Hunter, Healer [Sequel to The Society]

by Lilith Saintcrow

  "They'll be heading out of town,” he lied smoothly. “As fast as fucking possible, they'll head for the city limits. They'll be gone in two hours max. Not enough time to get a full-scale grid going."

  For you, Miss Price, he thought. I'm not going to let them catch you until I've had a little chat with you myself.

  The woman probably couldn't hear him. There was no answering echo inside his head. The need to feel her again was almost as bad as the need for Zed. If he put the two addictions together, which one would win out?

  I don't want to be caught in the middle of that. He was still trying to track down the third emotion she'd drowned him with. Desperation, relief, and what else? What had she been feeling? It bothered him that he couldn't find a word to describe such a clear beautiful feeling. It was too pure, and he had nothing to compare it to.

  Andrews's blue eyes narrowed. “Why?” he challenged.

  "Because it's what I'd do.” I wouldn't. I'd button everyone down and stay tight unless you were running grids. “And I supposedly trained her."

  "Did you train her?” Andrews hopped out of the van-turned-impromptu-command-center, landing as lightly as a cat. If Del was going to attack him, the time was now. He let the moment pass.

  "She's too good for anything else,” he replied. His voice was steady, and his pulse had returned to its regular rhythm.

  "Where's she going next? How can we track her?"

  Get a fucking grid going now, you idiot. “Set up check teams on every major avenue out of town for the next couple of hours. Then you're going to have to shift to chatscan.” Delgado shrugged. “If you sent me out with a full team and support, you might be able to catch her."

  Andrews laughed mirthlessly, his hand on the butt of a gun. If he draws I'm going to take him, Delgado thought, and felt the clear calm of adrenaline freeze lower over him. And if I take him, I have to take everyone in the van, too, and then figure out some way to get the hell out of here.

  "You think I'm going to send you out with a full team? I'd never hear the end of it. All right, we'll set up check teams and do chatscans as well. She won't get away this time. One of the snipers got her in the shoulder. The rats'll have a wounded golden girl to get out of the city, and that'll slow them down."

  Not likely. Everything he'd seen from her pointed to a resourceful enemy who wouldn't let a wound slow her down. And if Henderson was able to command a severely-compromised group away from the wreck and ruin of the Society's Headquarters, he was capable of getting a team with one wounded member to safety. All things should be so easy.

  But the thought of her hurt, the idea of a bullet in the body that housed that clean, deep mind ... He had to exert control, keep himself still and collected.

  "—the Tracker,” Andrews said.

  Del replayed his mental footage. They're going to send us the Tracker.

  What the hell?

  "You mean that blind guy?” Delgado's skin went cold. Please tell me I didn't just hear that. “With the Japanese bodyguard?” The one that never loses his target—or he didn't, until they set him to hunting me. I'm the only one that got away from him, and I had to nearly get killed to do it. If it wasn't for Henderson I would have been dead.

  "Yeah.” Andrews grinned like a death's head. “I'm waiting for confirmation from the Colonel, but I think we'll get him out here by tomorrow with that Jap watchdog. Your favorite buddy Jilssen, too. And then we'll hunt her down like a dog."

  The grin widened when Delgado didn't respond. “Cheer up, Del. When we catch her, I might even let you have a taste."

  Chapter Five

  Rowan came back to herself in stages. Her shoulder hurt as if a drill was burrowing into the flesh—her healing talent working overtime. The only drawback to healing a lot more quickly was that all the pain got compressed into a shorter time.

  I'm doing well for only the second time I've gotten shot, she thought hazily, swimming up through the fuzzy gray blanket of shock. Her head hurt, a pounding relentless ache curiously removed from the rest of her.

  "Justin?” Her own voice, soft and slurred.

  "She's coming around.” Yoshi, sounding tired. “Rowan, just relax. We're safe."

  "No,” she objected immediately, her voice slurred and breathless. “He was there. We have to go back.” Listen to me, I sound like I'm drugged. “He was there."

  "She's saying it again.” Sound of movement, clicking of keys. “I don't like this. They're suspiciously quiet out there."

