The funeral home seemed like any other building in the city at the moment: quiet, deserted, and lifeless. Heh, lifeless, Lydia thought, smirking as they parked in front of it.
At that moment the entire right wall of the building exploded. The rocking blast was ear-splitting. Clumps of debris flew into the neighboring building.
Sylvia leapt out of the car. Lydia and Aidan did the same and they crouched behind the vehicle, watching the building. A gun battle was being waged inside. Then another explosive blast farther in. They ran to the door. Sylvia counted to three, then kicked open the door.
The interior of the funeral home was a disaster. It was as if someone had tried to demolish the building in the most haphazard, random way possible. Chunks of wall and floor were knocked out and a mountain of dust clouded the giant space.
Across from them, next to a partially destroyed staircase, stood Mark. He was hopping up and down, trying to catch a lowered hand above him. When he saw Lydia and the others, he waved whoever it was away. “Go! It’s the BEP Division!” He dashed into a room.
Lydia bolted after him. The room had only one door. Mark skipped to the right, throwing her off. Then he ran to the left. She dove at him, catching his ankle. He tripped into a row of chairs. Lydia held him down, preparing to finish where they’d left off in Rooke’s house.
“Wait, wait!” Mark said, as she raised a fist. “We know the code! We know the code!”
Sylvia and Aidan joined Lydia. She lowered her hand, but stayed on top of Mark. He coughed and lifted his head. “It’s something to do with Leonard, his father. Do you have a radio or something?”
“Yes,” Sylvia said. She helped Mark to his feet. “Good to see you’ve come to your senses.”
“Or he could be lying,” Lydia said. “Why the change of heart?”
“I don’t want to die,” Mark said. “Even I can’t survive the SN91.” She was skeptical, but relented for the time being. Saving the city was more important. She could deal with Mark later.
There was a crash from the floor above, followed by more gunfire. Sylvia whipped her pistol out. “Who’s up there?” she asked.
“Heather, Rooke,” Mark said, ticking off the names, “and—”
Whump! A heavy mass rumbled down the staircase and hit the floor. Lydia ran to it and her eyes nearly fell out of her head. “Finster!” she shouted. There he was, in the flesh, picking himself up from the floor. Every fiber of Lydia’s being ignited in a fiery passion. The hate she had bided during the weeks released, stronger than ever before. Revenge on Mark fled her mind. Her main prize now stood in front of her. “Go!” she said to the others. “I’ll handle him!”
“Lydia! Don’t!” But Sylvia’s plea fell on deaf ears. Lydia ran forward, tackling Finster with a guttural roar. She was a frenzied monster, clobbering him any way she could. All her training was forgotten. Lydia ignored the stress on her bones and unleashed her pent-up fury. Sylvia and Aidan escorted Mark out the door and away from the commotion.
Finster socked Lydia in the face. He kicked her off and stood. “Well, well, well,” he said. “You are persistent. Much like Kirk.” As she clung to the wall, pulling herself to her feet, he checked his jaw. “You could even be my new rival.”
“Rival?!” she said incredulously. “You’re a killer and I’m stopping you!”
“You’re just like the other BEP agents,” he said, hands on his hips. He spat on the ground. “All so straight-laced. Have some zest and fun like Kirk did.”
Zest? Fun? Foreign words to Lydia. He wasn’t taking this as seriously as she was and that infuriated her. “I’m nothing like them,” Lydia said, her voice low. “They haven’t killed you.” She shook her head. The urge to destroy this man strengthened within her. Where had its intensity come from?
“Oho!” Finster said, clapping his hands. “This is new. You plan to kill me? That it?” These words sent a spine-tingling chill through her body. She had been so confident in her resolve when on the plane. Now that she was in front of Finster, Lydia was unsure if she could take his life, whether it was necessary or not. But she was confident that she could fight him at least.
He hooted and slapped his knee. “Maybe you would make better hired muscle then. This could be interesting.” He held his fists up, punching the air. “Let’s go then. I owe you for last time.”
Last time? “Last time?!” she cried. “You murdered my father!”
“Hey, that one was an accident,” Finster said, wagging his finger.
An accident? He was casually shrugging off the accusation as a slipup, a mistake anyone would make in a typical day? Lydia pushed off of the wall and swung at him. He stepped back. She lunged, trying to hit low. He dodged again and elbowed her. She collapsed onto the broken staircase.
“It was an accident, I promise you that,” Finster said. She heard the click of his dial as he flooded his system with painkillers. “Didn’t mean for it to go that far. But he did involve himself, after all.”
Lydia turned around, glaring at him. One of his legs was longer than the other. One of his arms began to lengthen. He supported himself on the wall, watching her. “He was innocent,” Lydia said.
“Until he joined the fray,” Finster said. “Your father, uh...”
“Arnold!” she said, seething.
