He didn’t wait for his eyes to recover. He didn’t wait for anything. He pulled off a burst and the creature flew backward, its arms flailing, its mouth and eyes wide with surprise.
Four more shots. The magazine was now half empty.
He stepped into the fight, moving quickly to aim the gun at a second creature. Had it been fully human, its face would have been the sort that cops see late at night, a whore’s face, worn and tired and profoundly lonely. As it was, the great blue eyes were not only sad, they were tired. Also uncaring. He thought that it didn’t care whether it lived or died.
Flynn did two shots, no more needed, and the figure flew backward into the wall, then slid to the floor.
He went to the young woman, whose eyes were now so glazed that he feared the worst for her. Working quickly, he performed CPR, but he couldn’t get a pulse.
Light glared from behind him. As he threw himself to the floor, he turned into its glare.
“It’s over,” Jay Elder said.
If you have a gun, best to let it do your talking. Flynn depressed his trigger and the last burst on this magazine brought a brief shout, then Jay Elder disintegrated.
Replacing the magazine as he rolled, Flynn pushed the table over, creating a shelter for himself behind it.
Immediately, a stun weapon smacked the table, causing it to jerk back into his face. Four more of the creatures from the village rushed him. Another burst took them out.
Silence fell. The air was thick with the sickly stink of cordite, the powerful reek of blood, and a strange odor, the same cross between sulfur and cinnamon that had filled Oltisis’s space.
When there was no more fire directed at him, he took out his small, powerful LED flashlight and aimed it around the darkened room.
Elder was on the floor, his chest a mass of blood. Lying against the spiral stairs was one of the creatures from the village, also dead. In front of him there were the remains of at least six more of the creatures.
Flynn pulled out the empty magazine.
There was a whisper of movement in the dark.
A light came on, and suddenly he was face to face with the narrow, gleaming face of Morris. “Don’t reload, Flynn,” he said, “this is finished.”
Flynn said nothing.
“You’ve cost me,” he continued. “I can still make some use of her, but not much. And the infant is already sold along, so that means a refund. I don’t like to do refunds, Flynn.”
“What in hell does that mean, sold along?”
“I’m just a businessman trying to make something work in an out-of-the-way place that happens to contain some nice genetic material. This is a mean little planet and it’s dying. I want to get some of what it has to offer before you’re all gone. That’s all.”
“But it’s a crime where you come from, doing this. That’s why your cops are after you.”
“In some parts of our world, it’s a crime. Not in all.”
“You’ve turned yourself into something that can live freely on Earth. And you’re struggling making more. That’s why your helpers look like that.”
“They aren’t ‘helpers.’ That’s a work gang, nothing more. When they’re used up, they’ll be terminated.”
They were slaves, as Flynn had suspected. He realized why they’d been made to appear so strange. It was so they couldn’t walk the streets and therefore couldn’t escape.
The ability to manipulate life had created a whole new type of crime.
“What are you, Morris? You’re not like Oltisis, are you? Not the same species?”
“Consider this a living costume. It’s not pleasant and, thankfully, it’s temporary. But to answer your question, I’ve been a lot of things in a lot of places.” He gestured at the carnage around them. “This is costly. You’re going to have to pay.”
“What happened to my wife?”
“Your wife?” He looked over toward the dead woman. “That’s your wife?”
The realization that he had not the slightest memory of Abby made Flynn’s anger flare.
“You will go where she has gone,” Morris continued. “Or you will die right here, right now.” As he spoke, he slipped a rod into in his hand, blunt and black and thick. It’s end glowed like a coal. He waved it toward Flynn.
Searing agony. The machine gun flew from his hands as he grabbed at his chest, tearing the cloth away from his burning skin.
But he wasn’t on fire.
The HK clattered to the floor.
“If I put a charge in you, you’ll feel that pain for hours, until you die of exhaustion. Or you can come with me.” He sighed, and Flynn knew it as a player’s sound of satisfaction, a sound that comes when the trump is laid down or the queen trapped.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Inside himself, Flynn fought for balance. He had to restore his mission, so he had to get past this checkmate, and he would. The only checkmate he would accept was death.
Morris said smoothly, “It’s not going to happen your way, Flynn. It’s going to happen my way.”
Flynn eased his foot toward the machine gun on the floor.
Morris kicked it away. “You need to understand that you’ve never come unhooked from my line.” He gestured vaguely. “The life you have known is over.”
Flynn still had the pistol in his shoulder holster.
“The pistol, too. You can’t win, Flynn, I’m sorry. I’m smarter than you are.” He glanced around the room. “I oughta just burn you, you bastard.” The stout little device in his hand hissed and its spark grew brighter. Morris smiled. “Fascinating, isn’t it? Come on, we’re going over to my factory.”
Morris directed him to ascend the stairs. He was caught, no question, but he concentrated on every detail as it unfolded. He needed not only to get an opening, but to see it. He’d watched many a fugitive miss a wide-open path to safety.
Outside, moonlight silvered the world.
“Get in,” Morris said, gesturing with his weapon toward the GMC. “Elder was a good man. Making off-the-scale money. I can pay at that level, you know. Gold. You join me in this little, insignificant business I have going here, Flynn, and you’ll be a billionaire in a year.”
