Power: Arca Book 3

by Karen Diem

  When her hands touched the very edge, she pushed off it. Bringing her legs over her head, Zita landed on her feet, though she staggered and banged one knee into a stalagmite. If this were the Olympics, she thought, I’d lose points for not sticking the landing. Exhilaration streaked through her. She pumped her fists in the air. “We did it! Where to now?”

  Freelance gave her directions and soon joined her once she’d set up the line for him. Lapsing back into silence, his hand was surprisingly gentle on her arm as he guided her to the steps and released her.

  Visibility returned when she got high enough up the stairs for her head to be in the temple. She hopped the rest of the way out and stepped aside so he could follow.

  In economical movements, Freelance exited, winding up his rope.

  They stared into the pitch black below.

  His goggles glinted as he studied her, and he pressed the carving on the altar, closing the trapdoor.

  Zita was more interested in another fact. “Wasn’t there a hole where your team blew away the door before?” She pointed to the smooth, clean, windowed wall where the destroyed wood had been. The air held no sign of the professor’s unwilling stay, and she licked a finger, holding it up. “Wind’s still fresh and coming from the tower though.”

  Freelance’s head turned to the missing entry. Pulling his grapple gun from his belt, he fired it at the belfry. It connected to something, and he tugged it. When it didn’t come down, he pressed a button, and the rope hauled him to the bell. As the silent mercenary perched on the edge, he glanced down, then left the building.

  “Is my team the only one that talks too much?” Zita changed to a gavião-real and followed.

  Unsurprisingly, Freelance had already reached the tree line by the time she exited the building. His backpack was on the ground, and he had turned away to drink from a canteen.

  Zita swooped over and shifted, landing on her feet in her Arca form. “It’s me, don’t shoot.” Retrieving her water, she took a swig from own dwindling supply. As she replaced it in her pocket, she handed him his pack.

  He shouldered it and walked without a word. His step had a hitch to it, but he showed no other sign of injury other than the swollen, torn pant leg over his bandage.

  As she brought up the rear, Zita tilted her head to let the warm sun caress her face before she entered the perpetual shade of the trees. After a second, she realized the direction and called out. “Wait! Following that trail will take forever. My group got here and back faster than yours, and I don’t think either one of us wants to be separated from our friends any longer than necessary. It’s not a bad trip unless you’re afraid of heights… are you?”

  He did not deign to answer.

  Choosing to interpret that as a no, Zita continued. “Didn’t think so. This way then. There’s a big cliff where the track veers around, and we’ll just go down that. I can even retrieve your rope afterward if you want,” she said, heading down that path instead.

  He did not reply, but she felt him following her, even if he made no more noise than her.

  Zita cleared her throat. “So why were you working for Pretorius and Tiffany? They usually only hire brainless thugs, and that doesn’t describe you or your team.”

  His head tilted.

  She snorted. “Please. They abandoned you in a hot second. Was it for the money or because your powers are subtler than his?”

  “Not a metahuman.”

  Zita made a rude noise. “I get that you’re professionally mysterious and all, but I’ve seen proof otherwise.”

  His goggles glanced at her, then away.

  “What, you don’t believe me? I know a little about guns, like which way to point the muzzle. You’re a sniper, so that tells me you’re an expert.”

  Slowly, he inclined his head.

  “When we were in combat, you hit my friend with a rubber bullet at the exact spot necessary to numb her hand for a while but not destroy it. Any number of shots would’ve disabled her, but you went for the trick shot nobody actually does in real life. The only reason you’d do that is if you’re stupid or you know you’ll make it.” She raised her eyebrows at him, forgetting she wore a mask until it rubbed against her forehead.

  His mechanical voice droned, “I never miss.”

  Not caring if it was rude, Zita pointed at him. “You missed me. Twice.”

  Freelance walked.

  “Everyone misses sometime, thanks to wind and sudden movements if nothing else. I’m guessing if your average is that good, you’ve only not missed since May or June of this year when superpowers manifested again. You could be an unknown power from the Seventies, but you don’t move like an old guy.” She resisted the urge to eye his magnificent body… again. Be businesslike, Zita, she told herself. Don’t ogle the nice—don’t ogle the competent sniper.

