my patience at an end. “You’ve got that damned suit and you’re hiding behind a half-naked woman?”
The answer came in another agonizing twist of my right arm, the metal fingers tightening on my flesh. I gasped but said nothing, forcing back the tears and screams.
We made it into the corridor, my struggling against the steel grip getting me nowhere fast.
Hot Foot materialized in front of us, grinning. “Got one, boss. The big guy with silver on his arms.” He held up a chain, the small black rectangle dangling free. “Just standing there. Got me a jaw tap in as well, bastard didn’t even flinch.” He tossed it towards Dykovski, turning and burning out of sight.
The taste of bile filled my mouth.
Steve.
Almost immediately the wristband came to life on Dykovski’s left arm, burping out the code before falling silent again.
“Found and recorded.” Dykovski let out a yelp of excitement as he threw the jammer on the ground and stepped on it with a metal-clad foot. He twisted it once before moving to the side, revealing the crushed computer chip. “See, that’s how it’s done.”
He looked at me with a maniacal grin. “Let’s see how many more we can get before they have to kill you to get to me.”
Chapter Eleven
“I wonder what would happen if I set this off right now,” Dykovski mused as he strode forward, clutching me to his metal chest. The nozzle of the flamethrower nudged up under my chin.
I didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t swallow. I locked eyes with him and shot out hatred like laser beams.
He laughed, shrugging off my glare. “Wonder how Hunter would love you with a face like Kit’s. Think he’d still want you in his bed?”
I struggled against the iron grip, dragging my bare feet as much as I dared without getting stepped on.
Hot Foot appeared in front of us again, his speed making him near invisible. He held up two more chains before tossing them on the floor in front of Dykovski.
Dykovski stomped on them with great glee, shaking me up and down with the effort. “Whose are these?”
“The Guardian and the chick. They’re coming up fast. Thrasher’s busy with Slammer. Going mano a mano, looking epic. Meltdown’s in there too, about to put the hands-on treatment on Slammer and tag team Thrasher.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, keeping back tears.
Hunter.
Rachael.
I opened my eyes in time to see Dykovski flip open the panel on his left arm. He looked at his wristband with a wide smile as it beeped and chirped twice in sequence. “Got one, two. Already had Wind Witch in there, but it always pays to be sure it’s the right code.” He gave me a shake. “Lord knows what sort of weird Agency shit you’ve got access to.”
“Don’t need toys when we’ve got smart supermen and women to kick your ass,” I growled, unable to hold it all back.
That got me another violent shake and a twist of the metal fingers on my well-bruised arm.
Hot Foot stood by and giggled, a maniacal sound telling me he was definitely not in his right mind.
Dykovski tilted his head towards the corner. “Shouldn’t be long now.” He nodded at Hot Foot. “Get back in there and grab the last one. Ani-Man, I believe.” He scowled at me. “May have to kill one of them to get their attention. Who should it be, Surf?” He squeezed. “Who would you kill?”
“Screw you.” I tried to slip free of his metallic hug, getting nowhere.
“Now, now. Language. Don’t make me hand you over to the boys for playtime after this is all over.” A leer came over his face. “Maybe I’ll make Hunter watch.”
Something screamed nearby, a wild feral cry sending shivers up my spine. It didn’t sound human.
Dykovski stopped still, his grip on me loosening just a fraction. His eyebrows rose then lowered as he frowned.
A bobcat scampered around the corner before skidding to a stop. The claws screeched as they dug into the cement floor. The long tufted ears twitched once before they flattened against the wildcat’s head, the feline lips curling back to show long, sharp fangs. He launched himself into the air, snarling as he aimed for Dykovski’s uncovered face.
“Ah!” Dykovski released me and took a step back, his left arm flying up. The weapon in his right hand shot black ooze at the cat, catching the feline in midair. It fell to the ground in a tarry mess, the goop trapping all four feet. It mewed a pathetic cry, the head thankfully free of the hardening plastic.
I resisted the urge to rush forward and pick up the feline. Peter might be able to talk to the animals, but I didn’t need to end up with a nasty set of bites.
“Fuck this,” Dykovski growled.
I looked back to see his scarlet face, his breath coming out in short, staggered pants.
The panel over his wristband flipped open. “No more fooling around.”
His right hand moved towards the panel, fingers wriggling free of the armor.
“No.” I slapped my hand down over the display, digging my nails into the exposed flesh around the wristband.
Dykovski roared and swung his left arm, attempting to shake me off.
I held on for dear life, wrapping myself around the armored limb to keep Dykovski from accessing the wristband.
