The Phoenix Egg

by Richard Bamberg

  Unable to hold himself, John dropped to his knees, tottered a moment, then collapsed face down in the snow as Caitlin’s scream shattered his mind.

  “John!”

  Romax released her and she ran to John’s side.

  As she made contact, John saw himself lying face down in the snow. Blood seeped from a wound just to one side of his spine. As he breathed, he saw bubbles form around the wound. It was odd that his wounds no longer bothered him. He could barely feel the gunshot to either his leg or abdomen. Amazing.

  Caitlin rolled him over and cradled his head in her lap. He looked up into her eyes at the same time he stared down into his own.

  “God, dear God. Don’t die, John.”

  He coughed and tasted blood on his lips.

  She was sobbing. John felt like crying himself.

  Over the sound of Caitlin’s sobs, he could hear Holdren talking to Romax.

  “Call for an ambulance. We still want him alive,” Holdren said.

  A flash of insight reached John. If they wanted him alive, it was only so they would have two people with the translators. You couldn’t very well experiment on just one person, how would you learn anything without the feedback between two users. They would keep him alive as long as they needed him, and they’d never let Caitlin go as long as he was alive.

  Although she continued to sob loudly, Caitlin followed his thoughts and his idea. “No, you can’t ask that of me. I can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can. You must. Do you want them to experiment on me forever? They will, you know. Only you can stop them.”

  As she realized what she had to do, John felt closer to her than ever. How could he have ever let her go the first time? It wasn’t fair. They deserved to be together.

  Caitlin’s fingers no longer stroked John’s cheek. They moved down to rest against the pulse that beat weakly through his carotids.

  She clutched him tightly to her buxom as her fingers pressed into his neck.

  John felt her love filling him. It swirled around him and cradled him in warmth that spread through his mind like the spring sun driving the frost from a meadow.

  “What was it that Dewatre said?” John transmitted.

  She knew the quote he was referring before he even thought the question. From her mind, he heard Dewatre speaking in memory. “We die but once, and it is for such a long time.”

  John almost didn’t notice when his heart stopped beating.

  CHAPTER 28

  Caitlin felt John’s pulse die beneath the pressure from her fingers. She choked on the wave of grief that washed over her. It wasn’t right. He had done nothing to deserve his fate. He had only tried to save her and now he was dead. Caitlin still sensed his mind wrapped around hers and knew he felt no fear at death. She continued to press on his carotids, giving time for his body to go beyond aid. So these bastards couldn’t revive him.

  His love assuaged the grief in her heart, but still she sobbed. Whatever fate life held for her it would be without the one man who had loved her without limits. It was too much to bear.

  ***

  John felt the blackness overwhelm him and he gave into it. He drifted in limbo, directionless and weightless. His pain had gone; even the little pain that had remained after Holdren had partially paralyzed him with a single thrust between his sixth and seventh cervical vertebra. But Holdren hadn’t been as good as he thought. His thrust had been off-center and had only cut the nerves along one side of the spine rather than completely severing them. Strange how John knew that now. His trainers had said to severe the spinal cord between the skull and the first vertebra. That insured a quick and silent death. It seemed odd that someone would want to know how to paralyze an opponent.

  It also seemed odd that he could still think about it at all.

  Was this death? Stuck in blackness with no sensations. It seemed more like hell than mere death. Strange, he’d never given hell much thought. It had always seemed rather medieval to John. Or perhaps something borrowed from the Greek and Roman myths of an underworld ruled by some pagan god. It hardly seemed like the creation of a loving God.

  Well, it looked like he would find out sooner rather than later.

  Something moved him.

  At first, it was as if he was a compass, being turned toward one of Earth’s poles. Suspended in nothingness, John saw a tiny light in the distance.

  Was that the light referred to so often by people experiencing near-death? It hardly seemed important. But then it was the only thing he could sense.

  Or was it?

  If the light was like a magnetic pole, lining him up with it, drawing him closer, then where was its analog?

  John tried to rotate, to see behind him. Although he didn’t sense any movement, the light left the center of his vision and moved off to the side.

  The dark split away from him.

  In the distance, a great light appeared and swelled toward him.

  In an instance, John knew that this was the light described by so many. It pulled at him with a force that seemed both irresistible and compelling.

  But if that was where he should be going, then what was this little light? He forced his awareness to rotate again.

  It was still there, a little pinpoint of light. The pull it had on him was small and he could resist it without conscious will, but it begged for investigation, for his attention. Curiosity held him.

  Concentrating, he found he could move toward it.

  He reached his disembodied hand toward it.

  His fingers cupped around the light and John was amazed by its warmth. By its love.

  ***

  Caitlin could hear the siren of an ambulance.

  They would be too late.

  There was nothing they could do to save John now.

  She didn’t want to let these people take her either. John’s knife lay a few feet away, its blade shone in the light of the vehicles surrounding her. Perhaps she should end it here. If she could reach it before they could stop her she could plunge it into her heart and free herself.

  Like she had freed John.

