Enemy One (Epic Book 5)

by Lee Stephen

  Looking back confusedly, Esther simply asked, “What?”

  She is a sniper.

  “A sniper?” A moment later, the scout’s arched eyebrow narrowed. Turning her head slowly back to the train, she asked, “How much can you tell me about this sniper?”

  A growing sensation of fatigue throbbed in the connection. I am trying.

  “Is she a Vector?”

  Listening intently to the one-sided conversation, Jayden knelt down beside Esther.

  All the while Esther waited, her simmering glare held steadfastly on the train ahead of her. Even as loose strands of hair escaped the protection of her helmet and slid down over her eyes, she made no effort to move them. Her breathing grew slower—more concentrated. In stark contrast, with every passing second, her heart beat harder.

  She identifies as a Vector. The fatigue won over. A wave of defeat washed over the connection. I can delve no deeper. I am weakened.

  “You’ve told me enough,” Esther said.

  As the scout rose to her feet, Jayden addressed her from behind. “Hey, what are you doin’? If someone is comin’, shouldn’t we be goin’ the opposite way?”

  “Not this time,” answered Esther quietly. Shouldering her assault rifle and taking out her pistol, the scout looked back at her husband with fury. “That’s the sniper from Vector.”

  The Texan blinked. “From Vector? Why does that…” His mouth opening in revelation, he finished the statement despite the lack of necessity to. “…matter.”

  “You know precisely why it matters.”

  After hesitating for a moment, Jayden reached out for her. “Don’t do it, baby. She might have been the one to kill Travis, but that doesn’t mean it was her fault. What if she was just doin’ what she thought was right?”

  The scout’s eyes narrowed. “Then she’s about to learn how wrong she was.” Looking past him to Tom, Pyotr, and Ju`bajai, she pointed. “Go! Head back toward the site and try to find the rest of the team.” Turning her head back toward the train, she dipped her chin and glared. “This’ll only take a bit.”

  * * *

  With every second that passed, Natalie found herself and her comrades that much closer to being overwhelmed by the approaching EDEN force. The only saving grace they had was that the group of attackers engaging them seemed to consist of the survivors of the train crash, equally battered and bruised as the ones they were pursuing. Just the same, it was a game of numbers—and Natalie’s side was outnumbered.

  “We’ve got to find Remmy!” Becan shouted over the cacophony of hard rain and weapons fire.

  Remington. Even in the middle of an all-out firefight, he was prevalent in Natalie’s mind. He’d been right. About EDEN’s intent, about the compromises they’d been willing to make to keep this, whatever it was, silent. That man—Mendoza—would have killed them. That might not have been all too surprising in regards to herself and the Falcons, all of whom by their very presence on the operation had called their allegiance into question. But Mark? He was a boy. Of everyone in that train car, he was the only one whose innocence was wholly assured. Yet he was in their crosshairs just like everyone else. None of them, innocent or not, were meant to make it out alive. That wasn’t what EDEN was supposed to be about. Questionable means or not, Scott had been dead-on about EDEN’s ill-intent. Wherever he was, they had to go find him.

  She had to.

  Natalie had been the one entrusted as second-in-command by Scott. Even knowing that she could have turned on them all, he gave her that opportunity to see the light for herself. To lead. This was the only way she knew how to. “Everyone, fall back!”

  “If yeh think for one second, woman, tha’ I’m leavin’ Remmy behind, you’ve lost your bleedin’ marbles!” said Becan.

  Leave Scott behind? Not a chance. “I’m going after Remington. The rest of you, go!”

  Behind his faceless helmet, the Irishman blinked. “Wha’?”

  “Go!” The Caracal captain pointed off in the direction they’d been heading. “I can slip through them by myself. I want the rest of you gone—that’s an order.” While Becan stared at her in silence, she whipped her head to Lilan. “Colonel, you have command.”

  With resignation, the injured veteran addressed her. “Good luck, captain. Find Remington, then get your tail back to us, pronto.”

