Eclipse the Flame

by Ingrid Seymour

  Sweat drips into my left eye from the soaked ski mask. I blink and, in that instant, the figure blurs and disappears. Something hits my hand, and the gun flies off and slams against the wall. I whirl, but see no one. From behind, an arm wraps around my neck and squeezes, lifting me off the ground. I try to speak but only a choked sound comes out.

  “Which way did they go?”

  He releases his hold just enough to let me speak.

  I cough. “James, it’s me, Marci.” Hand shaking, I pull the mask off.

  James lets me go. I slump against the wall, a hand to my throat.

  “What are you doing?” he demands.

  I touch a hand to my neck and swallow.

  He inhales. His chest swells up, then comes down. He’s wearing his IgNiTe jacket, just like the one he got for everyone. It fits him as if they used a mold of his torso to make it.

  When I get my voice, I say, “Same thing you are.” I push matted hair off my forehead, straighten. I look him in the eye. “Trying to kill Elliot. I almost had him.”

  There’s still suspicion in his eyes, but we don’t have time for that.

  “He went this way.” I pick up my gun and head for the mess hall’s double doors, doing my best not to limp. “Zara did, too.” I don’t look back, don’t wait for him. This mission is my own. He can stuff his distrust.

  Opening one door slowly, I peek inside. The area is empty and dark, illuminated only by two sets of bright emergency lights. I push inside, gun at the ready. James follows behind me.

  “They must have gone through the kitchen.” I point toward another set of double doors in the back. “There’s an exit that leads to the back of the building.”

  I run forward, press my back to one of the doors and crane my neck to look through its small window. At the end of the long kitchen, Luke moves slowly forward. He’s now carrying Zara, who seems to have passed out.

  “I see them,” I stage whisper. James is standing in the middle of the mess hall. A deep frown splits his forehead in half. He’s probably wondering if this is a trap, if I’m leading him straight into Elliot’s arms.

  “For God’s sake,” I say, “stop standing there. He’s going to get away.”

  He just stares at me, unmoving.

  “Fine!” I exclaim and head into the kitchen. Luke is at the far exit door, already making his way out of the building. I’ve taken only a few steps in pursuit when a gust of wind rushes past me, sending my hair into my face. I push loose strands away from eyes. James has crossed the long distance to the exit door and is now holding it open. He takes a quick look outside.

  He presses a finger to his ear. “Retreat. Target has exited the building. North side.” His words echo gently through the kitchen, almost too soft to be heard.

  I blink.

  He’s gone.

  Chapter 52

  “Damn!” I curse.

  James is gone. Just gone.

  My legs pump, pain forgotten as adrenaline spikes and floods my system. Blood trickles down my ankle, spurred by my sudden outburst.

  I reach the door, don’t even stop to peek outside, just erupt into the night, brandishing my gun and looking for a place to take cover. Bullets whiz by in every direction. I keep running, not knowing which way leads to enemy lines. I roll on the blacktop and take cover behind a Dumpster.

  A light rain falls from the black-gray sky, sending a bone-deep chill through me. The street gleams with moisture.

  Back pressed to the Dumpster’s cold metal, I try to get my bearings. I wince at the poignant stench of wet garbage. Shots blast all around, near and far. Elliot’s guards, Zara’s people, and IgNiTe, all in one place. Of course, all hell has broken loose.

  The main fight seems to be happening on the east side of the building. Twisting my neck, I look around the edge of my hiding place, but I can’t see much besides guns popping in and out of all the nooks and crannies capable of sheltering a person.

  The sound of rapid footsteps slapping the ground reaches my ears. I pull back, heart hammering. A man wraps around the west corner of the building and takes cover, pressing his body against the concrete wall. He’s so intent on whoever is after him that he doesn’t even register the chaos going on at this end. I’ve seen him in the mess hall before. He’s an average-size Eklyptor of human appearance, a fairly new specimen.