  Did she have the courage to end her own life when there was no hope left?

  John had wanted her to live. He thought that eventually she would be freed, possibly with the help of his friend. Had he been just trying to give her some hope to keep her from total surrender?

  What was left when all hope fled?

  She reached toward the knife.

  Warmth flowed through her.

  It was like liquid love.

  What? What was this? It was like the first time she and John had made love. They had shared every sensation through the translators until their identities had merged into a single individual. It was a sensation that was unsurpassed by anything she had ever known.

  But then what was this? John was dead. She was alone with his cooling body. Why was she feeling him? She put her fingers back on his throat. No pulse. He was still dead.

  She must be going mad.

  “No Caitlin. I’m here.”

  “John?” If her emotions hadn’t already tightened the muscles of her throat, she would have screamed. “How can this be? I felt you die.”

  “I know, but something is letting me hold on to you. It’s some trait of the translator. I don’t know why, but it’s giving me an anchor I can hold to.”

  “Oh, God, John. I don’t want to stay here without you.”

  “I know. I feel everything you feel. But the knife isn’t the answer. There’s another way.”

  “Another way? What?”

  “Slip the translator off my neck and put it on. Then we’ll give these people a surprise.”

  Caitlin looked up. Tears still blurred her vision, but she could see Romax and Holdren talking a few feet away. Neither faced her. A half dozen or so guards milled around in groups of twos and threes. They talked among themselves in hushed voices and moved from foot to foot as though the cold was getting to them.

  Caitlin could no longer feel th
e cold.

  She continued to sob, maintaining the ruse, as she slipped one hand under John’s coat and shirt until her fingers closed about the oval shape of the translator. It was sticky with blood.

  Pulling it out, she lifted his head gently from her lap to free the chain and then used both hands to drape it over her head.

  Her movement drew Romax’s attention. He watched her curiously, staring even, but made no move to stop her.

  She unzipped her coat and dropped the oval inside her blouse against her bare skin. As the translator settled next to hers, she felt the contact with John strengthened past all limits.

  “That’s good. Very good. I can feel everything you feel. It’s almost as if we were sharing your body.”

  “I know. Bodies and minds. It’s an incredible sensation. Now what?”

  “The detonator, take it out of my pocket, and then let me take control. Perhaps we can get you out of this yet.”

  “Even if we can’t, just make sure they don’t take me alive.”

  “I don’t want you to die too, Caitlin.”

  “And I don’t want to live without you.”

  “You have me now,” he said.

  “But if they take me they are sure to separate us. Would you stay here without me?”

  “You know I wouldn’t,” John said.

  “And I don’t want to stay here without you. So either get me free, or let me die too.”

  John could feel her resolve. It was what she wanted and he could find no reason or will to talk her out of it. “All right, I’ll keep us together, one way or another.”

  Without another word, John felt Caitlin sliding back, releasing control.

  S/he felt the snow blow against his face and gazed up into Romax’s eyes.

  Romax’s face darkened with sudden alarm, as if he had seen something he couldn’t believe.

  John kept their eyes on Romax’s as he put their hand inside the corpse’s pocket and closed their fingers on the detonator. With their thumb s/he toggled the selector to the “all” position and pressed the switch.

  The night erupted with fire and thunder from a dozen locations.

  The guards staggered under multiple crashing shock waves.

  Holdren dove into the snow.

  Only Romax kept his feet as he reached for a holstered weapon.

  John snatched up the Ashley knife and lunged to their feet.

  S/he closed on Romax as the man’s hand emerged with a Berretta. John pounded the hilt of the knife into Romax’s temple while grasping the gun with their other hand.

  Romax’s knees buckled.

  John switched the knife to their left hand while transferring the gun to their right. S/he thumbed the safety and turned on the nearest guard as he rose, gun in hand.

  S/he fired twice. The first bullet tore open the man’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound. The second bullet dissolving the man’s right eye in a spray of liquid. His body fell forward onto the snow as the stream of blood from his severed carotid artery changed into a slow seepage as his heart stopped beating.

  Holdren was rising from the snow. John took two steps toward him and snap-kicked him in the jaw. The impact hurt more than it should have. Caitlin’s body just didn’t have the mass of John’s and couldn’t take the same level of contact. S/he shifted their aim to the next guard; the woman was kneeling at the front of the farther Humvee. John got off two more rounds while the woman fired once. Her shot missed. Their’s didn’t.

  A man lunged at them from the side of the nearer Humvee. John spun on their left foot as the man passed like a bull passing the matador. As he passed, John drove their knife into the side of the man’s throat. Twisting the blade, s/he yanked it clear, ripping open both carotid and jugular.

  Clutching at his throat, the man fell to his knees.

  Someone else fired from behind the farther Humvee. John dropped to the ground, rolled, and fired three rounds under the vehicle.

  A woman went down screaming, her left leg spurting blood.

  The last two guards were rising behind them. John raised the gun and fired, catching the nearer man high on the thigh and dropping him back to the ground.

  The Berretta’s slide locked open.