  Henderson sighed. “I know. Just keep digging, find the channel they're using, and break it. I've got one of those feelings.” The quiet warmth of the General's attention spread over her skin, his dry, steel-hard fingers taking her pulse. “Rowan, quit trying to get up. Just relax. We've got a couple hours."

  She took a deep breath, drawing in the familiar smells of a clean house—fabric softener, computer fans going full-blast, Cath's strawberry incense, the smell of gun oil and healthy human animals. And the crackling smell of fear—their fear.

  I'm their talisman, she thought. A protection. And I just got shot again.

  Two and a half months ago, Sigma had found them again as they scrambled to salvage what they could from the ruin of Headquarters. It had been Yoshi's quick thinking and Zeke's berserker rage that had saved them. Rowan had been ingloriously shot in the first few moments of the attack and spent the rest of the mad scramble bleeding and feverishly trying to be of some use.

  She opened her eyes, feeling the electric buzz of dampers against her skin. I never get used to that. She was on the cot in the comm room, with Henderson squatting right next to her. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Welcome back. Lew's safely on his way to Eleanor in Calgary, and we're all in one piece. If we still had a Headquarters and infrastructure I'd court-martial you."

  "Nice to see you too,” she managed. He knew the first thing she'd be worried about was Lewis. “Water?"

  He helped her sit up. Her shoulder was tightly bandaged, and a wave of fierce hot pain made her bite her lip. Then the old man handed her a bottle of Evian, thoughtfully twisting the top open for her. She took it in her left hand and took a few deep swallows. Her stomach boiled, flipped, and decided to keep the liquid down. She cast a practiced eye over the room—Cath's Dr. Who scarf was gone, and so were the chairs. They were preparing to blow this town now that they had Lewis and Sigma had shown their hand.

  "That was foolish, Rowan.” Henderson looked grave. His mouth turned down at the corners, and his gray eyes were pale and cold in a way she had rarely seen before. “They could have caught you."

  "They didn't,” she pointed out. “Henderson, Justin was there. He helped me escape."

  "You saw him?"

  "Not precisely.” Her cheeks felt hot. Was she blushing? “He made contact, linked with me. He..."

  He killed the woman with the cropped hair, she realized. A Sigma psion. The other woman must have been her handler. And Justin had reached through Rowan, using his talent to crack a mind like an egg.

  "He reached through me to kill one of the Sigs and told me how to get out of the net. He was there."

  Henderson sighed, reaching up to rub at his steel-colored eyes behind his spectacles. He looked tired. “Are you sure?"

  Rowan's shoulders sagged. A fresh jolt of pain tore through the right side of her body, making her vision swim and her eyes fill with reflexive tears. “Of course I'm sure.” You trusted my instincts before, General. Why not now?

  "If he's here, he'll show up when he can. You disobeyed a direct order.” Henderson didn't look mollified in the slightest. His eyes were sharp and his mouth was a thin line. “Don't do that again."

  "I had to get Lew out,” she answered. “And draw them off."

  Still not mollified. Not even close. “You're not superhuman. You're only human, with some very special talents. You're acting suicidal, and that's bad for the team. Clear?"

  "Crystal.” Rowan had to suppress a sigh. More irritation rose, fighting with the incredible eye-wat
ering pain for control of her stomach. I did what I had to do, General. You wouldn't have hesitated either, in my place. “What's the plan?"

  "We're going to lay low until they've passed us by. Boomer's already gone to take Lewis up to Calgary. You and Cath will head to Vegas, and Yoshi, Zeke and I will peel off and start causing trouble northwest. I've got a mind to make a run on a Sig installation.” The old man's eyes glittered behind his glasses.

  "With only two support staff? Now who's suicidal?” Rowan's jaw set. Her legs ached. Had she pulled something? She hoped not. “Don't do it, Henderson. Go back with Brew and Boomer."

  "If you're going to Vegas, I want Sigma chasing their own tails. We're not going to take out an installation, just make a run and cause some confusion.” His jaw was set, and Rowan felt a faint whisper of alarm. It wasn't like him to be feckless. “And if Del's in town, he'd approve. I shouldn't be sending you to Vegas at all. He's going to be upset."