  Without any brusque movements that might attract attention, I scoot to the other side of the Dumpster. Newbie doesn’t notice me. He’s too busy looking scared, head pressed against the wall, lungs pumping as if oxygen will run out in the next hour. Then, without notice, he jumps out and begins shooting back the way he came, screaming like Tarzan. His rifle cracks, cracks, cracks, one bullet after another, the muzzle swinging from side to side as if he’s wielding a water hose.

  Suddenly, a ball of lightning hits him in the chest and he flies five feet in the air. His arms shoot back and he glides backward as if crucified. He lands on the asphalt with a heavy thwack, back arched, legs twitching. He goes on jerking for a moment, then goes still.

  Aydan.

  IgNiTe must be fighting in that direction. The urge to run toward him takes over me. He’s the only one who trusts me, the only one who seems to understand. I shut my eyes, resisting the desire to leave my position. But no one ever manages to run away from their problems, right? Not me, that’s for sure.

  More Whitehouse soldiers round the corner, chased by blue-white bolts of light.

  I’ve got to move.

  Fighting a wave of dizziness, I scoot in the opposite direction, turning my back on the temptation of running toward Aydan. I smile bitterly at the idea that he has become my only friend. Who would have thought? Life is truly a sardonic bitch.

  A delivery truck is parked against the building. I run from the Dumpster and sneak between the vehicle and the wall. I walk sideways in the narrow space until I hear voices. I freeze. The tones are low and almost lost in the din of battle, but I can still make them out.

  “You’ll be in charge now.” A female voice, barely audible.

  “Just stop. You’ll be fine. Tauro and the others are coming to help us,” the other voice, one I recognize, says firmly, though without true confidence.

  Luke and Zara are by the front of the truck.

  I can see the top of her head from where I am. She’s lying on the ground, while Luke kneels next to her, his back turned. Zara coughs. Luke presses a hand to her forehead.

  “Just hold on,” he says. “I called them. They’re coming,” he insists.

  “You know what … you have to do,” Zara says.

  “Yes, but there’s no need for that.” Luke smooths her hair back.

  Something twists in my stomach as I feel his emotions wash over me. He’s in pain. I can sense it as if it were my own. We share no twin connection and I can still feel him. I turn, shut him away as best as I can together with all the questions that spring into my mind.

  I will not witness this. It’s impossible to think these beasts have loved ones. I figure them as snakes, laying down their eggs and abandoning them to their fate.

  I retreat as silently as I came. Maybe I’m incapable of shooting her in the back, but not beyond wishing her dead. If that also makes me a beast, so be it. Xave was killed by one of the creatures at her club. She leads an army of predators. She deserves to die this death.

  There’s no pity when you’re fighting for survival.

  I rush out the other way and run past Luke without looking back. I don’t know if he notices me or not, and I don’t care. I pass one of Elliot’s men hiding behind a wooden crate. He startles and points his gun at me, but doesn’t shoot. I recognize him from the mess hall. He must recognize me, too.

  A bullet tears my shirt sleeve and strikes the ground behind me. I run a diagonal line and squeeze between two tall hedges that make a delineating barrier between this service road and the one for the adjacent building. A branch cuts across my cheek as I sidle by. When I come out on the other side, two guns are poin
ted straight at my face. They stay there for a moment, then slowly go down as their bearers notice my matching uniform. A man and a woman stare at me with wide eyes.

  “What’s the situation?” I ask, trying to sound in command.

  They give me a strange look, probably wondering why the girl who buses their dishes is carrying a gun and acting in charge. Still, one of them answers.

  “We need to get Whitehouse out of here,” the woman says. She has a broad back, almost as large as her companion’s. Her dark hair is tightly braided to her head.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I say, irritated.

  “Well, he’s trapped inside his getaway car,” she adds.

  “Yeah, most of Hailstone’s people are on the other side,” the man says, pointing east. “But I hear shots from the west end, too. They’ve got us surrounded, but they are still on the other side. So why are our people falling like flies? It makes no sense!”

  Of course it makes sense. James is here and, from the sounds of it, he’s taking people out faster than bullets can. Still he’s only one man.

  “All right,” I say, gesturing back toward the fight. “Let’s see what we can do.”

