Xenofreak Nation, Book Two: Mad Eye

by Melissa Conway

  She let out a tsk of disappointment, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.

  “Pout all you want,” he said, stabbing a finger at the keypad mounted on the wall by the door handle. Four beeps and the little red light turned green. Bryn strained to see, but didn’t catch the numbers he punched. He leaned on the handle, depressing it downward, and she realized once the door closed behind him, she’d be locked in.

  The same feeling she’d gotten earlier, as if something bad was going to happen, swept over her. “What if you trip and fall and hit your head and I’m stuck in here?” She looked pointedly at the laces trailing from his shoes.

  He looked back at her like she’d spoken Chinese. Slowly, as if he was talking to a child, he said, “I’ll be careful.”

  He opened the heavy door and gave her a warning look that clearly said, “Don’t even think about it,” before slipping outside. The door swung closed, but before it could fully shut, she grabbed the handle and leaned back with all her strength. The ventilation system had created a wind tunnel that effectively sucked the door closed even faster than it normally would. Her heart began hammering in her chest, and even as she acknowledged that her reaction was probably unreasonable, she lifted her leg and placed her foot against the wall for leverage, desperate to prevent the closing of that door.

  Sunlight slanted in through the two inches of space between the edge of the door and the wall. She clearly heard Jason’s voice. “I’m XIA! Reaching for my badge.”

  Bryn’s entire body jerked at the report of what could only be a gunshot, followed by another. She had no idea who shot at whom, but she straightened her knee and heaved against the door. It opened a couple of feet and she looked out. Jason was in the dirt on his hands and knees. As she watched, he surged to his feet and lunged for the door. Behind him, a big man in a black leather jacket and sunglasses advanced, raising his gun. He fired another round just as Jason dove under her leg and yelled, “Shut it!”

  Bryn didn’t have to be told twice. She let go of the handle and fell back. The door clanged closed.

  Jason got to his feet and tucked his gun into its holster at the small of his back. His face grim, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his holophone. After a moment, he muttered, “Damn, now the signal’s gone.”

  He looked at Bryn. “We’re safe in here-” but he was cut off by a small but ominous beep. They turned to the door, where the light on the keypad had inexplicably turned green again. The door handle turned downward.

  Jason hurled himself against it as Bryn cried, “Who is that?”

  Even with the extra help from the wind tunnel, Jason’s full weight against the door didn’t stop it from inexorably opening. The barrel of the intruder’s gun poked through and Bryn squealed and leaped out of the way just before it went off. The sound of the shot echoing through the tunnel was deafening.

  Jason sank down with one leg extended, bracing his shoulder against the door like a football player. Bryn heard the intruder grunting with effort. Whoever it was didn’t dare stick his gun in any further in case Jason managed to shut the door on his arm. He must have decided he needed both hands to push, because the gun disappeared and the crack in the door gained a few more inches.

  Bryn was terrified, but wasn’t going to stand around doing nothing while the bigger man overpowered Jason and came in shooting. She pulled Jason’s gun from its holster, ignoring his, “Hey!”

  Crouching down, she gripped the pistol with both arms extended and locked at the elbow like she’d seen in the movies. She gritted her teeth and moved into the light from the opening, blindly firing. The recoil knocked her onto her backside, but she instantly rolled away.

  The door slammed shut. Jason straightened up, took a step back and kicked at the keypad, shoelaces flying wildly, until the device broke away from the wall and hung there from its wiring.

  Bryn got to her feet. Jason shook his head at her, breathing hard from exertion. “That was just stupid.”

  He held his hand out. She meekly passed him the gun and waited while he put it back in its holster.

  “Don’t ever touch my gun again. Let’s go.” He shoved her ahead of him and they began running up the tunnel.

  She’d hoped he was done chastising her, but he was still angry enough to practically shout, “Have you ever even shot a gun?”

