The Titan Strain

by Virginia Soenksen

  “I got shot,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  Liane smiled, blinking hard as she said, “I know. How does it feel?”

  He considered for a moment, then admitted, “Stings a bit.”

  Liane laughed once, though it sounded more like a sob than anything else. She eased him up into a sitting position, saying, “That’s our cue to get out of here. Agreed?”

  He swayed slightly as she pulled him to his feet, and Liane kept a cautionary arm around his waist. Seth looked over at her, saying regretfully, “I’m going to slow you down.”

  “A bit,” she nodded. “But I’m not going to leave you. Do you think you can fire a gun?”

  He accepted the one she handed him, gripping it tightly and nodding. “I think so.”

  Liane swallowed down her panic. Now they were both wounded at a time when every single second mattered. She didn’t want to say it aloud, not when Seth looked liable to fall over at any moment. Shifting to better hold onto her own weapon, Liane said, “Alright. Let’s go.”

  Down on the street, Damian got out of the car. The remaining team of Agents was waiting nearby, clearly ready to join in the fight. He walked past them, black coat billowing behind him as he ordered, “All of you come with me. It’s time this ended.”

  The Agents followed Damian through the ruined lobby, heading with weapons raised towards the staircase.

  On the thirteenth floor, the door finally gave way to the relentless pounding of the Agents. Dropping the steel battering ram on the floor, they stormed into the flat, moving carefully around bodies as they searched each room. Shouts of “Clear!” came from each of them. The Agent in the bedroom looked around himself with a growl, angry to have been denied his target. Then he noticed the rappel rope secured to the window frame, the heavy cord hanging down and disappearing into the open window a flight below them.

  Turning and already at a run, the Agent shouted, “Twelfth floor, twelfth floor! They’re right below us!”

  Liane moved down the darkened corridor, fighting to keep Seth upright. If she’d been at full strength, she would have simply been able to carry him. But she was growing so tired, and her side felt as if it was on fire. Seth was doing his best to support his own weight, but his knees kept buckling with every other step.

  “Just a little further,” she whispered, “Just a little further . . .”

  They reached the stairwell landing just as Agents burst out of the door a floor above. As she fired wildly at them, Liane looked down, her multi-hued eyes wide with panic. Far below her, she spotted Damian moving purposefully up the stairs, his gun drawn and ready. She moved Seth against the wall, her mind whirring through their pitifully few options. Finally she glanced over the railing at the long drop down to the ground floor. She swallowed hard and then looked back at Seth, who was swaying, near to unconsciousness. Grasping hold of him, she asked, “Do you trust me?”

  Seth looked at her, saying without hesitation, “I trust you, Liane.”

  Liane managed a small smile. Holding onto him, she darted to the railing and fastened the rappelling clip into place. Just as the Agents above her took aim, she jumped over the railing and sent them both falling through darkness.

  Liane shifted in the air as they fell, fighting to hold tightly to Seth while slowing their descent as well. They were falling far too fast, despite her efforts. The rope burned into her glove, tearing through the leather and cutting into the flesh of her palm. She gritted her teeth, the pain finally forcing her to release the rope and simply clutch at Seth as they plummeted to the concrete floor.

  She landed feet-first, absorbing the impact with her knees before tucking into a forward roll. She tried to hold onto Seth, to protect his head and neck with her own body, but the force of the impact sent him flying out of her arms. Liane rolled out of control, slamming into the concrete and only coming to a halt when she hit a wall. Dazed and disorientated, she slowly flexed each limb, amazed to discover she hadn’t broken anything. Everything ached horribly, and she suspected that she’d deeply bruised her ribs, but that was all right as long as she could still move. She staggered to her feet, hurrying to where Seth lay motionless. He moaned when she touched him, barely conscious as she lifted him up and put him over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

  Liane glanced up once, spotting dark figures of the Agents as they ran down the stairs towards her. Focusing her gaze forward, she kicked open the door to the boiler room and disappeared into the darkness.

  Sounds instantly surrounded Liane; the hiss and whir of pressure valves, the drip of water, and the low thrum of electrical equipment. She moved along the rusting steel walkway, looking down through the gridded floor to see a seemingly endless warren of large containers and fuse panels. She tried to walk carefully down the stairs when she came to them, but Seth still groaned with each step.

  “I know it hurts,” she said, wishing she could do more to reassure him. “Just hold on.”

  She paused when she reached the end of the stairs, fixing small detonators to either side of the railings. Gingerly grasping the remote trigger, Liane carried Seth deeper into the boiler room. She went all the way to the far wall, easing Seth down and tucking him between the brick foundation and a large water heater. He fell backwards, eyes shut, and Liane wasted no time in running back to the staircase.

  Damian was leading the charge, racing down the metal steps with cold purpose in his eyes. The rest of the Agents were at his heels. Liane waited until they were near the bottom of the staircase, near the detonators, before turning away and gripping the remote tightly in preparation. She knew that there was no other choice, but her chest still went tight as she mashed down the button.