  He remained silent, so she gleefully interpreted it as an invitation to keep talking.

  Zita proceeded to her next point as they continued deeper into the forest, where the odor of decay rose from detritus mingled with the rich scents of the conifers, a spicy blend of pine and cedar. “Since our last run-ins, I may have researched grapple guns. Yours is too sweet to be real. So, either you or whoever you get them from has powers.”

  “It’s modified.”

  With a snort, she waved that excuse away. “Sometime after May? I bet it turned out better than expected. Also, I don’t care how prepared you are, there’s no way you knew to bring so many different calibers and types of bullets, especially given the weight of your pack. My arms are sweet, but I’m not supernaturally strong. Even if you bought nothing but the lightest, most expensive brands, your backpack should be heavier with all that ammo, guns, and other supplies in it.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her in any way.

  “What? You don’t like your power? Not big enough?” Her mind, steered by her libido, took an abrupt detour, speculating on the possible size of things she would never see. Licking her lips, Zita forced herself to focus. “Maybe you don’t need a bigger power. Maybe you have more that I haven’t figured out.” If having a really nice culo is a superpower, you’ve got that too, in spades. Oye. Even though she was fairly certain he couldn’t read her thoughts (he hadn’t shot her yet, after all), she cleared her throat.

  He increased his speed.

  When Freelance began to outpace her despite his injury, she glanced behind them and noticed trees shaking. Zita sped up, until they traveled at a fast walk, almost a jog, through the shady forest. Their feet were silent on the damp mosses that filled the spaces in between the gnarled roots that crisscrossed the ground.

  They ran for all of a minute before he spoke. “It’s closing.” He pulled his long gun around on the sling and rummaged in his pack as they bolted over the terrain. Black and silent, his goggles turned to her as he loaded cartridges into his weapon. Somehow, he managed not to drop anything.

  “Don’t kill it if we can avoid it! It could be a person stuck in dinosaur form. Even if that’s wrong, this has got to be a closed ecosystem by definition, and we don’t want to mess it up when we went to all that trouble to set it back to the way it should be. There’s no time to discuss it, but it might catch us at the rate we’re going.”

  He sped up again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As Freelance and Zita reached the top of the cliff, she stopped and turned to face the thundering footsteps growing ever closer.

  A forty-foot long theropod crashed into view, either the same one that had failed to eat Andy earlier or an identical creature. With a crocodilian rush of speed, the massive toothy beast snapped at the dark-clad man, catching his pack in its serrated teeth.

  Quick and agile as a mongoose, Freelance slid his arms out of the straps and let his body drop to the ground, rolling to absorb the impact and coming up with a gun in his hands.

  Zita prepared to shift. Pues, the secretive sniper’s a parkour or free running fan. That move was textbook.

  The creature bit down on
the backpack, dropped it, and paused. Its muscles tensed for another attack.

  “You get to safety. I got this,” Zita shouted. With luck, he can find a good spot to hide until it’s gone or at least descend far enough down the cliff to be out of the dinosaur’s reach. Jumping between them, she changed shape to match the dinosaur and clonked heads as it—she, her reptilian senses told her—lunged for Freelance again and Zita got in her way.

  Having spent part of the morning in this form to discourage flying predators, Zita had no problems keeping her balance, but she shook her head to clear it.

  Startled, the beast reared back, teetering before she stabilized. Her mouth opened, showing a newly broken tooth in the front of the capacious maw.

  It’s Nibbles, Andy’s friend! Let’s see if we’re still buddies. Zita bobbed her head. From the corner of her eye, she saw Freelance pick up his pack one-handed, the other arm still aiming his long gun, braced against his shoulder, in their direction.

  Nibbles retreated a few feet and copied the motions, though her eyes followed something behind Zita. Her breath was no better than before, and something greenish brown glinted at her gum line.