  Do you, or do you not, understand that we need some cash if we're going to get Headquarters running smoothly? And do you, or do you not, understand that I felt Justin, I know he's here?

  She gathered the last scraps of her patience and tried to keep her voice even. “He's here, Daniel. Please ... don't do this."

  "Um ... guys?” Yoshi broke in. He didn't sound happy, and Rowan's nape started to prickle. She moved to swing her legs off the cot, and her shoulder ran with acid fire. She almost wished she didn't heal so quickly. The compressed pain tore into the wound and made it difficult to think clearly.

  "What?” Rowan's eyes locked with Henderson's. “What's going on?"

  "I don't like this,” Yoshi repeated. “I've found their channel and cracked it. Their chatter says they're setting up scans and checks, and there's something about a tracker."

  "Any names?” Henderson's shoulders hunched as if warding off a blow.

  "Just one. Carson. Mean anything to you?” Yoshi blinked, his fingers still tapping the keys. He'd fitted a comm-link in one ear and was monitoring Sigma's use of a comm channel. “He's due to arrive about twelve hours from now."

  "Oh, Christ.” Henderson closed his eyes briefly. Rowan's stomach turned over, settled uneasily. “We've got to get everyone out of here. Now."

  "Who's Carson?” Rowan tried to stand up. Her knees shook, and the cot threatened to tip until Henderson put out a hand and steadied it. Then he looked up at her from his easy crouch.

  "Pray to God you never meet him, Miss Price. Yoshi, get everyone in here. Now."

  "You got it, boss.” Yoshi tapped at his keyboard and then spoke into a small handheld comm-unit. “Everyone, the General wants to see you. We're blowing this taco stand."

  Chapter Six

  Sigma had their central command in a partially-constructed building downtown, which was their first mistake. Their second, Delgado noted as he was brought into the command center, was that they weren't changing chatter channels every few minutes. Yoshi, he thought. Dammit, boy, be listening. Get a lock on them. Please.

  He could remember the thin, quiet Japanese man and the General's steely eyes. He could remember Cath's punk haircut and Zeke's blunt fingers. He could even imagine Brew's wide white smile and perfect, burnished ebony skin.

  But he couldn't remember her, no matter how hard he tried. The wall he'd pushed himself to erect still stood firm. Frustration tasted bitter and familiar, hopelessness acrid like tar.

  One of Andrews's two bullyboys pushed Del forward. “Go on.” The man was grinning. He'd been one of the ones who had administered the initial beatings to soften Del up. Thickset and broken-nosed, he looked a little like Zeke, but he had none of Ezekial's careful movements or self-deprecating humor. For a moment Del considered striking out with fist and mind, killing the man with a quick upward strike to the nose and simultaneously ripping his mind free of its moorings. The thought sent a warm, gratifying feeling through him, almost like the oozing fire of Zed.

  But his veins began to creep with the slow, painful needling of his addiction, and he walked slowly across the unfinished flooring, stepping over thick cables running to the computers. This would be an employee lunchroom when completed. One end of the room had a half-finished wall through which late afternoon light bounced. When done, this place would have no light at all except fluorescents. Delgado gave an internal sigh. You couldn't expect people to eat under buzzing tubes every day. It would drive even deadheads mad.

  Two horseshoe-shaped banks of monitors, hard drives, and keyboards hosted the nerve center of Sigma's operations here. Andrews's team was in one horseshoe, murmuring back and forth. Papers were signed and the machinery of the chain of command went on. The other horseshoe held shaven-headed commtechs with handlers and psychometric or precognitive talent, monitoring and searching for any disturbing trace in cyberspace or the city's grid, any sign of the vanished Society members.

  Andrews leaned over a commtech, watching as the shaven-headed kid spider-tapped at two separate keyboards at once, his jaw slack and the monitors above bathing his face in a spectral green glow. A thin thread of drool wandered down the kid's chin. His handler, a tall chestnut-haired woman, stood with her arms crossed, scowling at Andrews.

  "Get a lock on them,” Andrews snarled. “Do it now. If they haven't gone past the check scans they have to be in the city."

  Not necessarily, Del thought. You're an idiot, Andrews. This isn't like you. He must be frantic to catch them. This Price girl was making him look bad.