  They nod and turn. I take the man out first, slamming the butt of my gun to the base of his neck. As the woman turns, surprised, I jam an elbow right against her temple. She crumples like a stringless marionette and falls in a heap on top of her partner.

  James may not think so, but he’s not alone. At least one member of his crew is here to help—whether he likes it or not.

  Chapter 53

  The hedges are six feet tall. I can’t see over them. Shots continue to fly by, too close for comfort. The plants provide a good hiding place, but the foul-smelling Dumpster was better cover. I have to move.

  A bullet slices a branch in two and sends leaves raining down all over me. I drop to my knees and crawl to the nearest gap. My calf screams as I creep forward. I ignore it. From this vantage point, I can see Elliot’s men—maybe eight or ten of them, I can’t be sure—hiding behind crates, air conditioning units, and a fire escape stairwell. Their guns are trained east, past the dark sedan that I noticed the night I first sneaked out to meet Aydan.

  The car’s tires are all flat and the paint job is peppered with dings. More projectiles hit it, but barely manage to make any dents. It’s the getaway car, bulletproof and with Elliot inside. I expect the sedan to tear down the road at any moment, but it just sits there, as still as a hunk of metal at a junk yard. Something tells me IgNiTe is responsible for this lack of escape-worthy qualities.

  I imagine Elliot cowering inside, while his people risk their skins to keep him safe. What an outstanding leader he is. He deserves a medal—right through the eye.

  Kneeling by the hood of the car, Amazon Woman discharges one magazine after another. Her curling horns stick out, giving away her position. Bullets whiz over them, doing nothing to slow down her furious, trigger-happy finger.

  Beyond the car, guns flash, engaged in the crossfire. If the guards I just knocked out are right, those are Hailstone’s people, here to save Zara and Luke. I look back the way I came. Luke still kneels by the woman, probably imploring death to spare her, while my prayers stack in opposition.

  I focus my attention back on the battle, holding all the variables, except one.

  James.

  Where is he?

  I see no evidence of his presence, not that this means anything. He moves faster than the eye can see. Except there are bullets criss-crossing the plane, also faster than the eye can see. So if he’s moving within the field of battle, how long until he gets hit?

  I guess I could shoot all of Elliot’s men in the back, but it’s safe to say I won’t be able to do that. And even if I had the guts to try, the first shot would give me away, and then what? Eat leaves? They would shred the hedges so quickly they would find chlorophyll behind my eyeballs.

  Here is yet another occasion when my stupid skills could be extremely useful.

  “C’mon,” I say under my breath—a lame pep talk that never works.

  I focus on the man closest to me. He’s crouched behind an air conditioning unit, slipping a fresh magazine inside his pistol. As he clicks it in place, he sticks an arm around the large metal box and starts shooting in an erratic, desperate manner.

  Imagining the way his gun would feel, I concentrate on it. There’s a mechanism inside of it, gears and pins and springs that I can almost see as I reach a hand toward it. Now, if I could just …

  I can nearly sense what to do. It’s right there, like an almost-remembered word at the tip of my tongue. Maybe if I just jam the bullet, give it a little push. I focus with all I’ve got. A familiar energy tingles through my body for a moment, then dissipates, leaving me bereft.

  Crap. Why couldn’t something other than meditation be the key to these stupid abilities?

  In the next instant, the gun falls out of the man’s grip and hits the ground. He looks at his hand as if it just grew out of his wrist. He curses and reaches for the weapon.

  One moment, he’s poised to retrieve the gun, the next his face is flat on the blacktop, utterly immobile. My eyes dart around in all directions, looking for a disturbance in my plane of vision, for the least little blur that may reveal James’s presence. Nothing. He excels with his skills at the same level that I fail with mine.

  It’s infuriating. I may as well play the lottery. I’d have better chances with those odds.

  Another guard falls flat on his face, this time by the fire escape. James is taking them down, but not fast enough. Without encountering real resistance, the Hailstone people are getting closer. And, once they get here and realize what is really happening, they’ll likely join Elliot’s men against IgNiTe.