  “Oy, you got spinach or lizard or something stuck in that tooth there, girlfriend,” Zita said, though it came out as a querulous series of clucks and chirps. She waved her tiny clawed hands toward her own mouth.

  Another glance revealed Freelance backing toward the edge of the cliff.

  Let’s make sure he knows which one is me. Zita concentrated, altering her pattern to use the neon orange stripes she had used earlier.

  Nictating membranes closed and opened again as Nibbles stared at Zita, her posture more uncertain than predatory.

  Doesn’t anyone around here like a little color? Even the reptiles are critics. Zita sidestepped, making it impossible for Nibbles to charge, then glanced at her companion.

  With his pack over a shoulder and the long gun on a sling, Freelance grasped his rope, leaned out in a perfect L-shape, then rappelled down the side of the cliff in smooth, unhurried motions. While she couldn’t see it, she heard the quick, measured staccato as his feet tapped the rock on the way down. When the sounds stopped, she checked the rope. It had lost the taut tension, so she assumed he had reached the bottom. Of course, he’s an experienced climber and can go down a sheer cliff with a bulky, heavy load. Silly me for worrying he’d be trapped or hurt himself.

  The dinosaur lumbered next to her, head wagging as Nibbles also checked for Freelance. She made a disappointed hiss and groan.

  Zita snorted and tried to use the scaly claws of her foot to unhook the climbing line and drop it over the edge, but she lacked the dexterity in her current shape.

  Nibbles turned away and ambled toward the coniferous trees.

  Switching to Arca, Zita grabbed the rope, freeing it from the rock.

  Whirling at the sound, Nibbles spotted Zita and lunged back at her.

  Zita grinned and jumped off the cliff. As she fell, she dropped the rope and became a magenta and neon yellow pterosaur, swooping up past the startled Nibbles. Gliding high, she checked the path back for other giant lizards, then spiraled to the ground.

  At the base of the cliff, Zita whooped as she shifted to Arca. She grinned at her companion, not caring if she seemed foolish. “Oh, sí, pretend that wasn’t awesome. I know the truth. Anyway, I did a quick check of the way ahead. No more big dinosaurs, so we only have to watch out for Nibbles up there chasing us down, the packs of roving small predators, and any lurking protocrocodilians by the river. Pues, and those flowers that would eat us given the chance. Pan comido, hombre.”

  With admirable swiftness, Freelance finished coiling the line and put it away.

  For a second, Zita was distracted by the smooth flow of rope. The man’s got serious climbing skills.

  A roar came from above. At the edge of the cliff, Nibbles surveyed them, drool dripping from her mouth

  Zita grimaced. “Right, as soon as you’ve got that done, let’s go before she finds her way down. It couldn’t hurt to put some distance between our hungry buddy up there and us.”

  He jogged toward the ridge, his movement marred by a small limp.

  She took off after him, running to catch up with his longer legs, but settling into a jog once she matched his speed.

  Given his apparent dislike of conversation, it was a surprise when he broke the silence a few minutes later. “Why didn’t you kill Pretorius?”

  Zita nearly tripped over a root. “What?”

  “When we fought, you didn’t become a dinosaur.”

  “Of course not. However tempting, it would be wrong.” She made a face at the thought.

  Disapproval radiated in the lines of his body.

  She raised her eyebrows. “If you kill someone in defense of yourself or others, that’s one thing, but killing them just because I could would be murder. I got the Heart without anyone dying.”

  His head tilted.

  Zita eyed him, then grinned. “I could blab about allowing people a chance to choose redemption, but I’m no priest. Gracias a Dios on that, as I plan to get laid again someday. I know you’re not interested in the morality of it, so consider the practical aspects. Faced with you and me, who are people going to think the bigger threat? Who will they kill first?” In case he missed her point, she pointed at him.

  He scanned the area, tapping the side of his goggles. She caught the faintest whir of electronics.

  I’ll take that as a win. Go me. She smiled as she vaulted a log and continued to move, the jog a comforting exertion, despite the collection of scratches and bruises she’d picked up. “We got the gem, so we stopped them. Additionally, us not killing your team encouraged you guys not to murder us. If our teams keep running into each other, it’s good to know we’re all reasonable and don’t have to kill each other.” As her adrenaline receded, tiredness crept in, and she forced it away.

