Drawn

by David Alan Jones

  She headed for the elevator at the far end of the hallway. She could hear ranting, screaming voices behind the windowless doors she passed. These too, she ignored. She could do nothing for the Indrawn Breath’s other votaries. If she wanted to help them, and normal Rose likely would, she needed to find Lord.

  Where was everyone? She had expected Breather succubi guarding the votary rooms, or at least charmed human soldiers. She peeked over a nurses’ station as she passed, but no one hid under the desk. A long envelope opener shaped like a Musketeer’s saber lay atop an inbox next to the computer. She took it—better a weak weapon than no weapon.

  She started to press the down button on the elevator but paused, her finger hovering over it. The fear draw made her courageous, but it didn’t have to make her stupid. Climbing into a steel box controlled by the Breathers was probably ill-advised, even if this place appeared empty aside from the insane.

  Rose turned in a slow circle, looking first for surveillance cameras—she spotted one mounted on the ceiling just past the nurses’ station—and then for stairs. The door leading down stood next to the elevator.

  She could do nothing about the camera. If security had seen her leave her room, then so be it. The alarm was already tripped, but she had a feeling that wasn’t for her. Otherwise, there would be guards. No, something else was happening here.

  Rose cracked the stairwell door, ready should someone attack, but the landing before her stood empty. Distant gunfire echoed from below, a sound she hadn’t heard over the blaring alarm. The acrid scent of gun smoke and burning plastic wafted into the hallway like old friends.

  Rose bounded down three flights before a new thought struck her. She froze midstride, one fist gripping the handrail, mind racing.

  “I’m not thinking straight.”

  She had a goal—destroy the fear factory—and it seemed sound. But was that the fear draw talking? Sure, it stole her votaries’ courage, but it likewise stole Rose’s caution. She felt no compunctions about taking on the Indrawn Breath. But shouldn’t she? This wasn’t like checking items off a grocery list. She stood on the verge of walking into a firefight dressed in a hospital gown, barefoot, and armed with nothing more than a letter opener. And that seemed perfectly reasonable to her.

  Rose had stopped on the second-floor landing. The sounds of fighting echoed just below her. Muffled voices screamed orders and battle cries that reverberated up the stairwell. She stood still, listening for a count of thirty while she got her priorities straight. Then she descended the remaining steps at a walk, drawing hearing and discernment to complement her outrageous courage. Perhaps discernment could curb some of this fearlessness. She wasn’t indestructible, and if she walked into someone’s line of fire, her corpse would prove it.

  The stairwell doors had no windows. Rose crept close to the one marked 1st. Crouched low, she flung it open, propping it with her foot so she could ease her head around the doorjamb for a quick look. She expected bullets to come whizzing her way and tensed to move, but none did.

  The stairwell fed into a sprawling entranceway—a large open space bereft of chairs, couches, or tables but fronted by a wall of cracked and broken glass. Eighteen soldiers dressed in camouflage combat gear stood with their backs to her, facing the entrance. Rose saw at a glance these were regular humans, but they were laying down suppression fire for a wave of draw-enhanced succubi in black, who converged on the building’s front doors, guns blazing.

  Shadowy figures moved in the night just beyond the doors, lit now and again by bursts of muzzle fire. Discernment told Rose this had to be the Order on the attack.

  She scanned the Breathers’ line three times as they exited the building to face the Order advance. No David Lord. No Melody. Nonetheless, at least five of their number were polydraws, and likely fear-drawn.

  The Order needed Rose.

  Now.

  She charged from her hiding spot, footfalls landing so fast they blended with the sound of machine gun fire. She took the closest human soldier from behind. He never sensed her. She plunged the letter opener into the gap below his helmet and above his flak jacket. She had his sidearm before he hit the floor.

  The remaining human soldiers, advancing in a line now that the succubi had cleared the way, didn’t notice the enemy in their midst until Rose had already dropped three of them. Body armor was only as good as its gaps, and the space between neck and ear was a major flaw.

