by Julie Hyzy
Trutenko glared. “Hurry.”
Tate shot him a furious glance. “You’re the one who wanted the safeties off, but I’m the guy who got sliced in the arm, okay? I’m moving as fast as I can.” He sent a quick pointed look that encompassed both Trutenko and Charlie. “No matter what I do to intercept the girl, the longer we stay, the more chance whoever is monitoring her will discover our link. Then all bets are off. Meaning, we have to get out. Now.”
Trutenko’s nostrils flared. He took a deep breath before answering. “This has been a colossal waste of effort. Can you reboot his implant? Erase this episode? Get him to forget why he’s here? We can’t risk him talking to others.”
“I know what I got to do, boss,” Tate said.
Trutenko nodded, pressed his medallion, and disappeared.
Tate made an incoherent noise. He finished inputting something into his handheld control, then sprinted across the room. “You’re a damn fool, you know that?” he said, yanking away Charlie’s signal medallion and placing it around his own neck, making it clink against the one already hanging there. He pulled a gun from the back of his waistband and aimed its deadly barrel at Charlie’s forehead.
Charlie clenched his eyes and thought about Kenna.
“I’ll erase your brain, all right,” Tate said. He squeezed the trigger.
It clicked.
Charlie’s eyes popped open. He managed a grin through his ravaging pain. The idiot didn’t know enough to engage the arming overrides. Kenna could take this guy. She was the toughest envoy of them all, and she was on her way.
“Damn,” Tate said. He patted his pockets.
Charlie stared at the door, willing it to open, willing Kenna to burst into the room and take this guy out.
Tate yanked a ten-inch serrated blade from a sheath at his side. Using his uninjured arm, he raised the knife high and dropped to his knees next to Charlie. “God, I hate getting my hands dirty.”
SIX
Stewart pressed the earpiece tight, as though doing so would help him hear better, as though it would compel Vanessa to answer.
“What’s happening?” Blood rushed up, pounding behind his eyes. “Vanessa,” he said, his voice an order, “come in. What’s happening with Charlie?”
Listening as the medics’ staccato imperatives grew terse, Stewart waited for what seemed the longest five seconds of his life. He kept an eye on Kenna. Her body tensed, her sweat stains grew, but she seemed in no danger at the moment. Still, given the situation, he’d do well to have a set of paramedics in here, too. Just in case.
“Vanessa?”
Her voice cracked when she answered. “We’re losing him, Stewart.”
“But…” Stewart said, not knowing what to say next. They’d never lost an envoy. “Kenna’s there,” he finally said. “She’ll get him out.”
Vanessa said, “They want me to do a cold shutdown.”
“No!” Stewart said. “That risks brain damage.”
“Don’t you understand?” Vanessa’s voice hissed over the phone. “Charlie. Is. Dying,” she said, punctuating each word. “It’s the only chance we have left to get him out at all.”
“Try to hold them off, Nessa. Kenna’s there. She’ll do it. I know she will.” With another glance in Kenna’s direction, he added, “I’m going to call for backup medics.” Shaken over the recent events, he rubbed his face. “Kenna’s fine now, but with the safeties off—”
“I’ll send two of them over,” she said.
“But the client—”
“The client is dead, Stewart. He doesn’t need them anymore.”
SEVEN
Kenna scrambled away from the Land Rover, taking cover behind a shrub. She peered over it, gauging activity on the ledge. No one watching. Keeping to a low crouch, she bolted, intent on following the blond man’s path. Just beyond, the suspension bridge spanned a rocky gorge. She didn’t know who the guy was, but there was no doubt he knew where to find Charlie.
She’d taken two steps when warbling screams from the ledge warned her that more Huns had arrived. New warriors stamped their feet and raised their weapons. One of them launched an arrow.
The projectile, benefiting from both the downward trajectory and the warrior’s uncanny aim, shot straight for her. Anticipating the hit, she threw herself backward, rolling into a ball to protect her face and vital organs. Although VR safeties were always engaged so that injuries participants sustained would be equivalent to getting dinged with a paintball, she’d seen the guy in the Land Rover. She wasn’t about to take chances.
