Somewhere between choking down her mental—physical?—scream and fighting the urge to run, to run very fast , she ridiculously began to see why Mr. Dortez had been repeatedly marked as ‘Extremely, highly, exceptionally, tremendously dangerous’. She’d just thought the BPI pussies were being pussies. But it was a random tentacle monster. Surprise!
She managed to get her arms and legs under her, and under the watchful eye of the creature, she stumbled out of sight. She didn’t stop until she was several streets away, lurching like a dead thing.
Only once she was sure he wasn’t following did Sunny stop long enough to get a hold on her panic and breathe.
Tentacle monster. She’d fought a tentacle monster. And she’d lost. Like a bitch.
Because she felt a hysterical giggle bubbling up from within, she focused on her breathing.
Which, oddly, was becoming difficult. Really difficult. She was pretty sure she’d cracked ribs against that wall. She looked down to see if she could see blood or bones poking through the skin of her chest.
Nothing outward. Internal hemorrhage, maybe? Her chest cavity filling up with fluid?
No, she realized, as breathing became even more difficult, this was something else. Her whole body was hot and trembly, and it felt like everything from her throat to her bronchial tubes was closing.
The flush that she had initially taken for adrenaline was becoming an all-powerful throb.
The…fuck?
Numbly, she got back to her feet. She was dizzy.
He drugged me again , she realized. But whatever it was this time, it didn’t seem like it was intended to debilitate. She still had full function of her limbs…
Her respiration continued to degrade. She ran the list of potential drugs through her mind, then scrapped them all because she had no fucking idea what kind of poison arsenal a goddamn tentacle monster carried around with him in the middle of the night—
And fuck her leg hurt. She peeled back her pant leg and found the whole area where it had grabbed her was swollen and white.
…white?
Indeed, there were little red puncture marks where the tentacle monster’s spines had sunk into her ankle, like grapefruit-sized bee stings. She frowned, calculating that the thing had grabbed her there to throw her less than two minutes ago. Now she felt too hot and nauseous. Her eyelids felt thick and slow when she blinked, and when she reached up to touch them, she found her cheeks and lips taking up more space than they should have, their texture soft and spongy.
Not poison , she realized. Allergy.
She was going into anaphylactic shock. She’d seen the signs often enough.
And me without my EpiPen, she thought ridiculously. As an EMT, she’d never gone anywhere without one. She wasn’t allergic to anything, however, so the last time she had actually seen an EpiPen had been in the back of that ambulance three years ago, as it was flung from its drawer in the tumble down 16th Avenue.
Whatever it was, this allergen was quick . Usually people had about twenty minutes. Now, less than three minutes after Dortez’s attack, she was having trouble getting enough air. She needed an ER. No, she needed an ambulance . She’d never get to a hospital fast enough.
Then she remembered the sirens to the north. Had it been an ambulance? Or just a random police call-out, no ambulance needed? Her brain was starting to get fuzzy around the edges, but she hazily recognized the sirens as her only real hope of staying alive. She started stumbling towards their last location as quickly as possible, praying they hadn’t already scooped up their patient and driven off, her legs and extremities already starting to feel numb.
She lurched down one street, then two, turning back, losing her way, and almost missed the blocky red vehicle squatting under the eaves of a civilian residence complex like a blood-covered avenging angel.
When she stumbled up to the back of the ambulance, there was a man sitting slouched in the back, a blanket over his shoulders, an oxygen mask in his hand. The gurney was missing, and from the dazed look in the man’s eyes, he was probably only a secondary consideration to whatever the emergency was. Maybe a robbery victim or a domestic dispute.
He was staring off into nothingness, typical of shock, but his eyes nonetheless went wide as he saw her shambling from the alley, face swollen, gagging, dragging her legs like something fresh out of a graveyard.
Her vision already a hazy red, Sunny took the man’s oxygen mask from him and climbed into the back. Gasping through the mask, she tore through the drawers for an EpiPen, retrieved one, and, with as much precision as her numb fingers could manage, jammed the short needle into her leg.
