Alien in Chief

by Gini Koch

  Heard the sounds of gunfire nearby as the music changed to “Crossfire” by Brandon Flowers. Apparently Algar was in a Killers mood. I was certainly one with Brandon’s band’s name right now. Just hoped that my side would be the one doing the killing.

  Based on noises and musical cues, had to figure I was needed elsewhere. But also had to figure I needed to make sure Nerida wasn’t an issue.

  She heard the gunfire, too, and smirked again as, sure enough, she came up with a table leg. Sometimes I was psychic, really. “It’s hard to lose when you have insider information.” She came out swinging, I backed up ducking.

  “Tell that to Martha Stewart. Anyway, what information could you losers possibly have?”

  Guns blazing elsewhere or not, this info I probably needed to get out of her. Ducked another swing, trapped her arm between mine and my body while I gave her a roundhouse elbow to the face, stomped on her foot, and, as I backed away, wrenched the table leg out of her hand. As always when the skills were totally impressive, there was no one I cared about impressing around to see it.

  “We know how to get into the car you think is all locked up nice and safely.” She grabbed décor and started throwing it at me. At not quite hyperspeed. Not at the slow version of it, just really fast. And yet, not that fast. There was something going on with these hybrids, something that hadn’t been there before.

  Thankfully, Algar didn’t play “Something There” from the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack, but it was now singing harmony in my head along with Brandon.

  Fortunately, Nerida tossing crap at me brought me back to the moment. Dodged glasses, batted a vase back at her, and backhanded a lamp in her general direction. I was a switch hitter, just like I was a switch hurdler. Not, again, that anyone was around to draft me for the Diamondbacks.

  “You mean you have a traitor Secret Service agent and he has some intel that’s giving all of you a very false sense of security.” I sincerely hoped.

  She smirked again as she threw more stuff at me. Apparently this was her fave facial expression ever. “No. Sam’s given us a very real look into how the security around all of you is managed.”

  “When he was on our detail, sure. You seriously think we didn’t mix it up to keep the bad guys guessing after he was incarcerated?” I again sincerely hoped.

  We’d changed up how we did things, but whether the Secret Service had or not wasn’t something I’d paid attention to. Added it onto the list of all the important things I didn’t pay attention to until well after the fact and carried on by landing a great front ball kick to her stomach combined with my slamming the table leg against her head.

  She flew back into a chair. Happily the force of my kick flipped her and the chair over, just as someone else arrived and “Jumping Someone Else’s Train” by the Cure came on. It was White, and he grabbed my hand without comment and zoomed us out of there.

  “Nice to see you, too, Mister White. I hadn’t finished that fight.” We went through the dining car. No one inside it, which was another tiny one for the win column.

  “She looked down and hopefully out and, if not, I just assume you’ll finish it later, Missus Martini, and in style. However, we’re needed and there’s no one who does what we’re going to have to better than the two of us.”

  “I see the future by looking at the past. We’re going on top of the train, aren’t we?” We’d reached the War Room but didn’t try to get in. The sound of gunfire was much louder and closer.

  “We are. Mister Falk is trying to get to the engine to protect the engineer and crew from our enemies and he’s in need of assistance.”

  “How did he get past me? You’re the only one who’s come through.”

  “He was in the forward personnel car and called back to us to alert us that we were under attack.”

  “How?”

  “We have these amazing devices called cellular phones. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?” White’s sarcasm knob definitely went to eleven. “Burton has all our numbers programmed in. And, unlike some people, he used his ability to dial.”

  “Oh, right. And bitter much? Jeff and I were busy getting people to safety.”

  “Yes, so he explained when he reached us. While we were talking to Burton on speakerphone.”

  “Gotcha. Sorry, I’ve just gotten so used to everyone talking into the air or at their wrists and lapels that someone using the phone to do something other than determine my position via GPS seems totally old fashioned.”