I could only imagine how silly it looked, a semi-naked woman flying around on the bulletproof arm like a piñata on steroids. Instinctively I charged up but knew it’d be useless—the suit would be insulated against attacks like mine, and I couldn’t risk knocking Dykovski out.
My short nails gave up the ghost a few seconds later, my tired muscles unable to keep the promises my mind made.
I bounced twice along the floor before landing with my back against the cold wall, adding more bruises to my already battered body.
“Got a lot of spunk in you, Surf.” Dykovski’s fingers flew over the pane
l, typing in the digits. “Going to have fun breaking you when this is all done.”
“No!” I yelled, scrambling to my feet.
Dykovski laughed and pressed the button.
I flinched and threw my hands over my ears, waiting for the horrible sound of a plug detonating, of someone’s life ending in a violent explosion. Instead I heard a growing mixture of screaming, roaring and yelling getting louder, moving towards us.
Dykovski strode forward, leveling the flamethrower at me. The grin was gone, replaced with confusion and dismay.
“Get back here.” He snapped his fingers at me. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“But I’m done with you.” I slipped under his outstretched arm and charged towards the bend in the corridor, praying the flamethrower would take an extra second or three to ignite. If I could get around the corner, get that bit of extra distance between Dykovski and myself, if that flamethrower took a bit more time to power up and light the natural gas…
A fiery roar burst behind me, the heat singeing my heels as I shot up at a ninety-degree angle, my feet hitting the wall and shoving me around the edge, kicking what little strength I had left into getting away from the crazed man.
I stumbled to a stop in the middle of the hallway. A burst of superheated air pummeled me from behind, forcing me to my knees.
I looked up to view an insane scene, the breath racing out of my lungs as I tried to grasp what was in front of me.
No less than ten feet away from me Steve stood toe-to-toe with Thrasher, the two men clenching each other’s hands in a classic test of manly strength. Steve roared as the younger super shuffled back an inch, slowly taking the main part of the hallway bit by bit.
Harris lay in a semiconscious state on the ground near the two men. I couldn’t tell if he’d been knocked out by Steve in an attempt to keep him out of the fight or by Thrasher when Harris tried to change sides.
Thrasher chuckled as he continued to wrestle with Steve, grey fingers intertwined with tanned.
Twenty feet behind the strongmen, Rachael shrieked and launched an air burst from her outstretched hand. It slammed into Hot Foot head-on, slowing down the speedster as he charged at her, the narrow corridor restricting his attack options. The bubble split around Hot Foot and smashed into Steve’s back, splitting again so I only felt a part of the overall tornado-force winds.
Hot Foot yelled and increased his speed, feet moving so quickly smoke rose from the bottoms of his shoes.
Rachael laughed and increased the strength of her aerial assault, the funnel cloud expanding to start lifting the speedy super off his feet.
Someone stepped up to stand beside her.
Hunter.
My heart stopped for a second before roaring up again in full throttle.
Dressed in the same black leather jacket and pants as the others, he put a hand on Rachael’s shoulder as she continued to freeze Hot Foot in his tracks. His gaze moved down the corridor and up over the struggling middle-aged anarchist, past Steve and Thrasher and the unconscious Harris, landing and locking with mine.
I can’t imagine what he saw. I didn’t want to.
Hunter took a step forward and to the side, ending up right beside the windstorm keeping Hot Foot in place. He glanced at Rachael and nodded.
She balled up her hands.
Hunter’s right fist flew into the area previously occupied by the maelstrom and punched Hot Foot in the face before his feet could hit the ground and propel him forward. The speedster dropped with a whine, arms flailing around as he crashed onto his back.
Another bobcat pounced on Hot Foot’s chest, snarling and showing yellowing teeth. The speedster didn’t move, his hands spread out to each side.
Rachael glanced past Hunter to see me and let out a cry, her hands covering her mouth.
Hunter stooped down by Hot Foot and pulled a pistol out. A black leather holster rode low on his hips, reminding me of a post-apocalyptic cowboy on a mission. He hadn’t carried since he quit being a cop. He’d told me so one night while we cuddled in front of the giant flat-screen devouring chicken quesadillas. I hadn’t pried further, choosing instead to find new uses for the excess sour cream and salsa.
Hunter grabbed Hot Foot’s head, yanked it to one side and pressed the business end of the pistol to the back of the neck, not far from the plug.
Hot Foot yowled as Hunter shot him. He fell back, screaming, with the bobcat poised to strike.
Without looking back, Hunter moved towards me. Rachael fell into step behind him, her hands upraised as she shot small bursts of air down the corridor, preparing for any opposition.
I forced myself to my feet, pushing myself to get moving. The ground shuddered beneath me, and I knew Dykovski was coming around the corner. We had a minute, maybe two, before the flamethrower would own the hallway and incinerate anyone, friend or foe.