The moment the arrow thunked into the soft ground next to her, Kenna unfolded herself and pushed to her feet, going for the thirty-yard dash to the suspension bridge. She forced herself not to look back, knowing that with each long stride she pulled farther out of harm’s way. Grasping at her ear, she sought her command microphone. She’d do well to create some sort of shield for herself.
Her fingers came up empty.
Damn. She must have lost it when she’d rolled to the ground.
Focus, she told herself. The first tenet taught at envoy school. Focus is what gets your targets out safely. And you out safely with them.
A wood-hewn threshold signaled the entrance to the bridge just ahead. She kept her eyes on the goal, ignoring the battle cries from above.
She heard the whistle of another arrow slicing the air toward her. Risking a glance to her left, she redoubled her speed.
Too late.
It caught her mid-stride.
Doubling over, grasping at her leg, she howled and rolled to the ground. The warriors’ triumphant shouts from above nearly drowned out her scream. That was no imaginary impact. Fabric, torn away by the projectile’s graze, gaped around a bloody wound the size of her fist. As a pickax sailed her direction, Kenna clambered to her feet. The shot missed her by a breath.
This isn’t real.
But it sure felt real.
Time to get rid of these creeps. She took out the Beretta that she’d recovered from the dead guy in the Land Rover. Aiming at the closest Hun, she squeezed the trigger. He fell in a burst of red, but the gun’s slide racked back.
Out of ammunition. And no way to order more.
She tossed the gun away.
Sucking back the pain, she limped toward the bridge. She still had her signal medallion around her neck; she knew she could get out now. But, other than Stewart, there were no other envoys at AdventureSome right now. Charlie couldn’t wait. This VR was very wrong. Charlie’s only chance of survival rested with her.
Arrows hit the ground, their points chuffing into the soil behind her, their hollow shafts vibrating on impact. Kenna concentrated on the threshold, focusing her energy on reaching the bridge’s opening. She repeated the envoy mantra. “‘Nothing is real. Everything is perfectly safe.’”
Mind over matter, she told herself, biting down hard on her upper lip. Every step shot hot pain up her body as though a torch pressed against the inside of her skin. Fear-sweat ran down her legs and soaked into the open wound, causing her to flinch as she ran.
Agitation kept her moving. Mantra or not, it wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. As she cleared the threshold, she glanced over her shoulder to see the Huns climbing down the ledge.
At her first steps, the bridge’s floor swayed hard to the right, then corrected itself by swinging left. Kenna’s hands shot out to both sides and she gripped the rope handrails, instinctively looking downward, an eye on her footing. Over the side, the gorge was deep with greenery as far down as she could see. Concentrating even as she eased her way across the tenuous bridge, she caught the sparkle of a river, so small that it appeared no bigger than a vein in her wrist.
Kenna shuddered as her foot slipped on the wooden slats. Catching her balance, she stepped down too hard on her injured leg. She cried out. Behind her, amid wails and yel
ls, the warriors closed in.
A sudden fog rolled onto the bridge from its far side. Kenna couldn’t begin to guess what that meant. She needed to force the pain out of her mind long enough to get across. Going back was not an option.
Holding tight to both sides of the rope bridge, she widened her legs in a spread-eagle stance and shook the structure, hard. The bridge swayed, but it didn’t list so far to either side that Kenna thought it would throw her. Safe then. For now.
She closed her eyes for a precious second, then tightened her body in anticipation of the agony ahead.
She ran.
The bridge wobbled but held as her feet clattered across the bouncing floor. Her hands skimmed along the rough rope sides and she counted her steps to keep her mind off the hot throbbing in her leg.
“Charlie!” she yelled, not caring who heard her. She wanted him to know she was there. The growing gray fog now obscured the bridge’s far side completely. Sounds of movement, however, arose from its depths.
