by T. C. Edge
And once more, she heard him.
“Phantom…you’re mine…”
Her body swelled, anger joining fear, her special nanites refusing to be overcome by the spell within his voice. She rose up to her feet, dropped the rifle, and held her hands to her side. Without hesitation, her palms and fingers began to glow a bright blue, electricity zipping between them. The hue was enough to shine and sparkle, illuminating the parched land around her. She let several strands of electricity spread off, striking at the earth, a warning to the creature lurking in the shadows not to come near.
But all she heard was a light rumble of laughter.
“So special, Phantom. You’re so special…”
Her hands lifted, sparkling brighter. She splayed her fingers wide and let the discharge of raging lightning spread off into the hillside around her. The world was lit bright and blue, and from the corner of her eyes, she saw him come.
She turned, hands hurrying to her right as the black-cloaked creature emerged once more. He rushed on, a blur in the night, and Chloe’s fingers unleashed their fury again. The tangle of electricity spread forward like a net, her fear and anger and surging adrenaline helping to narrow her focus, clear her mind of all distraction. And in doing so, raise her power.
The net of white and blue spread forth, burning tendrils reaching for the vamp. He dodged, seeking his way from their deadly fingers, quick enough to creep from Chloe’s sight. She tried to follow, to draw the net of lightning with her, to chase him down. But he was through.
He came pouring right at her now, so fast, so frightening. Pale lips peeled back again, revealing long fangs of horrible shape and sharpness. His eyes were wild, black, a contrast to his white skin, yet so similar to his cloak. He was a creature of black and white, of shadows and darkness. Built to hunt, to know nothing but an unquenchable hunger. To be forever fuelled by a ceaseless desire to feast on those like her.
And Chloe, standing before him, the greatest feast of all.
Stepping back, she felt the presence of Remus firing his way up the hill. But too little. Too late.
Mikel came at her faster and faster, long fingers and sharp nails reaching out to grab at her. She tried to zap again, to unleash a further web of lightning, but the vamp was on her before she could act.
He loomed, darker than the night around him, white fangs shining like shooting stars from the black hole that was his mouth. Long arms were on her, taking her up, turning her around, strong hands binding at her wrists and holding back the growing storm of lightning building again around her hands.
His voice spewed once more, this time right into her ear.
“Go ahead, let me see that power,” he whispered softly. “Soon…it will be mine.”
She struggled, writhing against his superior strength. Far superior. Too superior.
Her powers took her so far only, and weren’t enough. Not against him, this thing built to kill her kind. She felt helpless, lost. Her thoughts were of failure.
And then she felt it. The hot breath on her neck, and the cold touch of sharp fangs meeting with her soft skin. A tongue licked, savouring the moment. And into her flesh the teeth began to sink, seeking out her carotid, the mainline of blood seeping through her body. And the nanites they carried with them.
In that moment, Chloe knew she was going to die.
42
Ragan’s mind was set on a single task as he worked down the street.
Ahead, he saw Tanner taking out the Marauders from the south. To the west, up on the roof of an apartment block, he noted the shape of Nadia firing, sniping, dispatching the mercenaries.
Ragan hurried on, hunting from one soldier to the next. He used his scanning lens as he moved forward, seeking hidden enemies, those keeping to the shadows. Those that might, he believed, be Mikel.
His thoughts took on no distraction. He didn’t give pause to just what Mikel’s game was, just why he’d incited this fight. Was he really here to make a handover? Was this meant to be a bidding war? Or was Mikel merely attempting to kill both sides, take the money, and keep the data for himself to be sold elsewhere?
That was the extent of his thinking. The suspicion came and went, no time for speculation. He needed to find the man, kill the man, and retrieve the data. All other questions could be considered later.
So down the street he went, working from the north as Tanner came from the south. Through his earpiece, his troop whispered, relaying information, calling enemy positions. He knew Remus was watching above, and thus Chloe too, safely back up on the hillside and out of reach of the trouble. He could sense she was trying her best to help, to offer guidance to those below, but was finding it hard to keep up with the brutal efficiency with which the soldiers worked.