I had no doubt Dykovski would kill his thugs if they got in the way of his pursuit of me and his command over my team. We were all expendable in the end.
Peter was nowhere in sight. I suspected he was around from the presence of the bobcats, keeping out of range and watching through his animal friends. He, at least, had his jammer.
Harris staggered to his knees, shaking his head. He glanced over at the two wrestlers and then over to me, his eyes unfocused.
“Get her out of here.” Steve ground the words out between his teeth. “Get her to Hunter.” He didn’t break eye contact with Thrasher, didn’t let up on his concentrated attack.
Harris lurched to his feet and came towards me. He seized my arm, his fingertips warm to the touch. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He nodded towards Rachael and Hunter. “Guess she’s the new chick. Have to get properly introduced.”
I snorted at the lilt in his voice as if he’d just walked into a bar and spotted her sipping a margarita at the far table.
Thrasher screamed.
The super’s right hand crumbled under Steve’s grip, the stone fingers falling away in a shattered mess of crushed powder and jagged shards. Thrasher fell to his knees, yelling incoherently. He cradled his right forearm, running his fingers up and over the nub that used to be his wrist.
Thrasher moved to change back from stone to flesh, his good hand already transforming as he continued to grip his crippled arm.
Steve dropped down, putting both his hands on the super’s face. “Stop it. You’ll bleed to death,” the strongman snapped. “Don’t change your hurt arm back. Don’t change.” He gave the traumatized man a shake, his voice demanding obedience. “Listen to me. Don’t change.”
Thrasher faced Steve with bleary eyes, confusion spreading with fear and pain. The shifting stopped shy of his elbow as he gave out a strangled cough. His entire body had returned to flesh with only part of his injured arm remaining solid.
Steve looked away for a second, long enough to nod to Hunter.
Hunter stepped behind the thug. He pressed the pistol to the back of Thrasher’s skull and squeezed the trigger. The super slumped into Steve’s arms.
“Hunter.” I approached him, unsure what I was witnessing.
He spun around and grabbed Harris, repeating the maneuver with the pistol.
Harris didn’t fight. He released me and slapped his hand over the back of his neck, dropping down on one knee and cursing up a storm.
Hunter pulled me into a hug, the pistol pressing against my bare back. His lips caressed my ear with a wet kiss.
I felt the barrel push against the plug scar, move a fraction lower.
He fired.
It burned, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, and I screamed as I collapsed in his arms, wondering why my Guardian, my lover, had just shot me.
A wave of heat slammed into my back. I struggled to get up and break free of Hunter’s grip but couldn’t, my body having more common sense than my mind at that point.
“It’ll take a second to work,” he mumbled, his lips to my ear. “If you want to pass out, it’s okay. I’m here. I won’t let go
.” Dampness brushed my cheek. “I won’t let go.”
The ground vibrated with a handful of steps and then went silent.
I couldn’t turn, still trapped in Hunter’s embrace. I knew what was going on behind me, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
Dykovski was here.
Rachael stopped beside us, rage written all over her face. Her hands stayed in front of her, shooting out wind blast after wind blast, her fingers twitching and jerking into odd shapes and patterns. She stared at Dykovski with a visible hatred, her lower lip trembling even as she unleashed another barrage.
Goose bumps rose on my bare skin as the heat vanished, replaced by a cool breeze. It shifted within seconds, the two elements fighting for domination. I could imagine Dykovski standing behind me, scowling and rolling the flamethrower around, trying to get past the strong air waves buffeting the flames away from us. He’d worry about scorching himself and cut back on the weapon’s intensity, if he could.
Rachael glanced down, her gaze darting between us and Dykovski.
“She’s good,” Hunter murmured into my hair. “She’s good.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that I was not good, that he had just shot me and when I got my strength back I was going to kick his ass into next week, but nothing came out.
“Shit!” Rachael yelled.
I fought my way free of Hunter’s arms and turned around to fall on my ass on the cold floor. The little bit of hope I’d gathered in Hunter’s embrace vanished when I spotted Dykovski, his massive power armor suit almost filling the entire corridor.
Rachael yelped, spinning around towards us.
The same type of ebony goo trapping the bobcat now encased her hands, effectively crippling the super. She stumbled back towards Hunter as the power suit moved forward, liberated from her elemental attack.
Rachael fell on the ground, her legs thrashing as she tried to free herself. The panic on her face grew as Dykovski advanced on us in a slow, steady march of doom.
I reached out and grabbed Rachael’s arm. A sharp tug backwards and sideways and she was with us, weeping as she leaned into my shoulder.
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