“Charlie?”
She had gotten about halfway across when the floor jerked, then jerked again as the Huns plodded onto the bridge behind her. Turning, Kenna whipped the bow from her back and nocked another arrow into place. Just as she released, the lead warrior stomped hard. The bounce caused her aim to falter. She watched the arrow fly helplessly over the side.
Backing into the fog, she decided to try again. She set her stance on the shaky bridge, hoping that the leading edge of the gray cloud would render her invisible to the advancing warriors. Closing one eye to aim at the lead man, she released the arrow, sending it straight into his neck. Arms flailing, he staggered backward, tumbling into two comrades. The bridge bounced and swung as they all toppled. Kenna, gauging the sway as she aimed, took the opportunity to fire again.
“That’s for you,” she said as the arrow landed solidly into one man’s uncovered thigh. It made her own wound feel better. She nocked another arrow into her bow and allowed herself a triumphant grin when it pierced the other man’s eyeball.
Still watchful, Kenna took another step back.
Her form was probably obscured from the warriors’ vision by the fog now, although she could still see the remaining two making another attempt to rally. The guy with the arrow in his leg grimaced in an expression of pure pain as he reached down and tore the arrow from deep within his thigh, releasing, as he did, a cry so fierce that Kenna shivered, despite herself.
Another heavy tremor on the bridge.
From behind her, this time.
She eased herself far left, pressing her body against the rope side, giving whatever loomed behind her wide berth. Tilting her head, she kept one eye on the Huns. Below her ponytail, the tiny hairs on her neck stood up on end. A prickly feeling of closeness forced her mouth tight. Remaining as still as she could, she held her breath.
Far to her right, the bridge shuddered again. Harder this time.
Kenna released her breath, her attention seized by the action of the Huns. They’d also felt the movement. The two still alive looked up toward the fogged area with twin expressions of wariness. Bearing axes at shoulder height, they took decisive steps forward.
Kenna inched sideways to avoid causing movement of her own, but when the Huns broke into a run, their brutish progress covered Kenna’s advancement.
Completely swallowed by the fog now, Kenna could no longer see the warriors as they charged. She dropped to her knees, both to be less of a target and to crawl-feel her way across the rest of the bridge. Maneuvering blindly, she knew that any miscalculation or lost floorboard could mean the end of her. And Charlie. She kept low and moved quickly, her senses on high alert.
A low rumble just ahead. Rhythmic and menacing, it sounded exactly like a dog’s warning before it attacks. The throaty growling paused long enough for her to hear and feel an exhalation of warm air. Something very large panted. It sniffed the air near her ear.
Thinking fast, she snugged her arms around the bridge’s rope handrail, took a steadying breath, and hauled herself over the side. Holding tight, she dangled in the sweep of empty space below.
At that moment, the fog lifted. With a strangled cry, the Huns stopped running. An enormous, doglike form bellowed, then lunged across the bridge, headed directly for the two warriors. Kenna had never seen anything like this creature in any scenario ever before. And she’d seen a lot.
The men screamed, heaving axes at their attacker. However, the jerky swing-sway of the bridge disrupted their aim and they missed. Kenna’s heart pummeled a beat in her throat. Hold on, hold on, she told herself. Having turned to flee, the warriors took no more than three steps before the creature was upon them, raising up onto its hind legs to seize the men, one at a time.
Kenna froze for a breathless moment, mouth agape. How did a monster like this get into a jungle VR scenario? This level of inconsistency made no sense.
Putting the anomaly aside, she swung her uninjured leg up, hooking it between support ropes. With effort, she dragged herself back onto the bridge.
God, that hurt, she thought as she rolled to a crouch. Behind the beast now, she crept backward—gingerly—so as not to attract attention.
It stood at least eight feet tall, its spine a sinuous ripple beneath a brush of short golden fur. Torn remnants of a tan shirt and pants clung to the monster’s back and legs, as though it had been wearing clothing that had suddenly become too small.