“Right, Arnold. He could’ve stayed out of it and I would have had no reason to attack. Yet he was willing to fight. Willing to risk death. He was brave, I’ll give him that. Not many people choose to stand up to me. But ripping out my cords was a low blow. You have any idea how much that hurt?” He winced at the memory.
“You deserve a lot worse,” Lydia said. She sized him up. She had no clue how to fight him. All she wanted to do was to hurt him. Badly. “I’ll make sure you get it.”
“So I guess it wouldn’t do any good for us to say sorry and let bygones be bygones?” he asked.
She spat at his chest and then rushed him. Finster kicked out with his right foot, missing Lydia’s torso by inches. He struck out with his left foot and his heel smacked into her chest, winding her. Lydia stumbled, but she grabbed his chest and tackled him. He pushed her off. She kicked him in the side. Finster slid into a pile of chairs.
“Guess not,” he said.
Another rumble from above shook the building, causing Lydia to lose her balance. When it subsided she leapt onto Finster. Left hook to the temple. A right to his jaw—she must have knocked a couple of teeth loose with that blow. Lydia pummeled his chest, stomach, and face, careful not to stress her bones further. She wanted to inflict as much pain for as long as possible. Breaking her arms wouldn’t help. During her barrage, she yanked his tubes. But they refused to yield.
Finster head-butted her. Then he hoisted her up by the throat. “New and improved,” he said, thumbing his tubes. “They won’t rip so easily.” Lydia pried his fingers, stretching them apart. When he let go, she latched onto his torso. She clawed his face, digging deep into his flesh.
Finster delivered a blow to her kidneys. Lydia doubled over, holding her side. He swung at her head. She ducked. He caught her with his other fist in the stomach. He lifted Lydia overhead and threw her into a collection of chairs. She moaned, the pain streaking up her front and back.
I can’t lose. She picked up a chair and flung it at Finster. He ducked low. She grabbed another chair and whacked him with it. Once, twice, three times to the head. Then she jammed the chair into his gut. She pushed him straight into an open coffin propped upright against the wall. Lydia kicked the coffin over and he fell out.
When Finster rolled out, Lydia picked up the coffin. She held it awkwardly, aimed for his head, and then brought it down. He rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the blow. But he’d snuck in a kick to her legs, forcing her to her knees. She got to her feet, picked up the coffin again, and walloped him broadside. He spun in the air and hit the floor hard. He groaned, rubbing his skull.
Lydia panted, steady on her feet. She positioned herself above Finster, coffin held high. Then
she slammed it down. He turned over and caught it. They wrestled with coffin, struggling for dominance. Neither yielded until Lydia kicked his shins. He knocked the coffin aside. Then he stood and rammed her with his full weight. She crashed to the floor.
Finster stomped Lydia, and she rolled side to side to escape his foot. She was finally able to snatch his foot. He wiggled away, kicking her in the mouth. But she scrambled up to standing. He came in again, punching straight and assuredly. Two hits to her torso, then a punch to her ribs.
She kicked him backward into the staircase room. He swung, but she grabbed his hand, and then took hold of his thigh. She lifted Finster off the floor, groaning with the effort. She swung him round and round. Lydia tossed him up the stairs to the second floor. He smashed through the railing above, falling out of her view.
Lydia ran for the stairs. The top steps were intact, but she had to pick her way up the first few broken ones. She rushed up the rest of the stairs. When she arrived, Finster was gone.
“Die already!” A man’s voice. Lydia spun around. Heather barreled toward her and jumped over the second floor railing, landing on the ground below. Rooke was behind just her, strapped with guns and holding an RPG. He stopped at the top of the stairs and fired down again from the RPG at the first floor. The explosion shook the building.
“You idiot!” Heather shouted up to him. “You’ll bring this whole place down!”
“Let it come down!” Rooke said. “In five minutes, we’ll revel in death one way or another!” He turned. Lydia was running straight at him. He dropped the RPG and tried to take out a pistol, but she yanked it from him. She grabbed the pistol’s barrel, pinching it shut with her fingers.
“Ms. Penner,” he said, his lips trembling. “Surely you wouldn’t hurt someone who has paid your medical bill and helped you so often?”
“You employed the people who kidnapped my parents and killed my father. Now you’re trying to kill the city,” she said.
“Actually, I didn’t order the first two. Had nothing to do with them. But I can tell you aren’t going to believe me. So what can I offer to convince you? Money?”
She snarled. “You think money can replace my father?”
“No, I guess not,” he said. She backed him up to the banister. He raised his hands, covering his head. “What do you want? Something for your mother? A cure? What?”
Lydia stopped. “A cure?”
“Yes,” he said, straightening up. He dropped his arms. “I created the SN91 cures after all. If you want, I could create something for your condition.”