  It should have had at least four more rounds. Romax must have fired it earlier.

  Before s/he could stand, the last guard reached them. A burley fist closed on her knife hand and another closed around her throat.

  S/he was jerked from the ground.

  “You bitch! If they didn’t insist on getting you alive I’d snap your neck.”

  John wrinkled their nose and dropped the empty Berretta. “You need to work on your manners and on your breath. Have you been eating horse shit or what?”

  The guards eyes flared and his fingers tightened around John’s throat.

  John made a spear of their right hand and jabbed it into the man’s abdomen.

  The man’s Kevlar vest blocked the thrust.

  The man’s grip tightened and John could see little glimmers of stars.

  “Not again asshole,” s/he said.

  Locking the thumb knuckles of their right hand, John jabbed it into the man’s left eye with all their strength.

  It ruptured, spraying John with fluid.

  The man screamed and staggered back, clutching at his destroyed eye.

  John kicked him in the right knee. With a loud crunch, the kneecap shattered and the man fell to the earth screaming even louder.

  Something moved in the corner of John’s vision and they ducked as a gleaming blade sliced through the air above them.

  John scampered back a couple of feet to give them time to respond to the new threat.

  It was Holdren.

  He held his slender knife in his right hand and smiled.

  “Well, well. The little bitch has grown teeth. Well, we’ll see how you like the treatment I gave your boyfriend. I can’t wait to see the two of you strapped down, facing each other for the rest of your lives and never able to touch, to walk, to move.”

  As he spoke, Holdren moved closer. John backed slowly trying to reach a spot where s/he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over a body.

  “You think you’re such a man. You were great against me when I was already crippled. Let’s see how you do against me now,” John said.

  Holdren’s face wrinkled in confusion, but he lunged forward.

  John sidestepped and sliced downward, opening a deep gash in the man’s wrist.

  “Damn you, bitch!”

  “Watch your mouth, asshole. You should have let her go. She didn’t want this trouble, this killing. Me, I’m going to enjoy carving you up for what you did to me and to her.”

  Holdren yanked a handkerchief from his back pocket and wrapped it around his wrist while maintaining distance from John’s advance.

  “You’ve gone crazy, woman. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been called a lot on things, but a woman is something new. What’s the matter Holdren? Didn’t you know the translators would let us merge?”

  “Merge? What are you gibbering about, Maxwell?”

  Holdren lunged again. John blocked the thrust with their knife and as they parted, s/he snapped a backhanded slash at Holdren’s eyes.

  It almost missed.

  The back edge of the Ashley cut a gash just above Holdren’s eyebrows. Bone shone in the gash until the welling blood darkened the wound.

  Holdren screamed, more in anger than in pain.

  “The name is Blalock. John Blalock. And I’ve come back to kill you Holdren.”

  “That’s not possible. You’re not even dead. How could you come back?”

  Holdren wiped at the blood flowing into eyes with the back of his sleeve.

  “Never under estimate a desperate woman, Holdren. She killed me while you were still gloating over your victory. Now it’s my turn to gloat.”

  “No, it’s not possible. You’re crazy.”

  Half blind from the torrent o
f blood filling his eyes, Holdren launched himself at them.

  John stepped easily out of the way and then backhanded the Ashley into Holdren’s back, exactly between the sixth and seventh vertebra.

  Holdren was limp even before he hit the ground.

  Breathing heavily, John knelt and wiped the blood from the knife with the cuff of Holdren’s pants.

  The bright red and white lights of an approaching ambulance were flashing eerily through the snow. It was almost there.

  John gazed around and found no immediate threats. The wounded guards were more concerned about their own fate than that of Caitlin’s.

  “I think you can handle it from here,” he said as he relinquished control.

  Caitlin flexed her blood soaked arms and stared about her as she consciously took control of her body. “You are amazing, John. What now?”

  “You could probably use a couple of weapons.” He indicated which would be the best ones. “And the bags I brought. There are a few items in there that you might still find useful.”

  “We, we might find useful.”

  “I stand corrected. Now let’s get moving before someone else shows up. I’ve had enough killing.”

  “Me too.”

  She gathered the weapons John wanted and slung one of his bags over each of her shoulders. As she turned, she saw movement in the snow. Caitlin lowered the sights on the Uzi to cover Romax.

  The man sat up, gazed past the barrel, and into her eyes. Then he turned his head and slowly surveyed the scene. “Holdren?”

  “Dead or dying. Paralyzed definitely,” Caitlin answered.

  “Death was probably more than the bastard deserved. Go on, I won’t try to stop you.”

  “But will you try to find us again?”

  “Us?” he asked, but then he shook his head. “No, not me. Someone else maybe, but not me. I’ve lost my taste for working with men like Holdren.”

  “I understand.” Caitlin stopped next to John’s body; she gazed down at his calm face, finally peaceful in death.

  “It seems wrong to leave your body here for them.”

  “It’s just a body now, Caitlin. It’s not something I can ever go back to. Dust to dust.”