When it had sprung past her, it had moved like a giant wolf—hind legs powerful, forelegs stretching. Now it moved more like a man, standing tall. Its profile revealed alert, intelligent eyes. Blue eyes. But the face, with its forward-thrusting jaw and wide mouth—exposing yellow teeth that dripped saliva—was like nothing she’d ever seen before. Like a golden werewolf, but more human, with hands as large as basketballs.
The werewolf grasped one of the men’s arms in its teeth and wrenched it off amid tearing flesh and screams.
Kenna didn’t wait to see more. She scrambled to her feet. That short respite had caused the wounded muscle in her leg to stiffen, and she bit back a cry as she forced herself to hobble across the rest of the bridge.
As she cleared the far side’s threshold, the creature roared again. Kenna chanced a look back. Its long snout turned. Its ears pricked up. Straightening, it dropped what remained of the Huns and stomped across the bridge in her direction. Those long legs would close the distance between them in seconds.
Kenna knew her arrows would be ineffective against such a coarse hide. She yanked her machete from the belt at her waist and stood at the edge of the bridge, hacking at the left side railing with overhand chops. The rope was sturdy, but it was rope, thank goodness. Not wire, not synthetic. Two hacks. Three. Four. With encouraging squeaks and the whup-whup-whup of unraveling rigging, it began to split.
The left side of the bridge lurched downward, and the werewolf dropped to all fours, growling as it maintained precarious balance, too unsteady to spring.
With new desperation, Kenna hacked at the right side handrail; it gave way with a grinding wrench that registered in the creature’s pale blue eyes. Sensing immediate danger, the werewolf lunged—its claws almost gaining purchase on the ledge at Kenna’s feet.
It missed. Triumphant, Kenna watched the monster fall—but just as its final yelp echoed through the canyon, the beast vanished into thin air.
The werewolf’s disappearance froze her in place. Had the creature triggered a signal medallion? Could it have been an avatar for another sentient being? How many were in this scene?
She shook herself out of it. Charlie. She had to get to Charlie.
Kenna spied an isolated hut not thirty feet away. She sprint-hopped toward it, ignoring the knifelike stabs from her wounded leg.
Twenty more steps.
She grimaced, fighting the screams of pains from her nerve endings.
Not real.
> Ten more steps.
Through gritted teeth she repeated, “Not real.”
Five steps.
As she reached the door, she withdrew her knife. She paused to listen. Low moaning. Charlie’s voice.
Opening the door, she cried out when she spotted Charlie, bound and bleeding, on the dirt floor. Survival instinct kicked in, and she stopped herself from running to him until her eyes swept the small area.
Four flimsy walls—but no one else there. Safe.
In a heartbeat she was at his side. “Charlie,” she whispered.
He didn’t react. Didn’t move. A deep gash in his abdomen flowered open, blood gushing from his severed belly skin. As horrific a sight it was, Kenna felt a peculiar sense of relief. Charlie was still alive.
His face had gone slack, his dark hair lay plastered against his head with sweat, and beneath Kenna’s hand he trembled.
“Charlie,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here. It’s going to be—”
When he opened his eyes, she sucked back her next words.
Red rims had begun to form around his irises.
“No!” she shouted. Charlie could never succumb to mortal absorption. Not possible. He knew better.
She used her knife to slice his bonds. “It’s all in your mind.” Cut free, he grimaced in pain. Kenna adjusted his limbs with care to get him to lie flat on his back. “Charlie,” she said sharply. “Listen to me. It’s not real. You’re coming back with me.”
Her fingers explored his chest for Charlie’s signal medallion. If she could activate it…
But it wasn’t there. She searched again. It had to be. Charlie would never have taken it off. He knew better.
“Where’s your medallion?”
Charlie’s blue eyes arced slowly until they met hers. She watched tears form and fall to track through the dirt on his face. Keeping eye contact, he blinked. The red rims around his irises thickened.