  One of the faster men had time to squeeze off five rounds in Rose’s direction. Unfortunately for him, she had already covered the space between them before his finger tightened on the trigger, discernment having given him away. She barreled into him like a loaded barge, got her muzzle under his chin, and ended his lackluster attempt at taking her life.

  With votary-borne speed, Rose slipped a combat knife from that soldier’s belt, cut his tactical harness, and had his AR-556 pressed to her shoulder inside three seconds.

  Twelve more seconds saw Rose eliminate the rest. She stood now in the fear factory’s empty waiting area surrounded by dead men.

  Dead at her hands. She knew that should mean something to her. Perhaps, when she dropped the fear draw, it would. Right now, for this version of Rose Carver, it meant victory.

  A shift in sound from outside caught her attention. Though they were busy contending with Order ops—the remnants of the Dog Ears combined with whatever former Camp Den graduates had agreed to join them—the Breathers had finally noticed Rose’s rear guard assault.

  One, a woman, called for support, and two others joined her. They dashed back into the building, glass crunching under their churning boots.

  Rose observed their approach longer than was probably safe, examining both the situation and her reaction to it. Her heart persisted in its steady rhythm, as did her breathing. Neither increased as fear-drawn enemies raced to kill her. She felt as calm as if she were watching a movie. Interested, but unconcerned.

  Then she moved.

  She bounded into the air, bullets ricocheting from the spot where she had stood only seconds before. One of the Breather women matched Rose’s leap, trying to meet her in the air, but Rose had anticipated the move. Did the fear draw enhance her discernment? Or was the application of immense courage a panacea to distractions that would otherwise dull Rose’s senses? She considered this as she flung a knife over her enemy’s head.

  The blade passed harmlessly above the Breather, who lifted her gaze to watch it sail past, a gloating smirk on her full lips.

  Rose put three bullets in the woman’s now-exposed throat.

  As she had planned, Rose landed beside the fear factory’s glass doors. Broken shards bit into her bare feet, but she healed them instantly. Good thing too, since one of the two remaining Breathers who had come after her had already reversed direction to confront her.

  He lunged at Rose, wielding a combat knife with air-cracking speed. She barely had time to spin away, and even then, the blade bit into her shoulder high up near her throat. She grasped the man’s wrist and was on the verge of crushing one of his kneecaps when the third Breather brought his rifle butt down on Rose’s head.

  She crashed into one of the building’s doors with a sound like an exercise ball bouncing off a steel floor. Rose’s vision darkened at the edges, and she found herself momentarily staring down a gray tunnel. She drew healing as she spun away from her enemies. She still felt no fear, only impatience.

  The man with the knife stabbed at her again. Rose juked sideways, keeping her body at an angle to him. The strike meant to spear her heart instead jabbed her opposite shoulder. The pain was immediate, white-hot, and ultimately inconsequential.

  Rose shoved her rifle into the man’s side where his body armor split to allow for torso movement. She squeezed the trigger, and he jerked, his cry of pain and surprise cut short by the immediate collapse of both lungs.

  Rose gave him a supercharged shove. He slammed into her remaining attacker who stumbled under the sudden dead weight, and the two f
ell in a heap. Rose trained her rifle on them and squeezed the trigger.

  The firefight outside seemed to have gone as well for her comrades as the battle inside had for Rose. The sporadic gunfire of moments before ceased, and figures advanced on the building out of the dark. Rose backed away, careful to hold her rifle up and stand in the light. She didn’t want to inadvertently get herself shot by her own.

  The first person through the entranceway wasn’t who Rose expected, though with her fear draw she felt no real disappointment, only curiosity.

  Piper Ross crunched into the fear factory, a wave of succubi, vampires, and wights at her back. Her auburn hair shone in the light, windblown and perfect. She wore a black t-shirt, what looked like yoga pants, and a pair of black running shoes. She smiled when she saw Rose.

  “Hey there. We in time for the party?”

  “It’s a trap,” Rose said.

  The grin slid from Piper’s lips. Her eyes became suddenly predatory as she swept her gaze around the massive entranceway. Others had joined her now, many of the succubi calling out greetings to Rose.

  Piper motioned them to silence.