She shook her head. “No. You had them kill—”
“I already told you that wasn’t me!” he said. He stuck his face close to hers. “Trust me. I told them not to go after your parents.”
He appeared to be telling the truth. Then again, Lydia wasn’t sure. Arthur had said that Rooke didn’t involve family, yet he could’ve had a lapse in that moral code. He certainly had now. However, if he’d upheld that notion during the bank incident and not been involved in her father’s death, then who had been pulling the strings?
“Don’t listen to him!” Heather said from down below. She fired at Rooke, who ducked behind the banister. “He promised me a cure and lied!”
A solution for my condition doesn’t matter now. Rooke was after the city. Lydia couldn’t allow him to walk free after this. “Maybe you’re telling the truth.” His face brightened. “But now you’re also trying to kill everyone else I know,” she said, frowning.
He sighed and slipped a hand behind his back. “It was worth a shot.” He pulled out a pistol. Lydia knocked his hand aside. He fired into the air. Then she gave him a swift uppercut. Rooke flew over the banister, crashing down amid the debris below. He groaned, pulling out a grenade. Heather backed away as he tossed it in her direction.
As the resulting blast rumbled the building, he limped away to the back of the building, with Heather in pursuit. Lydia didn’t mind. She was fixated on only one person and couldn’t fend off all three anyway. Heather and Rooke would occupy each other for now. She left the staircase in search of Finster.
Her arms ached fiercely. She was certain the wound on her hand was bleeding. She needed fresh bandages. Her body was sore all over. Her chest felt tight, but the Kevlar vest had softened the blow somewhat. Lydia paused and clutched her head to stop it from spinning and ringing. The ringing was piercing every inch of her skull. Ringing from gunfire, explosions, and a general high-pitched shrill on the edge of hearing. She thought she might have a concussion.
An overwhelming scent of copper flooded her nostrils, and she tasted a disgusting flavor in the back of her throat. She hocked a crimson strand, watching it dribble from her lips. Then she touched her nostrils. Blood. She wiped it on her jeans and continued forward. I can do this.
For a large man, Finster could hide well. Lydia searched for him room by room. She even checked the attic, pulling down the ladder and climbing up to poke her head around. As soon as she walked into one office, she sensed danger. She spun around. A tall bookcase cascaded toward her. She put up her hands, but not in time to prevent herself from being bombarded by heavy volumes. Finster stood behind it, smiling as she looked up at him dazedly from her position on the floor. His face was bruised and bloodied. Fragments of sheetrock from the ceiling clung to his hair. He lunged out from behind the bookcase and stomped her in the ribs. Fire flew through her torso and she was momentarily stunned.
“I don’t think you need this,” he said, unstrapping her vest and pulling it off. He tossed it aside as she lifted the bookcase off her body. Finster picked her up and slammed her into the wall, again and again. He threw her around the office, wall after wall. He ran after her, grabbed her by the neck, and threw her once more. After several rounds, all the plaster walls began to crack.
At last Lydia was able to duck under Finster’s reach. She returned the attacks, throwing him into the walls. One crumbled away, revealing the outside. She pushed him toward it. He held onto the edges of the wall, balancing on the ledge of the floor. Lydia ran to him and swung. She elbowed and punched his chest. But he managed to jump away from the space, now open to the outside.
Finster rounded on Lydia, holding her in open air. She glanced over her shoulder. A two-story drop onto hard concrete below. Lydia kneed his stomach. He backed off and she launched herself at him. Finster caught her in the air. He flung her out of the room and into the attic’s ladder, cracking it. She rolled away from a punch and aimed her fist at his chest. He grabbed her hand, then her entire arm, and threw her overhead into the attic.
“Stay right there,” Finster called from below. “I’ll be up in a jiffy.”
Lydia rolled over onto her front. Get up. Her arms wouldn’t move. Get up! She slid her hands along the rough wooden floor. She pushed, struggling to lift herself. Get up! He’s coming! She coughed, her head pounding. Her eyes watered and she had trouble focusing. But she could stand. Broken pieces of wood dropped out of her hair. She brushed away the few tiny bits that clung to her scalp. She leaned on an old pile of chairs for support. Her limbs were drained, demanding a break.
Thump, thump, thump! Lydia gazed at the open trapdoor in the floor. The ladder shook and snapped as someone below began to climb. No time for a break, Lydia thought. I can do this. But she was less confident about that sentiment now.
Finster’s head popped up and she dashed forward. She pulled back her right foot, ready to kick. But Finster was prepared. He dodged her kick, then caught her left leg. He tripped her and she fell. He climbed into the attic.
Lydia leapt up and stomped her foot into his ankles. He fell and she latched onto his head. She squeezed it in her arm and then looked around. There was a solitary window in the attic. She braced herself, ignoring his punches to her side. Then she ran at the window and yelled at the top of her lungs.
Halfway Heroes Page 97
