Power: Arca Book 3

by Karen Diem

  Zeus scowled, his nostrils flared and gaze flinty. “If you’d done your job and kept them away until tomorrow, we wouldn’t have to deal with the vigilantes, and the mercenaries wouldn’t have injured Surt. He’ll be pouting for months at missing a chance to burn Manaus’ city center, and now we have to change my perfect plan.”

  Burn the city center? That’s only about five miles from here, and heavily populated, Zita thought with horror.

  “He should’ve been more careful,” Tiffany snapped. “And we didn’t know the gem was swapped until we got back to the compound. At least we got the dinosaurs.”

  Pretorius raised both hands placatingly, his voice even and measured. “We have the local cartel and the Jessup criminals as distractions too. Let’s concentrate and get on with it.”

  Focusing on the party line, Zita sent, I found the bad guys. They’re in the jungle east of the hangar with the helicopter circles in front of it. She licked her lips and grimaced. If you’ve got breath mints, I could really use them.

  When the brown gems dissolved into dust, Tiffany sniffed. “The last of the dinosaurs are down. I’m done here.” She snapped her fingers at Janus.

  His movements mechanical, the teen opened a portal. Big, black and hairy, Garm sat on the other side, his ears perking. The wolf’s tail shivered, as if he’d wanted to wag and repressed it, but not quite in time.

  Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Tiffany said, “Don’t take too long. I’ll have the minions prepare cells for the technicians.” She stepped through.

  Janus closed the portal behind her, then retreated to molesting the sign on the ground.

  A man in a military uniform pushed through the trees. After a moment, Zita recognized Brazilian Taco Thug. “Plane’s taxiing to take off. They refused additional guards on board,” he said in his accented English.

  With an evil grin, Zeus cuffed Janus. “Now, boy, before they catch on about that care package we slipped on there.”

  Nearby, Brazilian Taco Thug smirked and adjusted the collar of his uniform, accepting a spare CZ-75 handgun from one of the others. He verified it was loaded and nodded to the man next to him as he holstered it. A second later, Zita recognized American Taco Thug.

  After shooting a resentful glare at Zeus, Janus ripped open a new portal.

  Between the incandescent lime green edges of the opening, Zita saw a narrow room filled with equipment, strapped down or bolted into place.

  Keeping his gaze averted from Zeus, Pretorius gave his men their orders. “Remember, no guns, no blasting, and no big powers on the plane until the portal home opens. You’ve all got strength and the ability to take a punch, so go take them out. Go!” After the two taco-loving thugs and six other armed guards went through first, Pretorius brought up the rear.

  As Zeus began to follow, Jerome burst from the bushes and tackled him, the force of the impact sending both men through.

  One guard remained behind with Janus.

  His shoulders slumping, the teen picked up the metal plate on the ground, another sign with a series of emojis on it.

  Zita pounced on the guard, knocking him to the ground. As she sat on top of him, she became Arca again. Cupping her hands, she slapped both of the guard’s ears, then ripped his gun out of his hands.

  He howled and curled up as well as he could.

  She knocked him out with the butt of his firearm, even if he couldn’t hear her after her assault on his eardrums. As she emptied the weapon, scattering .40 caliber cartridges everywhere, she said, “Janus! Your family’s in the Witness Protection Program! This is your chance to run for it.”

  His thin body jerked as if she’d hit him. “No.”

  “Yes. Your sister insisted on taking some stuffed toy of yours with her if that sounds right. Just let me go through before you run off. If you want, I’ll tell Zeus the military shot and killed you, too.” She tossed the empty firearm aside after clearing the chamber.

  A smile spread across his face, and Janus let the plate drop from his hands. “Go. And yes, I’d love to die.”

  “Bye, dead guy.” With a wink at the kid, she dove through the portal.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Right after Zita stepped through the portal, it closed behind her. The plane vibrated, and engines roared as it left the ground. At her feet was another one of the emoji plates. Before she could do any more than get a brief impression of a freight room, with shelves and racks against the walls and an open area in the middle, a man slammed the door shut to the rest of the aircraft. The sounds of fighting from the other side cut off.

