Renegade: The Ten Sigma Series Book 2

by A W Wang

Beyond the downslope of the hill and frameworks of construction, yellow pinpricks from small arms fire and angry lines of red tracers interrupt the night. Every few seconds, a detonation flashes, illuminating figures dashing between jagged shadows.

  The telltale signs of combat are in the same location as when I last peeked at the fighting. However, the intensity is less because the attack isn’t making headway. While the temporary status quo helps the cause of my group, the enemy has withstood the initial assault, which was Cleon’s best chance.

  Fortunately, no sudden swathes of destruction scythe through the combatants like a rampaging ten sigma would do in battle.

  Ekton, Samantha, and Peter might be sitting this one out or have other tasks like protecting Victoria.

  Or hunting for me.

  I unsling my rifle and turn, aiming past the glowing lights in the park and to the sharp angles of the opposite rooftops.

  When nothing moves against the starry sky, I touch my nape, which remains silent despite the desperate battle being waged near the comm center.

  This area is peaceful because nobody would expect anyone to be stupid enough to come here.

  I cross a narrow street and jog onto a cobblestone walkway that cuts through the park. Movement disturbs the shadows near a Tudor-style residence across the way, and I pause behind a tall lamp.

  It’s Jonathon and David, hiding near some square-trimmed bushes.

  I rush past the last of the brick flower beds and cross the pavement. When I reach the pair, David says somberly, “A lot of people are dying out there.”

  Footsteps pad nearby, and Jonesy spills from a shadow, out of breath. “They’ll be dying for nothing unless we succeed.”

  Although I feel pangs for everyone fighting, I only say, “Let’s get this done.”

  Jonesy rubs his nose and points to the corner two-story on our side of the square. “That’s the house. I took care of the remaining guards outside.”

  I nod. For scouting, he’s a formidable jacket and a good one to have on the team.

  At least Cleon made one right decision.

  “I dealt with the other security,” I reply. “The area’s clear.” I touch Jonathon on the shoulder. “Remember your promise to me.”

  He dips his head. “I remember.”

  We skirt down the sidewalk, darting into night shadows when possible. In a minute, we arrive at the Chief Justice’s residence.

  When I head toward the front stairs, Jonesy grabs me. “Maybe a less visible entrance.”

  After leading us around the side, he tosses a round object into the backyard. “EMP out.”

  A moment later, a dull whomp comes and the house darkens.

  “Come on,” he says, swinging open the back gate.

  At the rear door, I lift my leg to smash it in.

  Jonesy steps in front of me, pulling out a kit. “The security’s down, so it’s on manual. Let me pick the lock, so we don’t frighten her out of her wits.”

  I swallow my ten sigma pride and watch as he fiddles with the mechanism.

  A minute later, the door sweeps inward, and he gestures for us to enter.

  “Who’s there?” a concerned voice calls from the second floor.

  “Justice Taylor,” Jonesy replies. “Please, don’t be alarmed.”

  Wood creaks as a glow floats down the staircase at the end of the hallway. Chief Justice Allison Taylor steps onto the landing, wearing a full-length white robe with long sleeves. A candle flickers in her hand as she turns and approaches.

  Jonesy walks into the warmth of the solitary flame and removes his black knight helmet. “We’re here to bring a message.”

  Her nose wrinkles, no doubt from the powerful combination of our unwashed bodies and ratty clothing.

  I roll my eyes.

  A grand introduction for someone we should be impressing…

  “Sneaking into my residence in the middle of all this is highly irregular,” she says, stating the obvious.

  Jonathon steps to her. “Victoria and Balthazar are behind the coup that’s happening tonight.”

  She frowns. “That’s a disturbing accusation. Do you have evidence of this?”

  He holds up the stack of parchment. As she reaches for it, she catches sight of me.

  “You!” she yells and backs away, eyes wide. “What is”—the candle flickers as her hand trembles—“it… I mean, she doing here?”