  “I intend to.” Ducking back as a stream of weapons fire trained her way, Natalie wiped bits of tree bark off her face and scanned the forest. There was one spot in particular—one small spot out to the southwest—where no orange flashes emanated. Her window to rescue Scott was right there. Sucking in a breath, she waited for the slayers to lay down heavy suppression before darting from the safety of the tree she’d been covering behind, sprinting as quickly as she could across the wet forest floor.

  Seconds later, Lilan took command. “All right, everyone! Fall back—and draw some of ’em after us while you’re at it. Let’s give Miss Rockwell some room to work!”

  Falling back in unison, the decimated team kept their fingers on the triggers, moving deftly from one tree to the next as EDEN’s bullets nipped at their heels. Except for one soldier, whose viridian eyes stayed locked on Natalie until she disappeared into the storm.

  On the other side of the battlefield, mixed in with the survivors of the train crash in their pursuit of the Falcons and Fourteenth, yet another individual caught sight of the sprinting captain. Someone trained to keep tabs on every member of the opposition, be they distant, or very, very close. Someone trained to isolate and kill.

  And eager to add a second captain to his belt.

  * * *

  One hand in front of the other, one foot cautious yet quick up the side of the train car. Such was the pace of Lisa Tiffin as she scaled the two-level train car. The Vector sniper had been moving parallel with the retreating outlaws as they followed the train track through the peninsula. The fact that the train had stopped was beneficial. It gave her a place to find height that didn’t require scaling a tree in a frigid, blasting rain shower. Placing her gloved hands on the rim of the car, she propelled herself upward with a final leap, coming to a slippery rest on the top. Unshouldering her sniper rifle, she raised it to her visor and scanned the tree line as best she was able.

  Sniping in the rain was never the preference of a sniper—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Retracting her visor, Lisa closed one eye and pressed the other to her scope.

  She could see them through her sniper rifle’s infrared. Though diminished in the downpour, their heat signatures were still easily detectable in contrast to the cold. Two soldiers and…

  …and an Ithini. It was right there, retreating alongside the two men in Nightman armor. The smaller size of its heat signature was unmistakable. Steadying her breath, Lisa guided the reticule over the back of the alien’s head.

  Snap.

  At the sound of a breaking stick, the sniper froze. Jerking her head up from the scope, she lowered the sniper rifle and looked behind her. Movement. Nearby movement from the bottom of the train that’d circumvented her from further ahead. She set her sniper rifle down on the roof.

  Not only was Vector battle armor of greater structural integrity, it was also outfitted with technological enhancements that set them far above the armor of standard EDEN operatives. Pulling out her lawmaker pistol—the high-performance counterpart to the X-111 chaos rifle—the sniper lowered her visor and engaged its penetrator function, allowing her visor to slice through layers of physical objects to detect life forms behind them. Adjusting its strength output to let it see through the train, she could clearly see the heat signature of a lone person stalking alongside the train, ever closer to her position. With the way this outlaw was silently stalking along, there was no question in Lisa’s mind which one this had to be.

  Esther Brooking. Her former fellow scout in Philadelphia Academy.

  Creeping stealthily backward, to the opposite side of the train from which Esther was approaching her, Lisa set
her hands on the car’s upper rim and dropped down over the edge.

  With every step Esther took alongside the train, her pistol raised and ready, the scout-turned-valkyrie paused as her senses worked overtime. That the Vector sniper was there somewhere was a certainty. Ju`bajai wouldn’t have made such an uncannily specific mistake like that. All Esther had to do was find her.

  Much as had been the case in Krasnoyarsk, the rain over the peninsula was both torrential and incessant. If there was any plus in the comfort department now as opposed to then, it was that Esther had the luxury of wearing head-to-toe tactical gear, which though not wholly protective, still kept her far drier than a skin-clinging maxi dress.

  Another step, another pause. Furrowing her brow, Esther angled her head to listen to her surroundings. Beyond the distant rattling of weapons fire, there was only the splatter of rain against mud. Lifting her back foot out of the mire, she took another step forward.

  The shuffle of boot against ground came from behind her. Esther spun around to face it. She was a half-second too late. By the time she saw the sniper behind her, Lisa’s pistol was already raised.