And so she should. After all, Chloe had no experience of all this, and would take a while to warm up. And in Tanner, Nadia, and himself, she was dealing with three soldiers of utter competence and ruthless skill. It was no wonder why she was little more than an observer. And that’s precisely what Ragan had intended for her.
The skies were now a pitch dark, lit only when the lights of gunfire rose from burning barrels. The town, dead and derelict, had no artificial illumination of its own. Only the light shade of the moon, obscured by the dirty mist, gave any natural light to the surroundings.
Yet Ragan and his allies were used to operating in the darkness. Their special forces nanotech augmentations made them more adept at seeing through the dark than regular folk, and Ragan himself had the additional support of his multi-function lenses too.
In this case, he wasn’t utilising the night-vision function, feeling he didn’t need it. His focus was on scanning for heat signatures and chasing them down. They were, he considered, more reliable targets in a world where many soldiers and mercenaries adorned combat suits that had some level of cloaking tech, certainly enough to screw with night-vision capabilities.
The Marauders and arms dealers under the employ of Madam Joy, however, were no match for his troop. They were soldiers of regular standing, and had the further disadvantage of not seeing them coming. The element of surprise was a powerful tool, and Ragan, Tanner, and Nadia utilised it to good effect. It took little time for them to slice through the bulk of the mercenaries, doing so without being seen for the most part.
Only towards the end, when only a few men remained, did their presence become fully realised. By then it was too late, the smattering of soldiers within the square unable to hold back the storm any longer. As the skirmish came to a swift and brutal conclusion, Ragan quickly worked to check the final few faces for the ugly, pallid visage of the nano-vamp he so despised.
He worked from one to the next, calling down comms.
“It’s not him,” he growled. “Where the hell is he…”
Tanner was doing the same. Nadia, still atop the roof, was scanning the area for further movement below. It seemed all heat signatures were now gone or fading. It seemed that every single mercenary, caught there in the square, was dead.
So quickly did it all happen that Ragan didn’t see the ruse. He didn’t see the plan. He knew not of Mikel’s true intention.
Then it hit him, like a flash of lightning to the brain.
Lightning.
Blue lightning…
He turned his eyes to the west, seeking through a space between two buildings. His chest seized at what he saw.
Off in the distance, at the crest of the hill where Chloe had been left, ragged lines of blue electricity were forming in the night. They lit up the silhouette of Chloe, so small from this distance, just a little black blur against the staggering and vibrant sapphire bolts spreading over the parched, rusty earth.
Ragan’s eyes spread wide, his muscles brimmed. And without a second’s hesitation, his legs tore over the streets and out into the wasteland beyond, sprinting out into the gloom.
The web of electricity was a beacon as he ran, sprinting at full capacity. He tossed his rifle, only weighing him down, and drew a pis
tol from its sheath. Upon his left eye, his scanning lens picked up a great blur of red, the discharge from Chloe’s hands burning hot and obscuring her shape. He reached up and disabled it, just as the web of electricity began to move to the left, as if chasing someone down, before fading out.
The brightness was taken by darkness once more, though the blue lights around Chloe’s hands remained clear, guiding Ragan’s way. He could see, now, through the gloom, a dark silhouette come up upon her and take her in its arms. He could see the deadly form of the nano-vamp loom, snatching her into his clutches, preparing to drain her of her blood, her nanites, her life.
His voice burst from his lungs as he ran, reaching the bottom of the hill.
“Chloe! Chloe!” he shouted. “I’m coming, Chloe! I’m coming, hold on!”
He got no reply, the girl unable to speak. Only the voices of his allies back in town clattered into his ear.
“Ragan! What’s going on?” he heard Tanner call.
He had no time to turn back. He had no time to even answer but for a few simple words, illuminating the threat for the others to see.
“Mikel,” Ragan called out. “Mikel has her…”
He could sense the reaction of Tanner and Nadia below, grinding back into action, hurrying from the streets as he did. They’d be too late, too late to save Chloe.