  I hold my hands up and say in earnest, “I’m only here to help. I don’t mean anyone any harm.”

  “Chief Justice,” Jonesy says, “we’re trying to save what’s left of the Republic.”

  When her foot clips the bottom of the staircase, she stops retreating and says, “It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”

  Jonathon says, “Please, just examine the evidence.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  My anger gets the better of me. “A lot of people are risking their lives, so you can read these papers,” I say, stepping into the candlelight. “No, you don’t get a choice.”

  She meets my stare, suddenly unafraid.

  “After you hear the story and see the evidence, you can do whatever you want.”

  A huff leaves her mouth. “Very well. Let’s adjourn to my study, and I’ll see what you’ve got.”

  After we follow the Chief Justice upstairs and into a darkened study, I quickly tell my story.

  In the glow of the single candle, her face remains stoic, but instead of dismissing us out-of-hand, she marches behind the desk and rummages through a set of floor cabinets.

  She turns and places a carton of candles and a pack of long matchsticks on the shiny desktop. “I’ll need a little more light to read by.”

  “Sorry,” Jonesy says, “we needed to knock out any surveillance in the area.”

  “I understand. Now, help me light these, so I can go over the written evidence.”

  As Jonathon plops the stack of parchment on the desk, David opens the carton and positions a couple of thick candles near the desk lamp. After he lights them, she sits and grabs the top sheet.

  Her eyes widen at the words. “Who’s been in this dungeon the longest?”

  David raises his hand. “Of everyone here, I have.”

  She gestures at a guest chair near the desk. “Please sit. Everyone else, please relax, you look exhausted.”

  As David positions himself in front of her, Jonathon heads to the sitting area and sinks into the couch.

  Jonesy and I remain standing.

  Somber minutes pass as she reads in the soft candlelight, asking David an occasional question about Balthazar’s antics.

  Her frown deepens with each new revelation.

  Bored, Jonesy puts his helmet on the coffee table and grabs the carton. After a moment, he shrugs and places a candle on one of the bookcases lining the walls.

  While he marches past and lights more candles, faint tingles parade over my nape.

  I rub under the dirty collar of my maintenance outfit, letting my eyes roam across the study. Although large, the accents and furniture are normal for the room’s purpose. A dark cherry paneling overlays the walls, while the abundant bookcases are filled with leather-bound editions.

  Nothing is out of the ordinary.

  Unwilling to dismiss my premonitions of impending danger, I make a circuit of the area. As I imagine everything that could go wrong, candles flicker in my wake, casting wriggling shadows over the glossy books.

  When I reach the sitting area opposite the desk, I rub my tingly skin and study the dark corners with suspicion. As I round past the rectangular coffee table, Jonathon sends a tired nod from the small couch. I ignore him and watch Jonesy, who is putting lit candles on the last bookcase.

  Something isn’t right, but I can’t figure out what. I shift my attention to the curtains hanging over the front windows. Flummoxed by everything, I march to the nearest pair and part the heavy material.

  The darkness surrounding the gaslights around the park lies undisturbed. Although
soft glimmers reflect off the shiny pavement, nothing in the square or adjoining streets is a threat.

  Yet…

  I nibble on a nail. Doing the right thing or not, being confined on the second floor of this residence is a horrible idea from any tactical perspective.

  Jonesy touches my arm. “Is something wrong?”

  “Can you keep watch?” I ask. “It might be nothing, but you can’t be too careful.”

  “Sure,” he says, tilting his head, reading my concern.

  He positions himself at the window after I step away.

  While I walk past the desk, David leans forward and taps on the parchment. Chief Justice Taylor nods, blowing out a breath, and flips to the next sheet.

  Everything depends on her…

  She pauses to tug her long sleeves down to her wrists and pull up her collar.

  I give a soft snort, happy that someone in this crazy place is as conservative about their body as I am.

  As I stop near a bookcase holding thick law journals, she glances at me and says in a contrite tone, “I apologize for my outburst from before. You didn’t have to come here.”