  After shifting to an anaconda, Zita slithered under a rack, twining herself around the base. In the enclosed space, the metallic tang of blood and the pungent chemical gunsmoke hung in the air.

  As he turned and descended the short flight of steps, the guard she recognized American Taco Thug said, “Well, you took enough time, Janus. Zeus said to smack you good for taking so long, but you’re to stay here with me until they kill that guy.” He swore and staggered as the plane tilted upward and pressure increased, his head swiveling from side to side as he searched for Janus.

  With a glance at the sealed interior door, American Taco Thug stalked toward the small metal plate. “Kid? I won’t hit you that hard.”

  Her coils soundless on the textured floor, Zita slithered behind him and switched to a gorilla. She wrapped her beefy arms around him and held him in the same chokehold she’d used before.

  Again, he struggled but fell unconscious as she counted. It’s always nice when the same trick works a second time.

  She disarmed him, dropped him, and detached the belt from a leather seat. Tying him up with that, she grabbed a fancy hand towel from a bag labeled laundry and shoved it in his mouth. After securing him to the wall using conveniently placed clamps, she took a moment to examine their surroundings.

  Zita had been in planes before, but she’d never been in one like this. Part of the main body of the plane had been customized to allow an oversized freight area, although it was not packed full so much as obsessively organized. It sported racks and an extra-wide door with a lever painted in cautionary red and black. The resemblance to a normal cargo hold ended there. Every visible inch of wall had obvious armor plating, and the door to the interior appeared to be solid metal, ringed with the cushioned seals found in vacuum-sealed doors. Each item being shipped—whether unidentifiable electronics or other pieces more commonplace, like a pair of toolboxes, nestled in custom-made shelving with heavy-duty straps and webbing. An industrial jetpack took up an entire wall, turned sideways and secured with custom clamps. Even the laundry bag and first aid kit had their own niches. The velvet-lined cradle for a box the size of a microwave sat empty; she assumed that was where the SNARC balls usually went. The only section that seemed standard was a small corner shelf where a pair of suitcases had been knocked to the ground.

  Half-buried under the rolling luggage, an unconscious man bled, droplets leaking out of tailored body armor and staining the cool gray fabric with red. The logo on his chest read General Aetherics, so she assumed he’d been a victim of the initial assault on the plane.

  Angry growling came from behind her. With a hasty return to Arca’s form, she wiggled her fingers over her shoulder at American Taco Thug and ran to the injured man instead. A swift examination revealed a nasty gouge on his head and a bullet wound, so she did her best to remove the luggage and hastily bandage him with the limited supplies in the first aid kit.

  Her prisoner snarled.

  “Be good, and I won’t breathe on you. My breath is all kinds of deadly nasty right now,” Zita told American Taco Thug as she picked up his gun and headed for the interior door. Before she left, she opened one toolbox and took out a long, heavy wrench. After she dumped all the ammunition into the toolbox, including the cartridge in the chamber, she tossed the weapon behind a rack.

  On her walk to the door, her toes bumped an object lying on the floor, a simple metal plate with the embossed em
oji of two men and a globe. Zita slapped her forehead, realizing what they were. Janus opens portals to these. He doesn’t have to view the entire area if he focuses on something he knows, like uniformly made signs, and a decent idea of the flooring. I should try that trick to see if I can use it, though we’ll want to remove this from the plane when we go. Good thing we took the one from the cave, so they can’t get more dinosaurs if they get Janus back somehow.

  Yanking her attention away from practice scenarios, she focused on opening the interior door a crack. As she did so, Zita heard and felt the impact of the landing gear folding up. Angry voices and the sounds of combat echoed from ahead. Jerome might need my help.

