Badder (Out of the Box Book 16)

by Robert J. Crane

  And if I could have…I probably would have stayed there a lot longer.

  The pangs of hunger were doing their work, though. My stomach felt like it was filled with a thousand living bugs that were crawling within, scratching and biting and trying to get the hell out. It was a beyond-uncomfortable sensation, and I wanted it to end in the worst way. I almost considered grabbing a handful of sand and trying to swallow it, just to shut my belly up—it had been a long time since I’d had a meal—but that was stupid. Trying to gut down a handful of sand wasn’t going to solve the problem. Nor was chewing on tree bark or leaves or any of the other nasty options available to me close at hand.

  Normally, I would have been up and moving by now, in this situation. My brain was screaming at me to put some distance between myself and the road, to get going and haul ass away from here. I’d left tracks by the road side when I’d rolled down the embankment, and some sharp-eyed soul could maybe have picked them out. Movement was a compelling idea—

  But it wasn’t compelling me. Not enough to move me.

  Not right now.

  I listened to the silence in my head. It was impressive, and total, and…

  Lonely.

  I’d had souls in my head for as long as I could remember. As a succubus, I could drain the life out of my enemies. I’d used the power sparingly, adding only four of the seven I ended up with willingly. The other three were forced upon me in some way, but they were still…mine.

  And now for the first time since I was seventeen years old, my head was filled with a breathtaking silence. Left alone with my own thoughts, I had never quite realized exactly how much background noise that those souls had added to my life.

  Car engines hummed occasionally in the distance. A bird tweeted somewhere to my left. A wind rolling through stirred all the tree branches before departing and leaving them shaking, a few overlapping ones clacking together.

  Silence.

  And not a silence I was used to.

  “I have to move,” I said, saying what I thought one of them might say in this circumstance. I focused, the cool morning air prickling at my skin. It was midsummer, but it was Scotland, which meant that it was still chilly.

  Silence. No reply in the depths of my mind.

  “I have to go,” I said, trying to muster up the will to get to my feet, to get moving. My own voice seemed inadequate to the task of motivating me to action.

  A car in the distance applied its brakes, and I could hear it squeaking to a stop. I listened, my ears perked up, as it slowed and finally came to a rest, engine idling. It wasn’t far away, maybe a hundred feet, close to where I’d gotten off the truck last night.

  Doors opened, then slammed shut.

  A voice cracked in the morning. “You check over there, I’ll look over here.”

  “Aye,” another answered, “I think I see what the helicopter spotted. The ground’s all turned up over here, like someone crawled.”

  Helicopter? Had I missed a helicopter in my sleep?

  “Could have been an animal,” the first voice said.

  “Could have. I’m calling it in anyway.”

  “Aye, best be safe than sorry.”

  I was on my feet now. A helicopter had spied where I’d crawled off the road, barely able to move because of injuries from my last fight, and the dragging wounds I’d suffered while riding the bottom of the truck. For all I knew, there was a trail of blood leading right to me. A bloodhound could probably follow me easily.

  “I thought you said you were going to call it in?”

  “I am, I am; just a wee second.”

  I clenched my fist. I couldn’t let them call it in, whoever they were. They’d bring all manner of hell down on me, and now that I’d lost my voices—my souls—I’d lost the power to fly the hell out of here in a hot second, to heal myself nearly instantly after a grievous wounding—hence my spending the night under the bushes—and nearly all my power to fight back.

  Nearly all.

  Choosing my path carefully, I set around the edges of the bush, snaking my way hurriedly but carefully back up toward the road. I had to stop them before they called for help, or else they might summon more trouble to me than I could possibly handle.

  3.

  Reed

  Eden Prairie, Minnesota

  It was just before midnight, and all of us had been glued to the TV in the bullpen for countless hours. I’d watched the footage coming out of Edinburgh with alternating fear and horror wrestling like twin snakes in my belly. Someone had turned loose metahuman powers in a major way, but naturally all the blame was going to Sienna, even though everyone on the planet knew she didn’t have the ability to shoot giant red exploding forcefield beams out of her hands (I don’t know how else to describe them). It was a subtle narrative trick, but one that the news anchor providing breathless coverage of the chaos—which hadn’t had an actual news update in about six hours—had well in hand by now.

  “Again, we are coming to you live,” the head anchor—head wanker, more like—said, “and this is a BREAKING NEWS ALERT.” He got very self important as he said this, slight double chin wobbling, his bald head gleaming under the studio lights. “Sienna Nealon has been involved in rogue metahuman action this evening in Edinburgh, Scotland. Details are still scarce—”

  “Hasn’t stopped you from talking about it non-stop for the last six hours though, has it?” Augustus Coleman said, his patience with this twenty-four-hour news bullshit as thin as my own. “I mean, really, people. Just shut up for a little while and let some facts roll in before you go running your mouths.”