  “There’s no need to apologize, Chief Justice—”

  “Please, call me Allison.”

  “Allison,” I repeat, accepting the peace offering.

  “And I’ll call you Mary.” She smiles. “I bet this isn’t what you expected when you came back.”

  “No, it isn’t. This isn’t the United States I knew.”

  “It will be again, starting now. With your help…”

  I take a deep breath, hating to be drawn further into this mess.

  “Mary?” Jonathon says from the couch.

  “Yes,” I say, “I’ll stay and help.”

  Allison chuckles. “What some would perceive as your flaws might be considered your greatest strengths. What a strange world we live in. I promise that once this is straightened out and we regain control, I’ll apply the rule of law to you as a person and dismiss the charges.”

  I nod, allowing hope to drift into my dour mood.

  “Trouble,” Jonesy says, twisting his head from the curtains.

  “What?” I say.

  “Do you hear that?”

  “I don’t hear anything,” David says.

  “That’s the point,” I reply. “The battle’s winding down. We’ve probably lost.”

  Jonesy steps from the window. “That’s a good bet.”

  The spiders go into a full-blown dance over my nape.

  I walk along the wall, running my fingers over the bookcases and scanning for trouble. At the doorway, I stop and gnaw on a fingernail, waiting for a horde of black knights to burst into the study.

  David twists in the chair. “It’s best if we can get the Chief Justice to the leaders of Congress.” He flicks his gaze to Allison.

  She says, “Yes, that should be enough.”

  “Mary,” Jonathon says, standing. “You have the escape plan. Can you get her out of the city?”

  I stare at Allison’s silvery hair and the wrinkles around her eyes. Although slender and most likely in shape, she’s sixty at least. In the warmth of the candlelight, she looks more like a kind grandmother than anything else.

  How much will she slow us down?

  It doesn’t matter.

  I nod. “Allison, I can get you out of New D.C. and to the right people. I promise. And you know who I am and what I can do.”

  While David arches his eyebrow, Allison replies, “Then I will put my life into your capable hands.”

  “Okay,” I say, checking my rifle. “This is going to get a little rough. Everyone needs to listen to everything I say”—I make eye contact around the room—“to the last letter.”

  As I utter the final word, the spiders stab into my nape.

  Any second now, we’re getting attacked.

  My eyes dart to the doorway and windows. I just need to protect Jonathon and the Chief Justice. I shake my head, realizing that prioritizing people isn’t right.

  Everybody needs to be saved.

  Allison stands.

  I glance at her night robe. “You should change into something a little more suited for rough traveling.”

  “Yes, of course,” she says after a hesitation.

  “Please, hurry.”

  Instead of responding, she looks straight ahead. Her eyes quiver in an all too familiar motion.

  My stomach drops.

  She’s a—

  “Watch out,” David screams. “She’s a jacket!”

  Faster than I’d believe possible with her thin wrists and arms, she flicks out a gun from under her robe and shoots him in the forehead.

  Thirty-Nine

  Already dead, David tumbles backward, his body crashing onto the chair and flopping into the darkness covering the hardwood floor.

  “Duck,” I holler.

  Jonesy and Jonathon dive for cover.

  The pistol swings at me, and I twist sideways, bringing my rifle to bear.

  As I sink to a knee, shots shred the bookcase over my head with dull whomps.

  My return fire angles upward and through the desk, filling the air with splinters.

  The Chief Justice drops from sight, and the desk tips over, spilling parchment and dousing candles. A thump comes, and the shiny bulk of furniture rockets in my direction.

  I jump to the side, slamming a reload into the magazine well.

  Allison pops into the candlelight and tosses her empty gun at me. When I raise a hand and deflect it, she charges. The shadowy blur hits me in the chest and drives me backward.

  Air rushes from my lungs as my back smashes into shelves.

  I grimace from the lines of pain as books, candles, and hot wax spill over my shoulders.