Flynn said nothing.
“I’m just sayin’, Flynn, the money is serious.”
As they entered the vehicle, Morris was careful with his weapon, keeping it constantly ready. “At home,” he said as he started the car, “the equipment is better.”
“Where is home?”
Morris didn’t answer for a moment. He began driving across the grounds, heading out into the brush. “You know, I don’t think I can explain that to you. It’d be like explaining this car to a chimpanzee. Can’t be done.”
Flynn thought, “So the truth is, it’s somehow vulnerable.” He would not forget Morris’s inadvertent admission. If he lived.
They drove along a rough pasture track to the village.
From this perspective, the structures were really amazingly well camouflaged. They appeared to be a few piles of brush, the sort of thing left behind when cedar is cleared. Only from overhead could you see that it was organized around a central path.
Flynn had been watching Morris carefully, looking for an opening. So far, there had been none.
“Now, what’s going to happen to you in there is that the contents of your mind—all of your experiences—are going to be taken out for sale to people who don’t have the rich opportunities that life on Earth offers.”
It probably wasn’t bullshit, but he couldn’t say that he understood it.
“Your body will be dissolved and reduced to recoverable stem cells, which will be sold on the black market.” He laughed a little, and in that laugh Flynn heard a very human sound, the glee of a psychopath. He regarded Flynn with wide, avid eyes.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You’ve caused me extraordinary trouble. I won’t deny it.” He smiled his soft, haunted smile. “I just want you to know how it’s done. What was done
to your wife.”
A searing flash exploded into the car and, absolutely without warning, half the village burst into flames. Instinct caused Morris to whirl away from the blast, in the process dropping his weapon.
Instantly, Flynn reached out and grabbed it, and by the time Morris had looked back, it was pointed at him.
Morris’s face told his story. He was horrified and he had no idea what was going on. Neither did Flynn. Opening the door with his free hand, he backed out of the vehicle—and found himself three feet from the tiger. From inside the truck, there came a sharp burst of laughter. Morris began to get out the other side.
Flynn’s problem was that he had no idea how to use this weapon. It was a featureless black cylinder, and the end was no longer glowing.
In the firelight, the tiger’s eyes flickered. The face was not angry, it was not cruel. Instead, he was seeing that same questioning expression. Very softly, he said, “Help me.”
Morris came around the car. Another of the weapons was in his hand, and the tip of this one was glowing.
Frantically, Flynn shook his, twisted it, squeezed it until his fingers went numb.
Morris held his at arm’s length.
Flynn stared helplessly at the red tip.
He was hurled backward, falling against the tiger.
But the tiger backed away. Then Morris was on top of him, slamming his face with the fury of the mad. He’d seen it before, he’d felt it before. Guys on angel dust fought like this. Crazies.
From above, there came a powerful wind, sweeping up clouds of dust and causing the tiger to crouch, then turn away.
There was a snap and a deafening roar and the other half of the village burst into flames.
Snarling, Morris leaped to his feet. He raised his weapon. The red went to white, then to iridescent blue. But he didn’t point it at Flynn, he pointed it overhead.
Flynn looked up to see a shape not fifty feet above them. It didn’t make a sound, but it was visible in the firelight. It was the silent helicopter.
The weapon glowed brighter. The base of the helicopter began also to glow. It swerved away. Morris followed it. The helicopter began to smoke.
Flynn was getting to his feet, but then the tiger finally decided to charge, and he was forced to roll aside, throwing up his arms to defend his face.
The tiger went right past him, it’s immense bulk flying through the air with startling ease.
It hit Morris directly in the chest, causing him to plunge fifty feet across the compound and crash to the ground. His weapon flew off into the night. But he was immediately back on his feet. “Snow Mountain,” he said, “do not!”
The tiger stared at him.
Overhead, the helicopter began to work its way lower. The remains of the village burned furiously, ringing the scene with dancing flames and casting terrific heat.
Wobbling, the chopper reached eye level. A voice called out, “We can’t figure out how to land this damn thing!”
It was Mac. Sitting beside him was Diana.
The chopper went up, disappearing into the night sky.
Flynn saw that Morris was on his feet. Snow Mountain was close to him. He wasn’t attacking, but he wasn’t doing anything else, either.
Flynn dodged into some shadows, trying to minimize his exposure to Morris.
The wind from above returned. Got stronger. The chopper appeared in front of him, wobbling uneasily at eye level.
Diana peered out. “Flynn, you’re a pilot, what do we do?”
“Draw the cyclic toward you!”
Mac yanked it into his stomach and they lurched away into the dark, then came rocking back.
Mac yelled, “That didn’t work!”
“Reduce power!”
“Got it!”
“Move the cyclic back, barely!”
They were hovering now.
“Reduce power more.”
They dropped to an altitude of about four feet. He could reach out and touch them. The chopper wobbled, began drifting into a slow spin.
In seconds, they would lose it. He saw the truck moving. Morris was getting away.
“Jump,” he shouted, “do it now!”