  “Duly noted. In case you’re wondering, we’re under attack at the rear of the train as well as up here, we’re trying to protect the civilians who aren’t in the safe room car, and Jeffrey and Christopher may not yet be aware that I’m not there anymore.”

  “Wise man is the sneakiest, I’ve always said it. Totally off topic, in that sense, but have you seen Ginger or Bruno?”

  “No, I have not, nor have any Poofs made an appearance.”

  “I’d complain about this, but when they’re AWOL they’re usually off doing something else key, so I’ll just assume that’s the case and find the will to go on.”

  “That’s the spirit.” White took hold of the ladder.

  “You know . . .” Rummaged around in my purse and grabbed the goggles. “I have these in here sort of randomly. Now seems like it might be a good time to wear them.”

  “Yes, probably.”

  Slipped them on. They might have been night vision or something else vision, but I could see well through them, so that was all that mattered. They were holding my earbuds in place, so that was another one for the win column.

  Noted White trying not to laugh. “How do I look?”

  “I don’t want a pair, if you have extras along.”

  “I don’t. It’s really that bad a look?”

  “If it’s a choice between those or a catsuit, always choose catsuit. Don’t risk a glance in a mirror and you’ll be fine. I’m going up first. Please be prepared to pull me down quickly.” With that, he started up the ladder on the outside of the car.

  I was right behind him, and I was ready to grab and pull. But he was looking forward and I figured one of us had better be looking behind, especially when “Back, Back Train” by Aerosmith came on my airwaves. Either that or Algar wasn’t helping anymore and I was back on the playlist Kyle had made for me. Gave it even odds for either option.

  So, Algar helping or not, I wasn’t all that surprised when I saw someone coming up on the roof of the car we’d just left.

  CHAPTER 40

  JUMPED FROM THE ladder on the War Room car to the corresponding ladder on the dining car. The gaps weren’t bad and it didn’t even feel scary. Much. Climbed up and flipped onto the roof in time to use my body to sweep the guy’s legs out from under him.

  Happily, this wasn’t Falk. Happily also, this appeared to be Russell Kozlow, at least as far as I could tell from a brief glance, since he’d gone flat on his face.

  Unhappily, he still had hold of his big gun, and also unhappily, hold of my left ankle.

  Decided that if he died I’d find a way to apologize to Chernobog and kicked his head hard with my right foot. He didn’t let go but his hold loosened. Kicked again using hyperspeed, so I was doing it a lot and very fast, while taking in what I could see.

  There were two people behind Kozlow and, as I looked up and over, two people ahead of White. However, they weren’t all that far ahead. And they were pointing very large guns down at the roof of the car and shooting, which was where the sound of gunfire had come from.

  The War Room car was incredibly reinforced, but nothing was invincible. And far too many people I cared about were inside of it.

  As the music changed to “Boys Wanna Fight” by Garbage, I kicked super hard and Kozlow let go. Scrambled to my feet as Kozlow slid down and toward the side.

  Amazingly enough, there appeared to be no bri
dges or low overhangs coming that I could see. Was shocked to my core that the universe was doing me and White such a solid, but chose not to argue about it, lest said solid be whisked away with a low tunnel made of sharp rocks and rusty iron.

  However, what we were lacking in bridges and such was more than made up for by an incredible amount of foliage on the sides, nothing that looked soft to land on should we fall off, and the big, nasty-looking helicopter that was above us.

  It was clearly a stealth chopper, because it really wasn’t making a racket. And while it did kick up wind, it didn’t kick up nearly as much as I’d experienced in other circumstances.

  Figured Wruck was the pilot—couldn’t really see who was up there, but we’d now proved that hybrids with enough of the Yates Super Gene in them could handle human machinery if they worked at it, and my gut said that Wruck had the stick.

  Ran and leaped across the gap in my best sprinter’s hurdling stance. Landed and was able to grab White and take him down just as one of the people shooting at the roof turned and shot toward us.