  Del should play it safe, keep his head down and try to get as much information as he could. But he knew, miserably, that he'd made up his mind to escape ahead of schedule. Now it was only a question of how.

  The third mistake was almost imperceptible—Andrews didn't immediately notice Del approaching. That meant two things: that Del was no longer considered a threat, and that Andrews was severely distracted.

  The skinny, shaven kid began to make a small moaning noise, though his fingers didn't stop blurring over the keyboards.

  "That's enough,” the handler said. “He won't be useful if you keep pushing him. Lay off, Andrews."

  Andrews's upper lip pulled back. “He's finished when I say he's finished. You'd better watch it, or I'll have Breaker convince him."

  The handler seemed supremely unconcerned. She reached down, her fingers circling the boy's wrist. “Come on, Jarrod.” Her tone was kind, and the boy stopped moaning and froze. “Let's go get you something to eat."

  "I didn't—” Andrews began, but two of the monitors began to flash red. “Aha! Fine, take him. A couple of check scans have given the flag."

  Delgado watched as the boy made it to his feet and shambled away, grinning vacantly while his jaw worked, drool coating his chin. Everything burned out but his psychic talent, harnessed to his handler's voice. I could have ended up like that. I still might. The thought he'd cherished ever since they'd recaptured him—I will do whatever I have to do to escape you—returned, circled his mind once, and vanished. Now he had to work.

  His skin chilled slightly, the pain from his Zed addiction kicking up a notch.

  "You're jonesing.” Andrews tossed him a small black medical pouch, and Delgado caught it reflexively. “Here. Have a ball, and make it last. Go back to your room. We won't need you until we've brought her in."

  Del nodded. Are you insane? You're giving me my own stock of Zed? “You've got her?"

  "As good as. They've split into two—” Andrews glanced up as another monitor began to flash red. “Three—” Another. “What the hell?"

  The rabbits have divided, or they've found a way to trip all the checkpoints at once. Good thinking. He weighed the bag, backing up while he looked at the monitors. More of them began to glow red. There'd be no reason for them to trip a bunch of checks unless they're getting out. If they're getting out, I could lose them. It'll take me too much time to track them down again.

  There would never be a better chance.

  "What the hell—” Andrews was just a fraction of a second too slow.
Delgado was gone before he finished the sentence, slipping out of the command center and into the hallway beyond. With any luck, the sadistic bastard would have his hands too full to notice Del's absence and would assume he was holed up in his airless little room hyping himself on Zed.

  Delgado unzipped the bag a little as he walked down the hall. Three hypos. Enough for six days, twelve if he stretched them to the point of pain. He had a few weapons—two knives and two guns—and his talent for cracking minds. And his wits. It would have to be enough to escape a full-scale appropriations team and track down the foes that slipped so smoothly through Sigma's nets.

  The first order of business was getting out of this building. He would have to take the stairs.

  He heard chaos erupt behind him, Andrews barking orders. It wasn't like him or the colonel to let Del out of their sight without an armed guard, but Del had his veins full of Zed and had shown none of his former defiance since his recapture. And Andrews had lost sight of the mission. He was now emotionally invested in Rowan Price.

  She seems to bring that out in a lot of people, Del thought, already running over the building layout in his head. There were some unfinished stairs on the east side, but it was chancy at best.

  Del turned east, slipping the bag with the hypos into a small loop attached to his rig that would keep them safe.

  "Rest easy, sweetheart,” he muttered, hardly aware he was speaking. “Agent Breaker's coming to get you."

  Chapter Seven

  The phone buzzed and Cath flipped it open. “Yeah?” Long pause. “Great. Great news. ‘Kay, we'll see you at home, baby. Tell Zeke I said smoochas.” Her fair, young face broke into a grin as she hung up. The pixie cut suited her more than the Mohawk had.

  She shifted the blue Subaru into reverse and pulled out of the rest stop parking space. “Everyone got out okay,” she said. “How you doing?"

  "Hurts,” Rowan said in a colorless voice. And it did—four hours after she'd been shot the agony was enough to draw a gray curtain over her vision. She was sweating, her cotton T-shirt sticking to her armpits and the small of her back. “Better soon."