  “Drop it,” the Essex native ordered.

  Smirking with disdain, Esther said, “You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Drop it, Esther.”

  Esther’s brow furrowed. Squinting with suspicion, she leaned her head forward to see her adversary better. “I know you…”

  Behind her tinted visor, Lisa’s eye twitched. Angling her head slightly, she spoke into her comm. “Vector Command—Esther Brooking is in custody.”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  “Be quiet.”

  Making a series of tsk sounds, Esther said, “Such a clever little ambush this was—to make someone believe they’re chasing something only to pull the rug from under their feet. In one calculating little move, the predator’s plans derail like a train.”

  With a ponytail-swinging head tilt, Lisa said, “We were quite prepared for you.”

  “You?” Sucking in, Esther shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no, my dear girl. I was talking about us.”

  A shot rang out through the storm. Lisa leapt with a start and withdrew her hand as something struck her outstretched pistol. It fell to the ground in shattered pieces. Her green eyes widened like a deer’s eyes in headlights; the Vector sniper whipped her head around to locate the unseen attacker. Standing forty meters away and with his own sniper rifle raised, Jayden hovered the weapon’s crosshairs over Lisa’s torso. Hesitantly, Lisa looked back at Esther.

  “Ditch your helmet.” Esther’s pistol was raised again, aimed straight at the Vector sniper’s head.

  Lisa didn’t move. “Why?”

  “Because I’m not going to let you comm your little purple friends, and I’m most certainly not going to let them track your location through it.” The valkyrie cocked her hips. “You remember that whole ‘custody’ thing? Yeah, you’re in ours.”

  Stuck in the middle and with little choice but to comply, Lisa slid her helmet off. Lowering her head as if shamed and suddenly vulnerable, she tossed it unceremoniously in the mud. Through dripping lashes, she stared up at Esther.

  Once more, Esther’s brown eyes were squinting. Inhaling slowly with recollection, she lifted her chin. “I knew I knew you,” she said with a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “How could I forget that little mink’s nose and those elf ears?”

  Though Lisa stayed silent, her face slowly flushed red.

  “Lisa Tiffin.” As much in awe as in anything else, Esther shook her head. “How in the hell did a dropout like you get into Vector?”

  “I am not going with you,” Lisa said with quiet determination.

  Crack!

  The butt of Jayden’s handgun crashed against the back of Lisa’s head, the Texan having crept up behind her while her focus was on Esther. Lisa collapsed sidelong into the mud, where her body lay still.

  “My husband disagrees,” Esther said before looking at Jayden. “All right, pick her up quick. We need to move before we lose the rest of the team.”

  Grunting as he hoisted Lisa over his shoulder, Jayden said, “You know how they say people are heavier when they’re soakin’ wet? It’s true.”

  “You know, for a hunk, you’re kind of a wimp.”

  “Shut up.”

  * * *

  Natalie stayed low to the ground the whole time she ran. Senses as ever-present as possible in the downpour, she kept a constant eye toward the weapons exchange between EDEN’s forces and the rest of her team, which was growing more distant with every step she made. The wrecked train car was not terribly far ahead—if she could just manage to loop around the backside of EDEN’s forces, she might actually be able to claw her way to it to find Scott. If she could just manage.

  The hit came out of nowhere. In one second, Natalie was running at full speed, far away from the active combat. In the next, something slammed into her blindside, knocking her off her feet so hard, it sent her head spinning.

  Falling sideways with an agonizing crunch, Natalie groaned as she was grabbed by the collar and hurled through the air like a rag doll. Falling for the second time in what felt like as many seconds, the Caracal captain landed on the wet ground with a hard, muddy splatter. Sliding and whipping the hair from her face, she skedaddled backward and to her feet, hands raising in defense as she searched frantically for her attacker.

  He wasn’t hiding.

  Standing before her, not a weapon in his hand, was Oleg Strakhov. The bearded former Nightman reached out with his hand, beckoning her forward like a fighter on the other end of a cage.