  Even with her limited view, the passenger section screamed money even more than the freight hold had. A narrow corridor led to an open area where she glimpsed leather loveseats in a creamy color and men moving around. Her filthy bare feet sank into the lush pile of a carpet in that ubiquitous industrial cream color with flecks of black, a shade meant to hide dirt by always seeming a bit dingy. The polished gray interior wall held three closed doors, and Arca’s face peeked back at her from it. She eased back until she could no longer see herself. Smudges from people bumping against the surface marred the reflective wall in several sections, including one where cracks radiated out from what must’ve been a powerful hit. Blood decorated the breaks in stark contrast to the subdued color scheme, a deadly spatter pattern that ended with another man in General Aetherics uniform. Unlike the one in the freight hold, he was definitely dead, his eyes staring, blank and accusing. The miasma of recent death surrounded him.

  Dios be with you, hombre. With a deep breath, she swallowed her nausea and darted through the first door in the hall, wrench raised like a club.

  The air tasted of leather and fear. A queen-sized bed took up almost all the floor space, but it had a creamy leather headboard, matching cabinets, and a tiny bathroom she didn’t explore. When movement caught her eye, she tiptoed closer. A man in flight attendant’s clothing cowered beneath the bed, his eyes wide as he stared at her. Motion in the bathroom suggested someone else hid behind the pitiful cover there as well. Smart people to hide.

  After checking to ensure she remained unseen, she closed the bedroom behind her and slipped through the next door. Her hip bumped into a wheeled snack cart that rested just inside, and she nudged it aside as she scanned the new compartment. Four padded chairs faced each other around a glossy gray table polished to match the walls. Glassware shone under display lights in a mirrored wet bar that stood among wall-to-ceiling storage cabinets, all of which had locks. Spotting a tin of mints on the cart, she popped a couple in her mouth to remove the awful taste of the undead dinosaur from her mouth. She dropped the candy next to an array of soda cans.

  With another check to ensure the hallway was clear, she snuck to the next door and found a tiny powder room. At that point, she suspected every padded surface on the plane, including the toilets in either of the lavatories, had been upholstered in the finest buttery leather she had ever touched. How many herds of cows died to decorate this place? Marble on an airplane? Rich people are weird.

  Steeling herself, Zita exited and peeked into the last passenger area. Although more spacious than any of the other rooms, this area was only twelve feet across. It had four wide recliners in pairs, each with its own small table and television screen. Springs, padding, and small bits were all that remained of one seat.

  In the aisle between the seats, Zeus and Pretorius, both bruised and disheveled, punched a strangely compliant Jerome, who spat out blood and glared. The muscles on her friend’s arms stood out, as if he had tensed to free himself or strike them, but he remained still instead.

  Two of Zeus’ men held his shoulders. Another pair stood a few feet away, their backs to her. All but Jerome showed injuries, and as she peered around the corner, she caught sight of two other thugs, either dead or unconscious on the floor.

  As Zita watched, Pretorius stepped back, stumbling over the unmoving body of one.

  The reason for Jerome’s acceptance of the beating became clear when a guard near Zita moved an inch. A teary-eyed Rani and an equally unhappy silver-haired man stood in a corner as far away from the combatants as possible, with a guard standing behind them, his gun out and pointed at Rani’s back. Both captives wore tailored coveralls or jumpsuits with a discreet logo on the left breast, in the same gray hue that permeated the plane’s decor. A microwave-sized black case sat on a loveseat nearest them. Found Rani, her technician teacher, and the SNARC ball. They’re keeping Jerome from fighting back by threatening a hostage. At the last minute, she avoided mentioning that the person threatened was Rani.

  Worry threaded Wyn’s mental voice. We’ve got to save them.

  Working on it. After becoming a lizard with scales the colors of the carpet, Zita darted along the floor behind the guards until she reached the toes of the man with the gun on Rani.

  Exploding up into Arca, Zita knocked the man’s gun aside before he could shoot Wyn’s girlfriend.

  The gun fired, making her ears sting, and Jerome cried out.

  “Watch the guns!” Pretorius shouted.

  The guard she’d attacked tried to push her away.

  “Gun’s off the hostage. Go, Chevalier!” Rotating her hips to increase the force of the hit, Zita drove the heel of her hand into the guard’s nose before he could bring his weapon around on her. When his head snapped back with her strike, she slid behind him and grabbed his head with both hands, making him arch backward toward her. After using her leverage to pressure his body to twist until he fell, she hammered an elbow into his back.