  “Yes.” It was a lie. She’d pointed a gun - once - at that crazy Coney Island vampire wanna-be, Nosferatu. Now was not the time to admit that she hadn’t known enough to take the safety off.

  “You didn’t grip it properly. And next time, keep both eyes open.”

  “I had the sun in them,” she snapped. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer. They ran down the spiral stairs and entered the safe house. Bryn didn’t know why they were running if the intruder couldn’t get in, but Jason went straight for the back wall to the furthest door. He opened it, and she saw a closet-like space with a set of steep stairs going up.

  “This is the escape hatch. I’m going out to see if our guy is wounded or what. Do you think you could stay the hell here this time?”

  She wanted to point out that not only had she not left the building before, but the fact that she’d kept the door open may very well have saved his life. But she noticed something odd about the tattoo on his left arm. The scrolling design she’d secretly admired in the truck was now criss-crossed with smeared lines of... “Is that blood? Are you shot?”

  Chapter Seven

  Scott hadn’t been able to oust Dr. Padilla from her self-appointed surveillance of the blood donation center. Before he’d even had a chance to argue with her, she’d played her trump card by saying, “You can drag me out of here kicking and screaming, or you can avoid making a scene and join me at this perfectly situated table.”

  The table was in a good spot. Scott plunked himself ungraciously in the plastic chair next to her, where he had full view of the building across the street.

  A waitress came by and he ordered lunch. Once she’d left, he asked, “Did Shasta call about the dead guy?”

  “Cruise’s neighbor? Yes. I sent my team to pick up the body.”

  “Shouldn’t you wait for the autopsy? What if he died of something else?”

  “We need to contain this thing, remember? Assuming the medical examiner finds something suspicious, how long do you think before word gets out?”

  A few minutes later, the waitress brought him his sandwich, which he wolfed down, deliberately forgetting his manners.

  Dr. Padilla avoided looking at him, especially after he shoved the half-eaten pastrami on rye under her nose and asked, “Want a bite, Mia?” She’d shrunk away from him so violently he thought she was going to fall off her chair.

  Now he took a long drink of his soda, belched loudly, and licked the cougar pads on his fingers in satisfaction. Mostly, the satisfaction came from seeing the supposedly germophobic Dr. Padilla’s discomfort.

  All the while, he watched the foot traffic in front of the blood donation center. Most people walked on by, but occasionally someone went in or came out of the center. None of them thus far were obviously xenos. They might be, but Scott couldn’t tell. Since xenos were prohibited from donating blood, if they were going in there, they’d be smart to hide their alterations.

  Dr. Padilla, or Mia as she’d asked him to call her, although he was having a hard time thinking of her informally, continued reading her holo tablet. He found himself glancing at her again and again, trying to determine how old she was. He’d originally pegged her in her twenties, but it was unlikely someone that young would be in charge of her own team.

  She must have noticed, because without looking up, she said, “My father was Filipino and my mother Korean.”

  “Okay,” he said, making it sound like he couldn’t fathom why she’d offered the information.

  “Well, you were wondering, weren’t you?”

  He kept his face averted, catching sight of a man three blocks up the street
whose walk seemed familiar. “I wasn’t, actually.”

  “Oh. Because most people I meet want to know why I have an Hispanic last name when I look Asian.”

  “I was wondering what you were reading,” Scott said. The man he was watching had stopped at a crosswalk, still too far away for him to see his face.

  Mia set the holo reader down on the table. “Just scanning through some research abstracts. Not finding anything to corroborate the whole ‘xenos are immune’ thing.”

  “Nothing official. You should check the internet.” Scott kept a close eye on the man as the light changed and he began crossing the street.

  “What, for testimonials? Come on.”

  Scott shrugged. “Well, you’re not going to find the proof you need looking at research studies funded by pharmaceutical companies.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “You think Big Pharma wants to actually cure anything? No, they want patients to take a pill every day for the rest of their lives. And then of course they’ll need more pills to combat the side effects of the first pill, and so on. Keep them alive, but sick. An entire populace of cash-cows.”