  His head might have inclined.

  She tallied another win in her favor. “Can you ride a horse?” she asked, her mind whirling. “I want you to ride me. It’ll be hard since you’d be bareback, but if you hang on, I think you can do it.”

  His steps faltered.

  Her brain caught up with her mouth, and Zita felt her ears burning. She prayed her dark skin would prevent him from noticing. “As a horse. I wasn’t offering… Ignore the fact that I sound like an idiot and listen to what I’m actually saying. We can increase speed for longer if I’m in another shape and you’re on board. Since we’ve got a head start and are on a nice cleared path in these plains, I should be able to outrun most predators along the way. It’ll give us a chance of getting back before dark, too.” Plus, it’ll put less stress on your injured leg.

  Reflecting the sunlight, his goggles turned to her, and Freelance stopped moving. “Dinosaur. Little will attack.”

  She blinked. A grin spread across her face, and she bounced on her heels. “Or we could do that.”

  ***

  By the time Zita and Freelance reached the tiny trail up to the ledge, it was midafternoon. She stopped at the base as it was too narrow for her to navigate as a large theropod. To ensure the others recognized her, she’d again used neon orange stripes on her side.

  A gigantic, hairy man stood guard at the trailhead, and Jerome held a position on the opposite end of the ridge. The hairball must be Kodiak’s human form.

  When they got closer, Jerome whooped and called out, “The prodigal returns! And whoever the masked guy is too.”

  Kodiak raised a massive hand in greeting, seeming unfazed at his employer returning on dinosaur back. “Boss man. Arca.”

  Andy appeared behind Kodiak and waved, his mouth dropping open a little.

  In a smooth, economical motion, Freelance leapt off and headed up the trail.

  Had Zita not been observing him closely, she would have missed the slight hesitation in his step after landing on his injured leg. She huffed, switched to Arca, and followed.

  The camp seemed
much as she had left it, although someone had hauled a second log by the blackened and cold ashes of the fire. Backpacks, two of them unfamiliar to Zita, lined the tepui wall in a tidy line. Nestled in blankets, Wyn slumped between the logs. She giggled at a comment by Trixie, who sat nearby. Andy had retreated to the precipice overlooking the river.

  Wyn lifted her head and relief shone on her face. A smile tugged at her lips, and though her illusion was as perfect as before, the set of her shoulder revealed a deep weariness. “There you are! We were growing concerned.”

  “Let me clarify,” Trixie said. Her fake nose and mustache were even worse for wear. “She was worried you were hurt. I have happy feelings in all my places, especially the naughty ones, because you’re not hauling a dinosaur to gut, clean, and cook. Hunting dinosaurs is not my favorite thing. I’m way too fascinating to be bait. Again.”

  Deciding to ignore Trixie’s commentary, Zita hugged Wyn. “Done with your nap, Muse?” She grinned.

  “If you insist on putting food on your head, you should expect someone to want to make it useful,” Kodiak called out, in all the tones of a long-running debate.

  “Hey, we’re nothing without a good theme,” Trixie argued. “I think the Marx Brothers could work for us, though I can’t decide if the boss makes a better Harpo or Zeppo. I’m leaning toward Zeppo, even if that’s a speaking role.”

  The big man considered Trixie. “If you’re picking a permanent theme, lose the gum. It stinks. I’ll save the boss the effort of ignoring you by saying no, we won’t be dressing up to play along.”

  Trixie pouted. “Aww, but he has it down to an art form! You don’t want to deny him the chance to express his artistic side, do you?”

  Choosing a log that put his back to the wall, Freelance set his backpack down and picked through it.

  “See? He’s working on a masterpiece now,” Trixie said.

  Zita glanced over at Andy, then at Wyn. The other woman gave her a helpless shrug.

  With a sigh, Zita strolled over next to Andy and studied the drop. “Good to see you, mano.” She bumped him with her shoulder.