Adrenaline hit her like a wave of force, shocking her system back into a stuttering semblance of heart-pounding, muscle-tearing order, staving off the progression of symptoms momentarily. Clawing further at the shelves, she found the IV packs and by some miracle managed to find a vein. By the time the IV was set up, she could barely breathe, barely think. She hooked the IV bag overhead and administered antihistamines and cortisone. As they were taking effect, she pawed through the rest of the drawers, found the albuterol, and desperately forced as much of the puffs as she could into her strangled airways.
Then, her body essentially a twitching mass of conflicting signals, she collapsed against the cabinetry and just tried not to die.
When the EMTs returned with an empty gurney, chatting amongst themselves about a really good burger joint, Sunny—whose tongue was too swollen to talk—threw the empty antihistamine packaging at them, making their heads turn as it slid across the floor of the ambulance.
They looked at the packaging, looked at her, and hastily scrambled into the back with her. They checked her pupils and started shouting to each other about shock. She had just enough time to recognize Harris before her body succumbed to the stress and she passed out.
#
“This is a dream and my name is Tadzi,” Harris said.
For some reason, Harris wasn’t doing the IVs like he said he was going to. Sunny worked around him, frustrated.
“I’d like to teach you how to dream.”
She found the IV bags and started administering the fluids herself.
Harris paused, his old native features puzzled. He watched her as she got the IVs started in the only veins she could find. “Why do you keep having this dream?” he asked.
“It’s not a dream , Harris. She’s dying.” Seeing Harris hadn’t done it, Sunny went to tourniquet the girl’s shredded arm.
Harris walked around the gurney, examining everything about the place. “This actually happened to you, didn’t it?”
“It’s happening right now , Harris,” Sunny snapped.
Harris gave her an irritated look before slipping past Sgt. Gilles to look out the windows up front. When he returned, he looked concerned. “There are two SUVs chasing you. Did you crash? The child died?”
“She’s definitely going to die if you don’t help me,” Sunny replied.
Harris came to stand directly in front of her on the other side of the gurney, but made no motion to help. He seemed to be puzzling over her, then seemed to notice the dying girl. “Who would shoot a child?” He looked up at her plaintively. “Is this what’s bothering you? That someone shot a child?”
Sunny made a disgusted sound and found the intubation equipment. She was pretty sure the girl was developing a tension pneumothorax, and they were going to need to drain the fluid if she was going to keep breathing.
“Not that, then.” He continued to pace around her as she worked on the dying girl, gaze skimming the cabinets, getting in front of Sgt. Gilles, looking out the windows again. This time, he frowned. “They have guns.”
Even then, bullets punctured the side of the ambulance in a rapid put put put. Sunny felt herself get hit, but didn’t slow down. Gotta figure out what she did to me …
Harris, who had been curiously watching the SUVs out the window, twisted back suddenly. “What did you just say?”
“I said ge
t back over here and try to seal some of these wounds.” Sunny kept struggling to keep the girl alive.
Harris went back to face her. “That’s not what you said.”
Sunny ignored him, desperate now.
Harris grabbed her hand and tugged it away from the gurney. “Tell me. What did she do to you?” With the command came a powerful compulsion, one that reminded her of that horrible night. Release …
Remembering that, Sunny jolted, feeling like she’d been hit with a thousand tons of caffeine. Something deep uncurled within her. Anger bubbled up. Anger…and shame? “If I knew that,” she growled, “I’d fix it.” Then she shoved Harris through the wall of the ambulance and woke.
Chapter 7: The Issue with DPS
Sunny woke up cold and shivering, a wet drizzle spattering her face. She had a killer headache, and her body felt like she’d spent a week fighting the flu. She was weak, her muscles hurt, and her chest ached. Her hip and shoulder hurt like hell. She sat up, dizzy.
She’d been dumped on a stone bench outside the local hospital. It was Sprinkler Hour, and the Dome was providing its thrice-weekly rain-a-thon. She’d obviously been there a while—she was drenched.