  Naturally we didn’t luck out and the bullets didn’t hit Kozlow. I could see this because White and I slid into the gunmen and, due to the speed I’d been going and the fact that while the roofs of the cars weren’t soaked, they were a bit slick from the rain we’d gone through, flipped over and around. So I was now looking at the back of the train. We had a lot of people on the roof.

  On the plus side, my smooth move had made both gunmen lose hold of their weapons. Neither White nor I were able to grab the guns, though I tried, which was a mistake.

  The grab shifted me on an already slick surface and I was now sliding off our roof and so lost interest in everyone and everything else. Unlike the nice train in France that White and I had apparently used as a practice run for right now, these train cars didn’t have railings on top or much of anything to grab onto.

  Belayed nostalgia for Operation Confusion and instead tried to get a hand- or foothold on anything, with limited success. Was able to see that the bullets had made some inroads into the roof’s surface, too. Not a lot—certainly not enough for me to get a good hold while I was sliding around—but enough to indicate that the roof was penetrable with enough firepower focused on it.

  Just as I was about to go off the side, White managed to grab my arm and I grabbed the leg of one of the shooters. Who, as he slid toward me, I realized was Kellogg, the guy who’d tried to kill both Mrs. Maurer and Jeff during Operation Defection Election.

  Kellogg kicked at me. Unlike Kozlow, I let go instantly, which meant that Kellogg actually shoved himself closer to the edge. Worked for me.

  What didn’t work for me was the math I was seeing. We had a lot more than the people I’d been expecting to attack us up here. We had a full-on raiding party on the roof, and that wasn’t counting our people who were also on the roof.

  Ours were easy to spot, since I was literally the only one in jeans. Everyone else, humans included, was in the Armani Fatigues, looking spiffy while fighting crime and hopefully not falling off a moving train.

  Who I couldn’t spot were Jeff, Christopher, Gower, or Chuckie. This might mean that they were staying safely inside, protecting the Supreme Pontifex and Vice President. But I doubted it. Inside, yes. Being protected, no. Protecting the humans who weren’t in the safe room car, on the other hand, seemed very possible. Maybe Chuckie had managed to convince them to compromise. Maybe I’d find out if I made it through this particular gauntlet.

  White dragged me to the middle of the car. The other gunman had run off, toward the front. Wasn’t positive, but thought that he was probably our air bender, Darryl Lowe.

  The majority of those riding the roof rails were on top of the back six cars. There were so many people that I wondered how the roofs weren’t caving in. But what that meant was that the only people on our side who were on the front cars were me, White, and, as I looked forward, Falk. But he was fighting someone on the car closest to the engine, and Lowe was headed right for them.

  “We have to get to Falk,” I shouted to White. I was hella glad I had the goggles on, because the wind was unpleasant and White was wincing. That’d teach him to diss my fashion-forward look.

  White nodded, pointed, then shoved me behind him. Because, of course, Kozlow had recovered, was on this car with us, and had helped keep Kellogg from sliding off. And Kozlow still had his gun.

  Grabbed White’s hand, yanked him hard, and ran for the next car. We could destroy Rail Force One inside or out if necessary, but we needed to get them away from the War Room.

  We jumped and landed well, go team. My music changed to Public Enemy’s “Party For Your Right To Fight.” Which worked, since Kozlow and Kellogg were also up and had jumped onto this car with us. But that meant no one was shooting at the car the President was in anymore, and that was definitely one for the win column.

  Decided to keep on running and try to get to Falk. We used the time-honored serpentine move that worked in that no bullets hit us, but that was probably because Kozlow wasn’t able to aim well since whatever part of the track we were on was really bumpy.

  Leaped and landed on the other car, where Falk was fighting Dear Sam Travis, aka Cliff’s Secret Service spy. Lowe wasn’t actually engaged in the fight, though.

  What Lowe was doing was much, much worse.

  CHAPTER 41

  LOWE WAS AHEAD of Falk and Dear Sam, and I could tell by his posture—arms out and hands curved in—that he was starting up his air bending. And if he could get a big enough gust of wind going—and experience said that he could—then he could derail the train.