  “That’s mighty paranoid of you, Agent Harding.”

  “Is it?”

  “Not to mention the majority of modern-day illnesses are the result of poor eating habits and lack of exercise. Is the junk food industry in collaboration with Big Pharma?”

  “How many studies on xenos has the government funded?”

  “Medical research funding isn’t allocated on a whim. What reason would the government have to study xenos?”

  “Huh.” Scott heard her, but the man across the street was now close enough for him to identify: The Viscount.

  He stood, tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and hopped the low wrought-iron fence surrounding the terrace. He jaywalked across the street and intercepted The Viscount before the older man could reach the door to the blood center. As soon as The Viscount saw Scott, his battered face creased in a smile, and Scott relaxed a bit. He’d had no idea whether word had gotten out that he was a cop. Only one person within the XBestia gang knew four months ago, and that was Padme. Scott had been pulled back from the investigation, but not pulled off of it entirely because it was unknown whether Padme intended to reveal his true identity to Dr. Fournier. If in the intervening time she had, it didn’t look like the information had trickled down through the organization far enough to reach a low-level thug like The Viscount.

  “Hey, Cougar! Long time no fight,” The Viscount said. “Where ya been? Thought mebbe ya got caught in the fire.”

  “Nah, I been around. What you been up to?”

  “Just goin’ in for my inoculation. You get yours yet?”

  “No, man, what’s an inoculation?” Scott asked.

  The Viscount thumped him on the back, forcing him to take a step forward. “You kiddin’ me? I thought everyone knew. You go in, get a shot, then come back in a week to donate blood and they give you a hunnerd bucks. Easy cash.”

  “Sounds sweet, but I got a gig. Later,” Scott started to walk off, but just as he was about to step back into the street, a wave of pleasure overcame him. It was only a short burst this time, but it was enough to stop him cold. Across the street, Mia was standing with her holophone held out in front of her, but she was looking past the holo of whoever she was talking to, staring at him. He glanced around, expecting to see Padme, see her with wire wrapped around her fingers like a puppeteer. She wasn’t there, but he spotted a security camera mounted under the roof overhang at the corner of the blood bank building. Of course she’d be watching; he’d been stupid not to expect it.

  He choked down an unexpected rise of bile and put a happy expression on his face before lifting a hand to his lips and then extending that hand towards the camera. It was essential that Padme think he still cared, even though he never had.

  Chapter Eight

  Bryn hadn’t noticed Jason’s injury before because his t-shirt was black. Now she saw a tear in the fabric of his sleeve, a horizontal slice about two inches long. She pinched the seam at the top of his shoulder and attempted to lift the fabric, but it was stuck from partially dried-on blood.

  He slapped her hand away. “Yeah, he clipped me. It’s no big deal. Stay here.”

  Before he even crossed the threshold into the escape hatch, a bright light appeared from somewhere at the top of the steeply rising steps. At first, Bryn thought he’d activated an automatic light, but then a dark, ovoid object the size of a softball clattered down the steps.

  Jason slammed the door and yelled, “Get down!”

  He pushed her violently into the little kitchenette to the left of the door and she dove onto the linoleum floor. A heavy weight fell on her just as a concussive blast shook the safe house. She lay there for a moment before trying to get up. The weight was Jason’s body; he’d thrown himself on her to shield her, and now he wasn’t moving. She heaved him onto his side and got to her knees. Her head hurt, her ears were ringing and her eyes felt like they were filled with grit from the thick dust now filling the air. Coughing, she put her fingertips against his throat and was reassured when a pulse beat strongly there. Before she could check him for injuries, the ominous sound of heavy footsteps coming from the escape hatch alerted her.

  The door had been blown inward, clearing the way for the man who’d shot at Jason and tried to force his way in through the front entrance. From this angle, she couldn’t see into the escape hatch, but the blast must have damaged the lower steps, because he landed in the room heavily, as if he’d had to jump.