Sunny lay there, staring up at the pouring ‘rain’ for several minutes, contemplating Life. She’d now gone three days without moving blocks for the Dome Commission. She wasn’t going to have the money to pay her bills, let alone rent. She was alone, she was hungry, and she had no friends, not even a dog.
Not that owning a dog was ever going to be an option for her again—since the crash, most animals attacked her on sight. Mostly, it had been random stray dogs, but she’d also had rats and even pigeons furiously mob her. Cats seemed a little less likely to attack—they only hissed a little. And after having dozens of strange dogs go Cujo on her, Sunny was totally willing to put up with a little ill-tempered hissing in exchange for some companionship—which she’d need once she got kicked out of her apartment for not coming up with the rent for her anal-retentive accountant landlord.
Sunny pictured the next few months in her head. Homeless and destitute because she was unwilling to share space with the fat Neanderthal who stole her sister, Sunny and her faithful cat could huddle together in one of the cardboard cities outdome, sharing cans of tuna, warming themselves with a single burning candlefish like they used to do in the old days….
Until, of course, the Reclamation Service came to confiscate the cardboard. Chinese cardboard was expensive, since there was only one paper mill in Alaska, and boxes that other countries used to ship goods to the Republic were considered property of the state.
Sunny sat up, feeling herself scraping the bottom of the barrel with her face.
Someone had treated her ribs, though, and the bandages actually looked pretty good. That was nice of them—it would have sucked trying to wrap them herself. She would have liked to think that it was Harris who did the wrapping, but she knew it wasn’t an EMT’s job even if he had recognized her. She prodded at her ribs, wincing when she pushed too hard.
Whoever’d done it, they were tenacious—she’d give them that. She wondered how many times whoever it was had forgotten what they were doing mid-wrap and had to start over. Probably at least a dozen. Most doctors got distracted and wandered off mid-shot when they were working on Sunny. But this time, her whole body had been treated, right down to the scrapes from crashing through rough, twiggy vines after getting tossed like a Frisbee at approximately Mach 7.
Groaning, she leaned down to check her ankle. It was black and blue, but the swelling had faded. When she tried to put pressure on it, however, she found it hard to stand, much less walk.
The pain shooting up her leg really drove home the last few days’ events. She’d attacked a tentacle monster, and it had kicked her ass. Like flinging a turd from the bottom of one’s shoe.
Sunny Day. The Human Turd. Not only had she been forced to spend the last three years of her life sliding further and further down the social ladder, but now she’d been bitchslapped by an octopus-man who liked to pressure over-achievers and business owners into killing themselves. Sometimes, she wondered if she was actually stuck in the middle of some sort of very long, very vivid nightmare from which she’d wake up aaaaaaaaaaaannny minute now…
She pinched herself, just to make sure. When the scenery didn’t change, and she continued to sit there dripping wet, ribs scraping her insides with every breath, beaten to a bloody pulp, Sunny decided it was probably best to just go back to her vehicle and drive herself home while she still had a home. Rent was due tomorrow. She needed to pack.
She stood up.
A black electric van pulled up on the road in front of her bench with a squeal of tires. In a rush, the sliding door popped open and a middle-aged man in black combat gear lunged out of the vehicle. He grabbed Sunny and wrenched her into the van. Before she’d really had a chance to contemplate that, the man in black loaded up behind her and slammed the sliding door shut behind them.
“Got her!” he shouted at the driver. “Go!”
Sunny had just enough time to see a corpulent woman in breezy floral print sitting behind the wheel and Khaz—in that opalescent Indian robe again—looking back at her from the passenger seat before the woman stepped on the gas and the van lunged forward.
“Who the hell are you?!” Sunny demanded.
“We’re asking the questions here,” the older man in combat gear growled. “Who do you work for? The Shiivan? The Mahevara? Marlyn ?”
Sunny squinted at him, then at Khaz, who was turned in his seat, watching her warily. “So you’re all bounty hunters?”