It was down to him now.
The ground was uneven beneath his feet, pebbles trying to make him slip. He refused, gliding on and up, the two figures ahead now coming into clearer view.
Mikel was behind her, hands bound to her wrists, as tough to break as any metal restraints. His teeth were shining white, seeking her soft skin. Ragan saw them sink, hungry for her blood. And with that sight, his body exploded.
He flew, fast as a kestrel, lifting his pistol to fire. His voice wished to roar, to distract Mikel from the act, but he held back on the urge. He stayed as silent as he could, needing to catch the nano-vamp off guard. His rushing feet became almost weightless over the surface of the desert floor. His heavy, loud breathing halted, his need for oxygen fed by the well-stocked respirocytes navigating endlessly through his body.
He drew up fast and silent as a ghost, Mikel’s attention taken by his desires. Clouding his mind. Blinding him to the incoming threat.
Ragan could see his eyes, closed tight as he began to feed upon Chloe’s writhing, wriggling body. He could sense the deep joy spreading through Mikel’s mind, a more profound thirst and hunger than anything Ragan could imagine. It was his reason for living, the point of his existence. And yet, right now, it would be his downfall.
Blinded by his lust, Ragan came up on Mikel like a bolt from the blue, raising his pistol to shoot. He lifted, aimed, and fired a single round. And just as he did, just as the bullet left the barrel, and went seeking Mikel’s skull, the nano-vamp took note of the new presence.
A single eye opened, centring immediately on Ragan in his periphery. He leaned back, his teeth drawn from Chloe’s flesh and dripping blood.
And the bullet sailed right past.
Now, a new emotion appeared in the vamp’s eyes. His thirst and hunger were vast, overwhelming, beyond the scope of human understanding. And when such a thing was denied, so his ire and fury grew terrible.
His eyes, usually so black, appeared to light up a sudden shade of white. His face curled into an impossible hate. His body turned, facing Ragan, tossing a weakened Chloe off to the floor.
“You deny me!” he roared, staring at Ragan with glowing, unblinking eyes. “I’m here for you too, Hunt! I’ll have you too!”
Ragan stood firm and tall, a couple dozen metres away. He looked upon the red stains on Mikel’s lips, and though he could never understand the true depths of his hunger, he could match his hatred, match his anger.
Memories swirled of previous engagements. Of this creature, murderous and insatiable, killing a dear friend he once cared for. Of his knife, stuck fast in Ragan’s chest, its tip creeping into his heart and twisting violently. An attack that should have killed him, but didn’t. A moment that should have seen Mikel feasting on Ragan’s blood, his nanites, as he lay dying and incapacitated.
It hadn’t gone as the nano-vamp had planned that day, and nor was it now. Ragan would defy him to the last. And he wouldn’t lose someone he cared about to this creature again.
So his resolve bloomed as he stood there, pistol in hand, watching the blood trickle down Mikel’s lips. He glanced down at Chloe, just about stirring to life, and hoped he’d come just in time.
“You’ll have me?” growled Ragan, voice low, dangerous. His eyes turned to hot coals. “Then come and get me.”
Mikel, fuelled by the denial of Chloe’s nanites, acted on pure rage and instinct. He was uncontrolled, unthinking, a feral beast poisoned by bloodlust. He flew forward, sent mad by the tease, withdrawing his knife as he came. The very same one that once cut into Ragan’s chest. The very same one that killed his friend.
Ragan dropped his pistol. He didn’t need it, or want it.
He reached to his belt, and pulled his own blade, lightweight and razor-sharp, capable of cutting through all but the strongest of armour.
Mikel didn’t wear such things. He didn’t operate in combat armour. He wore his black suit and cloak, relying only on his artificial enhancements. And they were considerable.
So he came, faster than even Ragan was capable of moving, roaring as he rushed onwards. But Ragan was ready when he arrived, luring him away from Chloe, raising his knife to deflect the attack that came at him like a strike from the heavens.