  “Well, that’s the hazard of humanity, isn’t it?” Jamal Coleman asked, quietly pensive. He was standing back, had been on his feet the whole time, occasionally walking back to his computer and giving it a tweak with his electricity powers, probably downloading the whole internet into his brain and coming back to stand, nervously, around the TV with the rest of us. “We always operate from incomplete information, but it never seems to stop us from arriving at our judgments. About our actions, about others…we’ve got an opinion on everything, but when you stop and think about it? It’s breathtaking how little we actually know.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Guy Friday said. “I know lots. Lots and lots. I know so much you could fill books with it.” He was still wearing that black mask that he always seemed to wear, everywhere he went—which begged the question to me of how he didn’t get in trouble with stores when he did his shopping—but judging by the thin, pursed line that was his lips, showing through the gap for his mouth, he was as worried as the rest of us. You could kind of tell by the quiet. Under normal conditions, he wouldn’t shut up.

  These were the first words Friday had said in about three hours. He had a hand on his chin, and he’d chewed his fingernails down to almost nothing, a ragged edge left on the tips.

  Someone eased up to me, his curly, dirty blond hair visible by dint of the way he’d lowered his head, like he was doing some serious pondering of his own. “What the hell do we do about this?” Scott Byerly asked, voice so low that it wouldn’t be blazingly obvious to everyone else in the room that we were even talking.

  “Yo, I can hear you,” Augustus said, not turning around. “Scotty. Meta-low talking only works around people who ain’t metas.”

  “We’re not doing anything,” I said, answering probably a little too quickly. Every head in the bullpen turned to me.

  “Yo, chief,” J.J. said, “this is Sienna we’re talking about.”

  “She’s a big girl, though,” Abby said, giving a flash of her pink hair as she turned to speak directly to J.J. himself. “She can deal.”

  “Hey, guys?” Chase Blanton asked, a little tentatively. She was the newest member of our team, and had only been with us for a couple months. She’d come recommended by Sienna. To me. In a dream. And as strange as that sounds, it was good enough for me. “I’m gonna head out, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying to be as quietly magnani
mous as possible. We were way after hours here, and I hadn’t even considered how some of these people might have been hanging out because I was, following in the example of the boss. “Anyone who wants to go, seriously, guys, you can leave any time.”

  “Yeah, we know that,” Jamal said, keeping his eyes fixed on the TV. “Angel and Miranda left hours ago.”

  I looked around. I didn’t even know Miranda and Angel had gone. But then, I’d been a little distracted with what was going on with the TV and the complete lack of new news.

  And here I was, left with a core group that had all—mostly—worked with and knew Sienna, and we were all standing around the bullpen with the hour hand creeping closer to midnight on the wall clock, watching a pointless news broadcast that would tell us no more than it had six hours ago, the last time they’d actually had something to report. The live broadcast from Scotland showed signs of the horizon lightening behind the reporter, grey skies showing themselves in full, UK glory.

  I looked up; Chase had disappeared out of the exit to the lobby without another word, and that left those of us remaining all staring at the screen. No one was wavering, no one was looking around, trying to figure out when it was polite to make their exit. There was concern, there was worry—surprising, I know, coming from Friday, but it was there—and there was—I think—just a little fear.

  Maybe that was just me.

  “I’m heading out, guys,” I said, trying to put a pin in this before everybody stayed up til unholier hours for news that wasn’t forthcoming. Sienna had probably found a place to lay low, a nice hole she could crawl in and say, “To hell with the world,” until it forgot about her for a bit. Maybe she’d even jetted off to another continent. She could be almost to Australia by now, for all we knew, after all.

  My announcement seemed to break up the party a little. “Say hey to Isabella for us,” Abigail called.

  “You’re such a sweet and considerate person,” J.J. said. They leaned forward and kissed. Then again. Then—

  “Yeah, I’m out, too,” Augustus said, on his feet at meta speed double time.

  J.J. and Abby broke for air, and he winked at me, like he thought he’d done me a favor by clearing out the bullpen. “Just as well,” J.J. said. “You wouldn’t have wanted to see where it goes next.”

  I cringed, not because of their inappropriate PDA, but because I saw one of our people had drifted over to them, leaning against over the top of the cubicle wall they were sitting in front of. “I’m interested,” Friday said, leaning over casually. “Go on. I’ll watch.”

  “Time for me to call it a night,” Scott said, and bailed for the lobby.

  “Yep, it’s late,” Jamal said, right after him.

  “Too true, gents,” Augustus said, looking right at me. “Shall we?”

  I looked at J.J., who appeared completely stricken, looking with paralyzed horror up at Friday. Abby was slightly cooler, but there was a sense of panic hiding in her eyes, one which I couldn’t find myself too sympathetic to, given how many times they’d pulled this geek love PDA trick to get us out of the office.

  “We shall,” I said. “Later, kids.” And I walked out with Augustus, leaving them to their fates.

  “Uh, Reed?” J.J. called after me.

  “Just lock up when you guys leave, okay?” I called over my shoulder, and disappeared into the short hallway that led to the lobby. Augustus walked at my side, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Okay,” Friday said after we left, “let’s get this party started. I’m thinking you can start by kissing her, like down the neck, and then you, girl whose name I can’t remember—”

  “It’s Abigail,” she said coldly.