But the chopper shot up into the sky. The truck was quickly disappearing into the dark. Then the helicopter reappeared, nose down, dropping fast. Not the right attitude for a chopper, not this close to the ground. But Flynn could do nothing. They were going to pile the damn thing in.
At the last moment, it lurched. It spun on its axis. Once again, it hovered at an altitude of ten feet.
“See, the bastard won’t land! It’s got a fuckin’ mind of its own.”
It did, Flynn knew. Somewhere in there, a sophisticated crash avoidance system didn’t like Mac’s piloting.
“Jump or die, damnit, both of you! Do it NOW!”
Something dropped out. Flynn recognized it by its shape: it was a shoulder launched urban assault weapon.
Where in the world had Mac come up with a thing like that?
He’d probably never know.
The chopper was still at about five feet. Shielding his eyes with his forearm from the hurricane of dust it was producing, he ran forward.
“It’ll take off again,” he yelled, “jump!”
First, Diana leaped out. She tried to roll off the kinetic energy but did it like she’d seen in movies, not the way that worked.
Mac dropped down, rolled expertly, and danced to his feet.
As he came out, Flynn dove into the cockpit and pushed the collective all the way to the floor, causing the rotor blades to lose lift. The chopper dropped to the ground. He turned off the ignition switch and the engine quit.
“That sucker’s alive,” Mac said. “And it don’t like me.” He was caked with dust.
Flynn could no longer see the truck.
Diana hobbled to her feet. The dirt in her hair made her appear to have gone gray.
“Sprain?”
“I’m fine!”
Mac produced a Magnum. Diana had one, too. Good.
Diana dug another Magnum and an iPhone out of her backpack. “Take these.”
Flynn took them. “Safe to use the phone, I wonder?”
“Right now,” Diana said, “all he has is that truck. His money, my friend, is gone. His life is gone.”
“You hacked him?”
“To the bone. If he has cash in his pocket, that’s what he has.”
At that moment, the ground shook. Soon, more flames could be seen flickering through the trees.
“He just did the compound,” Flynn said.
“Then he’s a total bum with nothing but a busted car. ’Cause he ain’t even got any insurance policies. Somebody canceled ’em. And his deeds. They’re gone from the county record office. Plus the electronic backups. Sometime later tonight, that truck’s gonna run out of gas and he’s gonna be walking. That’ll be what he has. Feet.”
The hell with that, he had his life, which was not acceptable.
Flynn ran toward the helicopter.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Gathering up the UAW, he told Diana and Mac, “You two stay here, get away from the village, do back-to-back defense. Shoot at any and all movement and expect that tiger to come around at any time. But don’t drop it unless it charges you. The tiger is conflicted, and that might be valuable down the road.”
He got into the pilot’s seat and restarted the engine. As soon as it ran up, he loaded the rotor with lift and rose into the sky.
The lights of structures that lined the lake shot past as he worked the foot pedals to bring the chopper’s yaw under control. At the same time, he looked toward the ranch, hoping to spot the truck in the glow of the fires burning there.
No joy. The truck wasn’t near the compound, and beyond fire light, the land was dead black.
He took the chopper into an uneasy hover, then leaned out of the open door with the UAW on his shoulder. Its sight was light-sensitive, and he soon spotted the truck bouncing through the brush
, heading cross-country toward the main road, rather than going anywhere near the ranch’s driveway or the smaller road that served both it and the marina.
He began working the helicopter closer. He was no expert with its controls, though, and it was a struggle.
The UAW had just one rocket in it, so his first shot would be the one he got. The Magnum wouldn’t be useful, just noisy, so the rocket was his chance.
Working the cyclic and the collective, he dropped down and moved closer to the truck at the same time. It was invisible to the naked eye, but easy to see in the sight, and the closer he got, the more the crosshairs converged. But then he would overcontrol the chopper or undercontrol it and the whole process would need to be repeated.
He had just two hours training on helicopters. He hadn’t even soloed. Still, this commercial-military hybrid was relatively easy to fly, and he was beginning to be able to close in nicely when the whole airframe started shuddering, the collective came up on its own and the engine went to full throttle.
The chopper went up so fast it was like being in a high-speed elevator. Flynn was normally almost silent, but this caused him to cry out with surprise.
The autopilot had taken over. It was probably controlled by Morris down in the truck.
The altimeter was winding up at breakneck speed. As he watched, he went through two thousand feet.
Okay, think. He was not going to overcome this situation using manual control. At best, the battle that would ensue between him and Morris and the autopilot would crash the chopper. He surveyed the instrument panel. No obvious autopilot override.
There was one thing he could do that had to work. Also, though, it might kill him.
He took the UAW up and sighted in the speeding truck, but the sight didn’t even activate. Far out of range.
So this was it. He was down to one choice, and it was a really bad one.
He checked his straps, then reached down and twisted the fuel shutoff valve, stopping the engine. The warning horn sounded as the wing went into autorotation and the ascent stopped. The autopilot was still controlling it, though, and as soon as Morris realized what he’d done, he would try to crash it, no question.
Alien Hunter (Flynn Carroll) Page 26