The blades met, sparking white. The two men, one nano-augmented, the other a freak of genetics and biotechnology, became a flurry of limbs, fast and skilful in defence and attack, forming into a tornado that sent the dirt and sand of the desert floor rising into a mist.
Inside that mist, the men did battle, stabbing and parrying, dodging and avoiding the strikes that came their way. They were hidden, forgetting all else but each other.
At least, Mikel was.
Enraged, he’d lost himself, and Ragan merely had to hold on. Within his helmet, he could hear his allies storming up the hill. Hear Tanner and Nadia calling out as they came. He heard them, but made no reply. He kept the vamp busy, outsmarting his foe, delaying until help arrived.
And when it did, when Tanner and Nadia appeared from down in the valley, Ragan knew the game was up. A smile began to replace the grimace on his face, and Mikel’s madness began to wane. The white in his eyes, the burning hate, faded, and his usual cool countenance, pale and evil, started to return.
Eyes turned black as he stopped in the dirt, staring face to face with Ragan before him.
And behind the nano-vamp, Tanner and Nadia stood, rifles raised to his back.
“Stop right there, freak.”
It was Tanner’s voice that helped break the spell. Mikel, death-stare on Ragan, turned back to find the other two soldiers waiting before him, heavy rifles trained on his chest and head.
He stared daggers at Tanner for a moment before speaking, his voice suddenly, and strangely, soft.
“Freak…” he whispered, looking around at the soldiers surrounding him. He dropped his eyes, his energy appearing to wane. “Go ahead and do it. End it.”
Tanner frowned, and looked past Mikel at Ragan.
Ragan’s own fury was fading, his logic and reason taking hold.
“No,” he commanded, just as Tanner’s finger squeezed tighter on the trigger. “Don’t do it, Cliff.”
“I won’t,” growled Tanner. “This one’s for you, Ragan. Put that knife in his heart just as he did to you.”
Ragan stepped forwards a pace, then two. Mikel’s blade was hanging loose now by his side.
“Drop the weapon, Mikel,” Ragan said. “Drop it, or they’ll drop you.”
Mikel’s fingers opened up. The knife hit the dirt, tip cutting into the earth.
He was being unexpectedly compliant.
“Now stand still, and stay fa
cing away,” continued Ragan, stepping forward. “Hands behind your back.”
He drew a pair of wrists restraints from his belt, and Mikel did as ordered.
“Hang on,” said Tanner, briefly halting Ragan’s step. “You’re taking him in?”
“We have no choice,” said Ragan. “Not until we have the data.”
Mikel, head low, lifted a little smile.
“What are you smirking at?” barked Tanner. He took a step forward, raising his rifle menacingly.
Mikel’s smile grew a little larger.
“Nothing,” he said, his voice again a smooth whisper. “I just like to smile sometimes.”
“Careful now, Tanner,” said Nadia, her tone calming her friend. “Don’t let him rile you.”
Ragan agreed as he worked towards Mikel’s back, and carefully fastened the restraints to his wrists. Only once he had done so did he finally release a breath, and turn his attention to Chloe, still stirring off to the side.
“Watch him,” he said, as he hurried over towards her.
He found her trying to get back to her feet, a little unsteady. Her neck was still trickling blood from two small dots. He took her face in his palms, centring her weak gaze on his.
“Chloe…Chloe are you OK?” he asked, tone soft and swiftly spoken.
The fog in her head was lifting. It was a good sign, and suggested her nanites remained intact, un-sucked by Mikel’s strange, augmented canines.
“I’m…I’m alright,” she coughed. Her hand weakly lifted to her neck, and a short panic appeared in her eyes. “He…he got me…”
“It’s OK, it’s OK,” repeated Ragan. “He barely got a taste. You’re gonna be fine, Chloe. I promise.”
His tone, his presence, was sufficient to sooth her. Then another croak fell from her lips.
“Remus…”
At that moment, the little drone appeared from just beside her. It seemed he’d been right next to her as she lay on the ground, nuzzling up close.
“Buddy,” she whispered, taking the drone into her hands. She kissed him firmly, and he bristled with joy.