  “Whatever. You bite his earlobe. Like you mean it. Like a raccoon with rabies, you know? And then—”

  “This isn’t an adult movie, Friday,” Abby said. “We don’t need a director.” There was a short pause. “Oh…oh, God. Why did I even have to explain that to you?”

  “I’m thinking severe brain damage has something to do with it,” J.J. said.

  As soon as Augustus and I were out the front door, Augustus dissolved into a fit of snickering. Jamal and Scott were waiting just outside, watching the door like they knew we were coming. The sky was black like poured tar, a few streetlights scattered around the parking lot holding the night at bay around us. It was a warm summer night, one of the few in Minnesota where it felt like it wasn’t going to get cool at all, maybe.

  I came to a stop, feeling a little like I’d walked into an ambush. “Why do I feel like you guys are about to draw guns and shoot me down right here?”

  Augustus shifted nervously next to me. “Dude…you were dead silent in there, for like…hours.”

  “We were just wondering if you were okay,” Scott said, and his lips creased with a supportive smile.

  “I’m fine,” I said, folding my arms in front of me. “I’m not the one being chased by John Law on another continent.”

  “It’s okay to worry about her,” Augustus said.

  “Didn’t know I needed permission for that,” I said as lightly as I could given the subject matter, “but thanks.”

  “He just means that what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking—it’s all normal,” Scott said.

  I tried not to be a dick, but I probably missed the mark. “It’s normal to have your sister be the subject of an international manhunt? Interesting. I should look into support groups for that, then. Find some people who understand.”

  “Reed…” Augustus started.

  “Guys,” I said, pre-empting what I was sure was going to be a very kind set of thoughts that I’d end up somehow throwing back in their faces, “it’s okay. I’m okay. And I’ll see you all tomorrow.” And with that I turned to walk away, a gnawing pit of worry still writhing in my stomach.

  4.

  Sienna

  I didn’t have much time, so I tried to focus. Worry was the enemy of intelligent action, because it used brain cells that you needed in order to be on the top of your game. I slipped through the Scottish underbrush, bushes barely touching me as I went past, heading for the voices ahead and the road I’d left behind when I’d crawled this way the night before.

  Moving like a metahuman meant running at speeds most people couldn’t really conceive of. It was like being an Olympic sprinter times two, my legs pumping so quickly and crazily that when I’d seen myself filmed running, it looked absurd, like someone had kicked the video into high speed. I was doing that now, leaping over a sapling here, dodging under a low branch there, assessing the threats to me and avoiding them quicker than the human eye could normally even process them.

  The smell of rich, green forests was thick in the cool, morning air. The fresh air would normally have been an incentive to—I dunno, go for a run or something if you were into that. And I was certainly running this morning, but the incentive in this case was to bust the living crap out of an officer of Police Scotland before he got a chance to broadcast my location to anybody and everybody this side of—oh, I dunno, Scotland, pick a frigging city. Inverness. That one was big back in the day, wasn’t it? Macbeth took place there, didn’t it?

  Up ahead I could see the vegetation clear; green branches and light brown boughs gave way to grey skies beyond. I was sprinting up the embankment below the road, and I heard a male voice start to speak, following a hiss of static as he thumbed a microphone. He must have heard me coming, though, because he hesitated before saying anything.

  I burst out of the trees and hit him like a freight train. I wasn’t aiming to kill him, but I assaulted that police officer hard, keeping on after I kicked his legs out from beneath him. They flew up, leaving him as my violent sweeping kick landed, and I was moving on to the next target, figuring hesitation was my deadliest enemy in this fight. I grimaced and said, “Sorry,” as I rammed into the second officer. He’d been grabbing for a baton the moment he’d seen me, but he didn’t have a prayer. I’d only had to cover about ten feet once I left th
e cover of trees, and that was simply too much for human reflexes to deal with. He’d needed to draw his baton, deploy it, and then raise it and bring it down on me. He’d gotten to about halfway through deploying it when I jacked him in the jaw. The light went out of his eyes and the strength went out of his legs, and he sagged. I caught him and let him down slowly, then turned my attention back to the guy I’d cut the legs from beneath.

  He was moaning, but coming back to himself, so I took a couple quick steps over to him and punched him right in the forehead. It hurt me, it hurt him, but it put his lights out and I didn’t break his skull, so I considered it a win overall. He was probably going to wake up concussed, but he’d wake up, and that was important for reasons of his health and my conscience.

  I looked around. We were down in a ditch just off the roadway, probably about ten feet down the slope. I could hear a car or two coming by, but I couldn’t see them from where I was standing, and that was damned good luck, the first piece I felt like I’d had in a while. I stood there for only a second catching my breath after the run and the—uhm, assaulting a police officer—and reflected that it was already time to go back to work.

  It only took me about ten seconds to load a cop over each shoulder and then carry them back into the woods. I didn’t want to go too far, so I stopped about ten feet in, where there was enough cover that they wouldn’t be immediately visible from the road, but they weren’t totally out of sight, either. I figured a helicopter with thermal gear would be coming this way once their higher ups figured out they were missing, probably go along their patrol path. Here they’d find them, if a passing motorist didn’t hear the screams first.