“We’re asking the questions here,” the mercenary snapped. “Who do you work for? It’s Marlyn, isn’t it? Damn it, I knew she’d try to get her hooks in this. What’s she paying you for his corpse?”
“I work for myself,” Sunny said. Then, thinking maybe she wanted to meet this woman who threw money at corpses of octopus-men, she said, “Who’s Marlyn?”
“Don’t tell her,” Khaz said.
“I’m not gonna tell you that,” the combat-clad man snorted. “Why’d you steal a briefcase that didn’t belong to you?”
“It had my picture in it. I wanted to know why.”
The mercenary narrowed his eyes. “Oh, just give me a few minutes alone with this bitch.” The thug cracked his knuckles through his leather gloves. “I’ll make her talk.”
Sunny squinted at him. “How old are you, Gramps? Like what, seventy?”
From the front seats, someone snorted back a chortle. The combat-clad man reddened and reached for her.
Khaz cleared his throat loudly from the front. “What we’re here to determine, Darren, is whether or not she’s a foreign agent.” Then, to Sunny, he said, “You look like you took a beating last night. Who did that to you?”
“Was it your handlers across the Veil?” Darren said, looking almost pleased. “Don’t worry. You can tell us if you’re acting as an agent for the Shiivan. We can get you out.” The way he was slapping his fist into his palm, however, suggested getting her ‘out’, wherever ‘out’ was, would be unpleasant for her.
“Darren, let me handle this. How about you trade seats with me?” Khaz pushed his way into the back of the van with her.
“There’s a chain of command and you’re not on top, you goddamn pencil-pushing twig,” Darren snapped. He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “I’m on top. I’ve got time-in-service. Me . You’re just an upstart newbie who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in his face.”
“A newbie who managed to convince Mr. Banks himself to establish the DPS,” Khaz said calmly.
That seemed to only make Darren bristle. “You still haven’t told me how you did that, you weasely con-artist shit.”
“Further,” Khaz continued, “since the entire chain of command, save for ourselves, Harold, John, and Gianna,” he said with a nod to the woman driving, “have been slaughtered to a man, it goes to reason that the one with the most intimate knowledge of th
e issues at hand should be the de-facto leader until a new one can be named by the BPI.”
Darren gave Sunny a long, disgusted look. “I’ll bet you she’s working for Dortez.”
“No, fuck that shit!” Sunny cried, stunned that they would even think it.
Khaz was watching her. “Darren, get in the front, please.”
“I’m twice your age, you manicured peacock!”
Khaz was unfazed, still holding Sunny’s stare. “So it would appear. Get in the front.”
This time, Darren did as he was told without even a complaint. Which was weird, considering how crotchety the bastard had appeared. As Sunny was trying to puzzle that out, Khaz settled down in his place in the seat across from her.
“Hello again.”
“Who the fuck are you talking to back there, you twiggy—” Darren, turning, saw Khaz and Sunny in the back, then said, “—oh. We got her already?” His gray brows pulled together in a frown. “Hey, maybe I should come back there and—”
“What kind of music do you like to listen to, Darren?” Khaz asked.
Darren blinked. “Country,” he said reluctantly. “But I don’t see why that—”
“Put some headphones on,” Khaz said, without turning to him. “Country music. The good stuff. Have some fun.”
Darren turned back to the front, found some headphones, plugged them into his phone, and started bobbing to the music, tapping his fingers against the car door. A few moments later, he was tonelessly humming to the beat, his whole body jiggling as he thumped the dash with both hands. The fat woman driving looked at him out the corner of her eyes, but said nothing.
Sunny, who had just been attacked by a tentacle monster, who had watched a silk-clad wonder remember her when no one else could, and who had then watched three Khazes sweep the outdomer parking garage, squinted at the man in front of her. “You’re Jedi mind-tricking him.”
Sunny with a Chance of Monsters: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (Sunny Day, Paranormal Badass) Page 10