  She was still on her knees, and had to crane her aching neck to look up at him. He had short, black hair, and the sunglasses she’d seen earlier were resting on his head. He was very tall, at least six-foot-five, with a heavy build. No wonder Jason couldn’t close the door on him.

  The barrel of the big gun she’d seen earlier was pointed right in her face, but she was encouraged that he hadn’t shot her the instant he appeared. She struggled to her feet and said, “You killed him,” pleased that the words came out sounding sincere. She’d been a bad liar her whole life, but in this situation it wasn’t hard putting the right amount of outrage and fear into her voice.

  He squinted at Jason with cold blue eyes. “Excellent. That just leaves you, doesn’t it?”

  She flinched when he moved his gun hand, but it was only to gesture her out of the kitchenette. She obeyed, terrified he was going to ensure that Jason was really dead by shooting him a few times.

  “Go on,” he said, tilting his head toward the door leading to the spiral staircase. She didn’t want to turn her back on him, but didn’t have a choice. She went past him, wondering why he hadn’t killed her. Did he simply prefer that she walk to the place he planned on disposing of her body so he didn’t have to haul it around along with Jason’s? Not that Jason was actually dead...yet. But for all she knew, he was gravely injured. He was tough; all XIA agents were, but was he tough enough to overcome being shot and then blown up?

  The important thing was to do what her captor told her, lull him into a false sense of security.

  For when Jason gets up and rescues me.

  She glanced back, but all she could see were his feet, still wearing the untied shoes. She preceded the intruder through the door into the stairwell. With every step she took, it seemed less and less likely she’d get out of this situation alive. Still, she held onto the irrational hope that Jason would somehow regain consciousness and save the day.

  She debated telling the intruder that the keypad on the exterior door had been damaged, but to her surprise he told her to go down the stairs instead of up. A shiver crawled down her spine. Whatever waited for her at the bottom of the old abandoned missile silo, she doubted it was a welcoming party.

  Her head still throbbed from the explosion, and as she descended the steps that went down and around in a seemingly endless spiral, she fought the urge to vomit. It didn’t help that there was an odd smell to the place
that got stronger the lower they went.

  The levels below the safe house were unfinished, as Jason had said. The dim light from the stairwell didn’t reach far, but she saw that each level was bare concrete around the perimeter of the circular structure - all but the center of each floor, which was open. She imagined a huge missile squatting at the bottom of the silo, ready to be launched straight up and out through the holes in the floors.

  By the time they reached the lowest level, she was winded and dizzy. He grasped her arm and hauled her along with him towards the center of the floor until the gloom got too heavy to see ahead of them.

  “I’m going to put my gun away,” her captor said. “I don’t recommend trying anything.”

  Despite his advice, she frantically thought up and rejected several escape plans. She heard more than saw him put his gun away, and then heard a metallic jingle that could only be from a set of keys.

  “I’ve had this on my keychain for years and never used it before,” he said in an absurdly conversational tone. Light flared from his hand. It was a small flashlight with a weak, unfocused beam, but it was enough to illuminate the floor directly ahead of them.

  “You’re probably wondering why I left you alive.”

  He pushed her ahead of him until the flashlight revealed a dark form on the ground. Bryn gasped and stepped back. It was the body of a man, dressed in jeans and a red leather jacket. Bryn froze in place and stared down at the dead man’s feet, clad in black socks, no shoes.

  “Stinks, huh? But it would be a lot worse if it weren’t so cold down here.” He walked around the body and stopped by the head. “You take his feet.”

  He lifted the flashlight to his mouth and bit down on it to keep it lit, keys dangling against his chin. He squatted down and slid his hands under the dead man’s shoulders. It was obvious now that Bryn was only alive to help him move the body. A body that he had likely dumped here thinking no one would find it since the safe house hadn’t been used in years. But then Bryn came along and needed a place underground, and someone within the FBI had offered the silo safe house to the XIA.