  “How do you know it’s a trap? Are there Breather soldiers massing nearby?”

  Rose ignored the vampire’s question. She didn’t have time for it. “Where’s Matt? For that matter, where’s Hanks? She could confirm the trap.”

  “Hanks is back at our strongpoint. Matt didn’t want her exposed to attack. As for him, I don’t know where he is.”

  A brief chink opened in Rose’s perfect calm. A hint of fear sizzled through her brain, down her back.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “He volunteered to let the Breathers capture him so we could find this place—so we could find you. He was desperate.”

  “That didn’t work for me. They found my extra tracking chip.”

  Piper nodded. “We know. That’s why Matt had Stanislaw put one in that ruined knee of his. He hoped the bullets lodged in there would mask it. Far as we can tell, it did. That’s how we found this place.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Eisenhower Hospital, Fort Gordon, Georgia.”

  That made sense. Though Rose had been delirious with fear the last several days, she had noticed that her nurse, Thomas, and her other caretakers had all been uniformed soldiers. Then another thought hit her.

  “You left South Carolina?”

  “Yeppers,” Piper said, grinning. “So, your boyfriend’s plan had better work or me and mine are roadkill.”

  An explosion outside cut off whatever Rose might have said in response. Several of the wights still outside shrieked, blown apart by the sudden concussion.

  “No!” Piper screamed. She started that way, but Rose caught her wrist.

  “You can’t help them. The best you’ll do is get yourself killed. We have to move everyone further inside.”

  Piper hesitated, looking conflicted, but then nodded.

  Rose and Piper fell back, urging the rest of their people to follow as the front of the building lit up with tracer fire. Someone was strafing the entire area with high caliber rounds and rocket-propelled grenades. The sound was deafening; the stench acrid. Flashes of white and orange light flooded the entrance, though the rounds never strayed inside the building. Anyone who hadn’t managed to crowd inside during the first five seconds was dead.

  Then the gunfire and explosions ceased. Silence fell.

  Piper, her lips compressed into a line, looked at Rose. “We’re right where they want us, aren’t we?”

  Rose nodded. She drew more courage, shrouding herself in it like armor. “It’s what Lord wanted from the start: all of us in the fear factory.”

  30

  Faces of Fear

  Someone put a hand on Rose’s shoulder in the press of Order ops, wights, and vampires. She spun, drawing speed and strength, ready to fight.

  “Rose,” Satterfield said, embracing her. “I can’t believe you’re on your feet.”

  Rose pushed her former squad leader back. “I’m fine. Have you seen Lord? Or my sister?”

  Satterfield frowned momentarily at the rebuff but shook her head. She unslung her backpack and pulled from it a pair of Rose’s jeans, one of her favorite t-shirts, a sports bra, and a set of running shoes with socks. “I figured you’d be wanting your own clothes, but I had no idea I’d be handing them to you in the middle of a siege. Otherwise, I would have brought Kevlar.”

  “These are fine.” Without the fear draw, she would have been self-conscious dressed in a flimsy hospital gown tied over nothing but her panties. With it, she didn’t care.

  Satterfield gasped when Rose let the gown drop.

  What was the big deal? Sure, a few of the guys stared, but so what? Trying to hide her nakedness wasn’t practical. Case closed.

  “Quit staring, you bunch of creepers,” Satterfield said. “I swear, we’re in a warzone, and you’re interested in checking out a girl’s boobs? Who raised you people?”

  “Who’s in charge here?” Rose asked as she finished pulling on her shoes.

  “Watts!” Satterfield called.

  The large incubus, who had been conferring with a couple of the original Dog Ears, trotted over. He looked haggard. Blood from a deep gash above his left eye had dried on his forehead. “Good to see you alive, Carver. How are you feeling?”

  “Sane, if that’s what you’re asking,” Rose said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Our original plan died five minutes ago. The Breathers knew we were coming. We figured they would react quick, but we’d have surprise on our side. We didn’t. They surrounded us and, well, you saw the rest. I think more of us would have died if you hadn’t taken out their rear guard.”