  Wiping mud from her lips and snarling, Natalie didn’t hesitate. The Caracal captain charged toward Oleg, swinging at him with a jab, then pulling her elbow back for a combination strike. Oleg dodged them with ease. Blocking a third attack with his forearm, the Russian delivered a hard kick into her shin, buckling Natalie over with a painful howl. Following through with a lightning-quick roundhouse to the side of her head, Oleg sent the chestnut-haired captain spinning to the ground. Natalie landed back-first in the mud, crying out as the force of the impact sent a sharp pain up her spine. Grimacing, she scooted backward to try and stand again.

  From his belt, Oleg pulled out a knife. He flipped it up in the air then caught it and licked the blade. “At Novosibirsk, I was known for this. Knocking people like you back down to size.”

  Her glare burning, Natalie staggered to her feet, blowing hard to jettison the pain. Oleg lunged for her, his blade slicing through the raindrops as he went for her midsection. Jumping back just enough to avoid it, Natalie reached for the Russian’s knife-wielding arm, only to have her feet swept out from under her by another hard kick. For a second time, she landed on her back. Eyes opening widely as Oleg thrust his blade down, she rolled sideways to narrowly avoid it. Fueled by pure adrenaline, she propelled herself back up to her feet—but too late to avoid a hit. Oleg’s blade whipped through the air across her left arm, cutting cleanly through her tactical gear and slicing her bicep. Clutching her arm and screaming, Natalie sent her right hand up just in time to block a strike that would have hit her in the neck. Reversing her block, Oleg gripped her right arm, slung it over his shoulder, and literally threw her around his body and back-first into a tree. Then…

  Smack!

  A haymaker was sent crashing into Natalie’s cheek—her lip burst as she stumbled sideways like a drunkard. A second was sent, then a third, one after the other on the same side of her face like a boxer pummeling his opponent in the corner. With a final fervent slug, Natalie was spun then dropped, falling face-first into the mire with her arms outstretched.

  Straining to lift her head out of the mud, Natalie coughed, blood and pieces of a tooth flying out of her busted lips. Eyes caked and closed, she struggled to stand. Curling his fingers around her chestnut ponytail, Oleg lifted her head and readied his knife.

  Like a blur, something emerged from just beyond the outcropping of trees
near them. Running at full speed, the newcomer charged into Oleg headlong, sending both the fallen eidolon and his new adversary sliding across the mud as Natalie’s head was released. Sucking in a breath, Natalie wiped the mud from her face and turned to look.

  Leaping from atop Oleg and springing to his feet, Becan whipped his head Natalie’s way. “Get ou’ of here! I’ve got this one.”

  “McCrae,” Oleg snarled as Becan moved between him and the fallen captain. “Bold move for a coward.”

  “Says the man hittin’ a woman while she’s down.”

  Flipping his knife from one hand to the other, Oleg said, “I have a score to settle with you.”

  “You an’ me, both.”

  Footsteps emerged behind the Irishman. Glancing back to regard them, Becan watched as Natalie lumbered up next to him. Wiping back her hair with both hands, she blew out an exhausted breath and gave Becan a look. With simmering emerald eyes, the embattled captain said, “Let’s take out this trash.”

  Raising an impressed eyebrow behind his faceplate, Becan returned his focus to Oleg.

  A smirk spread across the Russian’s face. “Two on one? Too bad there was no second person to help Remington. He might have actually put up a fight before Vector captured him.”

  Becan’s body went rigid. Even in his armor, it was noticeable.

  “I’m sorry,” said Oleg, “did you not get that message?”

  Dashing forward, Becan propelled himself and his fist forward, diving through the air with blinding speed and sending his knuckles crashing for Oleg’s face. Side-stepping as he swatted Becan’s hand, Oleg’s counter-attack was thwarted by Natalie, who slid forward in the mud like a baseball player at the Russian’s feet. In the same second that Oleg leapt aside to dodge, the Irishman was upon him, sending a flurry of attacks toward him—punching, kicking, spinning, jumping. He was a veritable whirlwind.