  Before I can square her in my sights, she knocks the rifle aside and follows with a barrage of high and low strikes from her forearms and knees.

  To ward off the attacks, I tuck my elbows and shift my legs. The efficient techniques remind me of my own red and black threads. She’s a warrior jacket, which is only half the riddle that is Chief Justice Allison Taylor.

  How can she be that fast?

  She snaps her head to the side. A shot flies past and drills the back wall. In a single motion, she grabs and flings a book at Jonesy. The leather edition connects with his nose, and he tumbles into a corner, a ball of clattering black knight armor.

  Tired of being used as a practice dummy, I drive forward, plowing my knee into her ribs. The strike, which would finish any ordinary person, only elicits a grunt and knocks her back a step.

  She snarls and grapples my forearm, threatening to break it.

  Shocked by her strength, I twist with her movements and lessen the pressure. With my other hand, I reverse her grip and pivot, tossing her.

  Cloth rips as she tumbles over the desk. Underneath her robe is a familiar corded material. She pops to her feet and yanks off the torn garment. Although not silvery like a ten sigma’s, the gray outfit snugly fitting over her is unmistakably battle-mesh.

  I roll my eyes as if the day couldn’t get any worse.

  My nape tingles again as I move in to finish her.

  A cold smile crosses her face.

  The far window smashes and glass spills over the floor as a black knight flies into the study. An instant later, the door splinters. Another black knight enters, his weapon ready.

  A breeze cuts between the two new openings and sweeps through the room.

  As candles flicker and die from the whirling air, I charge at Allison. When she raises her arms to block, I swipe at her uncovered hands, which along with her head are the vulnerable points not protected by her high-tech outfit.

  My blow glances off her knuckles.

  She yelps. “Bitch!”

  Instantly, my eyes adjust to the faded light, and as the rifles of the black knights rise, I fire an open palm at her chin. When she dodges to the left, shoving her right forearm high for a block, I sweep behind her, wrapping my arm under
her armpit and around her neck.

  Armor-piercing rounds pepper the wall behind us. The black knights are afraid to shoot the Chief Justice of the United States, who is on their side.

  With that knowledge, I grab her free arm and, using her as a human shield, shove her toward the black knights.

  “Kill her,” she hollers.

  Crouching, I angle behind her slender form and push my hand on the back of her head, threatening to break her neck.

  She struggles to escape my hold, but the flesh integration of her threads lacks the speed and precision of my ten sigma abilities. Although she bucks with inhuman strength from the battle-mesh, my enhanced body has no issue keeping up with her tricks.

  Jonesy crawls behind the couch.

  The black knights flick their heads, adjusting to the new threat.

  I march Allison toward the one by the window, taking advantage of the distraction. At the last moment, I tug her off balance and drive a stomp kick into her back.

  She flies into the black knight by the doorway.

  I twist to the side and slip past a burst from the first black knight. With a flick of my wrist, I slap the muzzle toward the window and send a side kick into his chest plate. He crashes into a bookcase.

  Allison untangles from the black knight, screaming.

  More footsteps thump up the stairs.

  Great.

  I slam into the first black knight and, as he struggles, fire an uppercut into his chin. The helmet snaps back, and I wrest the gun away.

  The other black knight fires high as I roll to the side. I pop up and empty the magazine, shredding him and another two reinforcements coming through the doorway.

  As their mangled bodies clatter onto the hardwood flooring, stray rounds spew from their rifles.

  There is a wet thud, followed by a whimper.

  A battle-mesh enhanced kick nails me in the chest. I crash between the windows, cracking the wall and sliding to the floor.

  Allison slips on the puddle of blood oozing from David’s head as she dives into the inky shadows near a bookcase.

  I slap a reload into my weapon as she grabs a fallen rifle.

  “Allison, no,” I yell.

  Her finger slips over the trigger, and she twists, whipping the muzzle toward me.

  I fire.