  “Is this all we’ve got?” Rose asked. She counted about three dozen Order ops, five vampires, and maybe fifteen wights.

  “No,” Piper said.

  Sudden, brilliant light flooded the front entrance, cutting off Rose’s reply. Hundreds of men and women dressed in combat gear and armed with M16s stood in rank upon rank on the sloping hospital lawn, cutting off the parking lot.

  David Lord led the way, marching as if on parade. Melody, and Lord’s supercharged master of discernment, Jim, flanked their commander, shoving Gunny Lipe and Myra Hanks, bound and gagged, ahead of them. Strunk brought up the rear, carrying an unconscious Matt over one shoulder.

  Lord’s group crunched their way into the building, the soldiers having halted about ten feet from the hospital’s ruined entrance, weapons at the ready.

  A wave of fear mingled with colossal charm boiled over Rose. She staggered under its weight. Fists trembling at her sides, she drew more courage, fortifying herself against the onslaught.

  “Clench!” Rose screamed, drawing voice to amplify the sound. The word reverberated around the ruined entranceway. Unfortunately, it was already too late.

  Order ops dropped to the floor, their weapons left to dangle uselessly on their tactical harnesses as they succumbed to the onslaught. Some wailed and cried, tears and snot glistening on their cheeks, while others groveled in the broken glass, cutting themselves and seeming not to care.

  The vampires, however, including the wights, had no such reaction. The five daughters Piper had brought with her alternately watched Lord and his party while stealing glances at their mother. The wights stood like killer robots awaiting instructions.

  “You’re immune to fear and charm?” Rose asked.

  “I knew succubus charm couldn’t touch us, but I had my doubts about the fear. I’ve never run across it before.” Piper smiled prettily as she spoke. “To tell the truth, it surprises the hell out of me. I thought for sure we’d feel something. Not that you’ll hear me complaining.”

  Satterfield, who must have had the presence of mind to clench before Rose’s ill-timed warning, looked grave. She placed herself between Rose and Lord, rifle shouldered.

  “I won’t lie,” Lord said, “I’m surprised to see you up and about, Rose. Pleased, of
course, but surprised. There’s only one way that’s possible. You’re fear-drawn.”

  Satterfield’s eyes skittered Rose’s way. A look of doubt crossed her strained features.

  Rose felt a thousand miles removed from everything happening around her. She saw no reason to answer Lord. He was right, but saying the words would upset her friends and allies. Why do that?

  She turned her mind instead to the problem at hand. Logic insisted she sacrifice Lipe, Hanks, and even Matt. They meant little compared to the hundreds, possibly thousands, of people the Indrawn Breath had socked away in this hospital. Their deaths now might save millions in years to come.

  If Rose attacked, given her depth and breadth of votaries, especially since the twins had released the Drawn anime a few days ago, she could kill Lord and Melody inside ten seconds. Even if the battalion at Lord’s back engaged, they’d be too late. They were human.

  Myra Hanks shook her head. Though gagged, her eyes implored Rose not to fight. Almost imperceptibly, she twitched her head at Jim.

  Jim was a concern. Lord’s prognosticator would foresee Rose’s attack and likely thwart it. He had done so easily enough before. But the odds were different now. Rose’s goals had changed. She would die to stop Lord and her sister.

  A slow smile turned up the corners of Lord’s mouth. “Oh, aren’t we a piece of work, Rose Carver? I may not have the sort of discernment my pal Jim wields, but I can see the gears turning in your braincase. Woman, you’re in ice-cold killer mode. You’re ready to sacrifice us all.”

  Rose drew speed, stamina, strength, and dexterity. She didn’t bother with discernment. Things would be as may be once the shooting started. She tensed to move.

  David Lord drew the Ruger 9mm auto at his hip so fast, it seemed to materialize in his hand. It coughed once, and Gunny Lipe’s head exploded. Blood and other matter sprayed across the glass-strewn floor.

  The Order ops screamed en masse, writhing in abject horror.

  “No!” Satterfield staggered back, her rifle forgotten in her hands, her face a rictus of terror and pain.