  Would have loved to have tackled him, but we had Dear Sam, Kellogg, and Kozlow to handle first. And they were definitely interested in keeping us away from Lowe.

  Did my best to send an emotional message to whatever empaths, Jeff included, who might be able to pay attention. Focused a lot of longing on Mahin and Christopher. She’d been able to counter what Lowe had done during Operation Infiltration, and Christopher was the one who trained both her and me. Plus the fastest man alive was always useful.

  However, I couldn’t spend a ton of time on this because, as my music changed to “Fight” by Motörhead, Kellogg lunged for me while Kozlow went for White. Apparently they’d decided to switch it up and keep us guessing.

  Fighting on a moving train was both exactly as it looked in the movies and nothing like how it looked in the movies at the same time. The danger, wind, slipperiness, and all-around disorientation of this situation was pretty much as the movies showed it to be. But the inability to really practice the “sweet science” or any form of martial arts didn’t line up with what Hollywood had always told me.

  Pop culture betrayal aside, the biggest positive was that no one else up here had spent time prepping by fighting on the tops of moving trains, and I could say this with some certainty since the bad guys were having as much trouble as White, Falk, and I were.

  We hit at each other, then the force of the hits knocked us off balance and we spent some hilarious yet terrifying time trying to stay on the train or clawing to get back onto the top of the train, assisted by our allies. Those with guns had given up trying to shoot them—the risk was too high that we’d hit someone on our side.

  “This is ridiculous,” I shouted to White as he and I each managed to grab Falk’s arms before he fell over the edge. “We need a new plan.” Rod Stewart’s “Street Fighting Man” came on. Resisted the desire to tell Algar that he wasn’t helping.

  “I’m open to ideas,” Falk said, as we dragged him over and White landed an impressive upward kick into Kozlow’s stomach, which caused Kozlow to knock into Kellogg and White to slip toward the train’s side.

  “I’d like us to figure out how to fight like Jackie Chan or Tom Cruise do on the tops of these things, and I’d love us to do it right now.” Managed to sweep Dear Sam’s feet out from under him rig
ht before he gave it a go anyway and tried to shoot us.

  Happily he lost hold of his gun and that went off the side. Unhappily it was now my turn to, once again, start sliding off. And, so far, we had no cavalry showing up to save the day. Meaning it was all going to be up to us. Always the way.

  We were now in some foliage that made what we’d been through already look tame. Something dropped onto the roof between us and Kellogg and Kozlow.

  “Holy Mary Mother of God . . . is that a snake?” I screamed this at the top of my lungs because it damn well was a snake and I was terrified of snakes.

  “Jesus!” This was from Kellogg. “It’s a copperhead!” He started screaming just like I was. How nice. A bonding moment.

  “Calm down, it’s just a snake,” Kozlow said, earning my lifelong enmity.

  Heard another scream from behind me. Turned to see Dear Sam freaking out because, lucky us, more snakes had landed on the other side of us, between us and him.

  “Stay calm,” Falk said to me and White. “They’re probably falling out of the trees from the rains. They won’t attack unless they’re provoked.”

  “They fell out of the freaking trees! They are venomous attack snakes bent on murdering us all and I am officially not having any of it! Do you hear me? I did not sign up for this!”

  White squeezed my hand. “We’re faster than them, Missus Martini. I promise.”

  “I’d like to keep on screaming, okay? I’ll run away much faster that way. Promise.” A horrible thought occurred. “You realize that if we fall off there are snakes lurking in the trees and on the ground, waiting to finish us off.”

  “I’m more worried about the train and the people on it killing us,” Falk said. “We can deal with the snakes.”

  “I can’t. At all.”

  Dear Sam was backing up, doing his own form of freaking out. So he didn’t realize that he was backing up into Lowe. Decided not to warn him, just to show that, terrified or not, I could still focus on the mission.