  Scuffling and groaning assured her that Jerome had taken action.

  Zita felt someone behind her before she could strike again. Switching to a fluffy black cat, she scooted between the legs of her new attacker. The punch meant for her missed and made a hole in the glossy wall instead.

  Changing back to Arca, she used a recliner as support and kicked with both feet at the new guy. It wasn’t as effective as she’d hoped, but it sent him reeling back enough to trip over her previous victim.

  Right, they’re all bigger, stronger, and tougher than me. Why would this be easy? Zita vaulted over a chunk of the broken chair and slid into the hallway, retrieving the wrench. Well, this will help with the reach issue.

  Zeus shouted, “Two of you kill that annoying rat, and the rest get this idiot under control!”

  As he struck Pretorius and sent the mercenary flying across the room, breaking another chair, Jerome panted. “He must mean you, Arca. I’m too pretty to be a rodent.” He had a fierce smile on his face as he slammed one of Zeus’ men against a wall.

  Brazilian Taco Thug, the half-healed injuries of their last fight still visible on his face, joined her second attacker and closed in on her. The new guy pulled his gun.

  Her whole body tensed. Zita waggled a finger at the two men aiming at her and lied with no guilt for once. “The Brazilians shot the head off the boy who does portals, so you’ll want to be very careful with those.”

  “Bloody—” Pretorius swore and struggled out of the ruins of the chair. “No guns!”

  Direct fight? Ni madre, this place isn’t big enough for two fights and the hostages. Bypassing the bathroom, Zita ran into the room with the table and chairs, hopping over the cart and spinning it to slam it into her pursuers. The one in front stumbled, but Brazilian Taco Thug kept coming. He lunged. “Well, time for some—”

  She vaulted over the snacks and kicked him in the face, still hanging onto her wrench.

  He grabbed for her, but she had already landed on his buddy’s back, knocking the new guy down again.

  Brazilian Taco Thug swung a nasty uppercut at her.

  After shifting to a capuchin monkey, she scampered under him, dragging her wrench. Behind him, she changed to Arca and brought the tool up between his legs. Hard.

  He let out a high-pitched keening cry, doubling over.

  The other guy
got up and rushed her.

  Zita stepped aside at the last minute, hitting him in the back with her wrench and sending him face-first into the wet bar. Glasses shattered in crazy cacophony and crashed around them. As she came up behind him, Zita switched to a gorilla, grabbed his shirt, spun him, and threw him into Brazilian Taco Thug.

  Both men collapsed in a tangle of limbs and an angry shout.

  Tears streaming down his face, Brazilian Taco Thug struggled to get out from under his unconscious friend.

  Reclaiming her Arca form, she kicked the side of his knee and heard a popping sound.

  He screamed and crumpled.

  After opening an oversized wall cabinet, Zita seized him and his buddy and stuffed them both into a compartment. She slid the lock in place. “Stay put. My foot does less damage than the wrench!”

  “What’s going on in there!” a man’s voice demanded from outside the room. “Can’t you handle one weakling?”

  Skittering over to and crouching in front of the door, Zita turned into a king cobra.

  Zeus yanked it open. One eye was swelling, and his lip was already puffy enough to distort his words. He held the SNARC ball case in a hand. “What the—”

  Zita rose, flaring her hood and hissing.

  His eyes widened. Zeus did the unexpectedly sensible thing and pulled the door shut with a bang.

  With a sick feeling, Zita slithered to the side in time to avoid the barrage of bullets that came through the door where she’d been. When the gunfire fell silent, she shifted to Arca and checked for something to use. While none of the bombardment had hit her, the table slanted like a drunk cow, and the snack cart had been destroyed, scattering food all over the floor and hiding her wrench. When she heard him reloading, she grabbed a can of soda by her foot and shook it up.

  He kicked open the door, his gun pointed down where a snake would be.

  Aiming the drink at his face, Zita made a hissing sound as she pulled back the tab. Soda fountained out in a high-pressured rocket of sugar and artificial orange into his eyes.