  Superpowers would be nice at the moment. But I’ve been fighting this battle for years, way before I even knew what I am. I may not be able to shoot them in the back, but I can fight them. It is time to make another stand, and I’m still willing to make it my last one.

  I rise to my feet, calf shaking so bad I almost don’t make it. I take a step forward. Another step. My head spins. My vision blurs. I look down. The bottom half of my pant leg shines crimson.

  Ignoring the pain, I slip the ski mask over my head and rush through the hedges, a crazed cry tearing out my throat. Elliot’s men shift their attack and aim my way. They hesitate for a moment as they notice my uniform, but only until someone yells, “Shoot!”

  At the word, I shoot too, not at all reluctant to return the favor.

  Chapter 54

  Shots blast past me. I shoot back, incensed, blood tracing discernible paths through my every limb, renewing my energy. I pull the trigger, changing my aim after every hit. My martial arts training kicks in and I move, fluid, confidently—my hand a mere extension of my very thoughts: a precise tool.

  Two men go down. I roll behind a crate, next to one of the fallen bodies. I round the wooden box and come out on the other side, aiming for a third enemy, but he’s down already, eyes open, staring blankly at the dark sky. I run and take cover next to him. Crouching low, I let my lungs pump for precious air while my veins run afire with adrenaline. I take a few deep breaths and ready myself for another attack. Every time I stick my neck out there, I hang my life from a fraying thread.

  It feels right. It feels worth it.

  Before running out, I check how many bullets I have left. Only three. Cursing at the delay, I take out a new magazine from the side pocket of my cargo pants. I’m about to reload when a series of clanks—like ice skates moving on metal—breaks my concentration. My eyes snap upward and spot movement on the fire escape, about four stories above.

  A dark shape stands out against the cloudy sky. It’s large, but moves at a prodigious speed that seems to defy the laws of physics. In a flash, it leaps over the metal railing and into open space. A pair of wings splays open, and the creature dives head first in my direction, plummeting like a meteor.

  I scramble back, out of the
way, dropping the magazine. The creature lands just inches away, its leathery appendages behind its back still flapping. The wings are small relative to the creature’s size, as if they’re not done growing yet. Large joints protrude through the thin, stretched out membrane that covers them. I think of a bat, then of the creatures that attacked Xave when he was our lookout during the assault.

  A shock of black coarse hair hangs over the beast’s forehead between two horrendous ears the size and shape of soup bowls. It’s perfectly round eyes shine black, like gems. It’s bloated mouth makes chittering sounds through two rows of long, pointed teeth. The thing wears no clothes and, although it still seems human in places, it isn’t. Not one bit.

  This is an animal, a terrifying predator of the night.

  As it crouches over me, the beast stamps huge talons on the ground, making terrible, pecking sounds with them. The hum in the back of my head intensifies in response to its closeness. It assesses me, its huge ears cocking to one side while it chitters and chitters. I cower, trembling like a scared mouse.

  Without warning, the thing flaps its wings and flies backward, away from me. I stare, petrified, the gun useless in my stiff fingers. The thing thinks I’m an Eklyptor and, now it moves on, probably looking for human victims.

  Panic froths in my chest, a heavy foam that seems to expand and expand. The only humans I can think of are Clark and Blare. But what if there are others? Fresh recruits? New allies I never got a chance to meet. James is the leader of our IgNiTe cell, but there are others. I rise with the jolt of my panic. We’ve already lost Xave and Oso. We can’t lose anyone else. Every single human here is more precious than anyone who’s been tainted, Eklyptor or Symbiot.

  I barely have time to reassess my position when more metallic clanks come from above. They are fast, one after the other, like bullets raining on sheet metal. My gaze snaps upward. A half-dozen bat-like creatures have appeared on the fire exit, their clawed talons scraping against the staircase. They jump down, spreading wings that vary in size and span anywhere from four to ten feet in width. Some land on the pavement, others swoop low, then fly in different directions, talons held at the ready, like those of falcons diving for prey. Some even hold rifles.