  In the seconds it took her to do so, however, Damian froze, eyes lighting on the detonators. He didn’t shout a warning; instead he launched himself over the railing, falling ten feet to the floor and landing awkwardly due to the angle of his jump. Behind him, the staircase erupted into a wall of fire that completely engulfed the Agents. Chunks of flaming metal fell across the boiler room, forcing Damian to roll quickly to one side. His overcoat touched a red-hot lump of metal and burst into flame. He stripped it off, drawing his gun from the holster under his arm. Dark eyes searched the echoing blackness of the room around him, and he spotted a glimpse of wheat-colored hair as Liane turned away from the fire. Hands tightening around the grip of his gun, Damian followed her.

  Liane stumbled away from the remains of the staircase, nearly in the complete grip of the tranquilizers. She tried to blame the drugs for the numbness and shock she felt, but she knew it was a lie. She knew it was because of Damian, because she had killed her Handler in cold blood, in the most cowardly way possible.

  Don’t think about it yet, she told herself, sickened. Just get Seth out, get him away from here; then you can face what you’ve done.

  When the sound of footsteps scraping over stone came from behind her, Liane whirled automatically, raising her gun and leveling it at the unknown assailant. He was in shadow, his face hidden in darkness. But she recognized his stance, the grip of his hands on his weapon. She froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

  Damian stepped forward, light spilling over his face and hands tight around the extended gun. His face was utterly expressionless. Liane felt the corded muscles in her back tense, but couldn’t keep from blurting out, “I thought I’d killed you.”

  Damian tilted his head, asking, “Disappointed, Liane?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Relieved. I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

  He took another step forward, gaze intent on her. Her voice sharp, she ordered, “Stay back; just because I don’t want to pull the trigger doesn’t mean I won’t.”

  Damian stopped moving forward. The muscles in his forearms went tight for a moment, and then he relaxed his grip on the gun, lowering the weapon and crouching so as to set it on t
he ground between them. Rising, his hands outspread, he looked at her and said, “No one else has to die tonight, Liane.”

  She kept her gun trained on him, throat tight as she spat out, “I don’t believe a word you say; I never will, not after what I know.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he said quietly. “But I am telling the truth now.”

  “You lied to me,” she said, eyes bright and fury etched into each word. “You swore to me you would never—you promised from the beginning. From the very first day. And you lied.”

  Damian nodded, saying simply, “I did. I obeyed the orders of the Administrators when I should have told them all to go to hell. Which is exactly what I’ll do when all this is over. But right now, we need to focus on this moment, on finding a resolution to this fight.”

  He took another step towards her, hands still upraised. Liane brought her left hand up to grip the gun as well, warning, “You stay where you are, or I’ll kill you.”

  Damian stopped, his voice sharp with irritation as he said, “Don’t be stupid, Liane. I didn’t teach you to be stupid. There are dead Agents and Handlers upstairs, and I’m the only thing that will keep you from dying for that.”

  “Why would you bother?” she asked, her weapon not wavering for a moment. “You’re not supposed to help, or care; you’re supposed to handle me.”

  Damian looked at her, his dark eyes inscrutable. “You know that’s not true, even if that’s what they intended. I’ve protected you since you were ten years old, Liane. I’ve worked with you, bled with you, loved you . . . You have to know that.”

  “You don’t love anyone,” Liane whispered, her chest tight. “If you ever were capable of feeling, they drove it from you long ago.”

  “Until you. I told you before; we’re two halves of the same soul.” He saw her mouth tremble for a moment, and he went on urgently, “Let me get you out of this mess.”

  Liane stumbled back, another wave of dizziness from the tranquilizers sweeping through her. Her words slurred slightly as she said, “You know what they did to me, Damian, to all of us. You were an Agent, too. How much do you think they altered you?”

  Damian gave a small, grim smile. “Enough that I understand why you did this, enough that I’m willing to help you now.”

  She tightened her grip on the gun. Her shoulder was aching, but she couldn’t allow herself to feel pain yet. Coldly, she spat out, “You’re willing to take me back and mind-wipe me into submission.”

  Damian tilted his head, stepping forward as he asked, “Weren’t you better off not knowing, Liane?”

  “Stay back,” she warned, but her voice shook slightly.

  But he took another small step; when she didn’t stop him, he began to move towards her, saying softly, “You swore that you would stand with me, Liane. You still can; if you turn back now, we can go back to how things were.”

  Through gritted teeth, she swore, “I’ll never kill for them, or you, ever again.”

  Damian took another step towards her, watching her carefully as he said, “What else can you do? You were born for this, trained for this, and escape is impossible.” He saw the gun shift ever so slightly, saw the light of doubt in her eyes before they lowered. Softening his voice even more, he reached out to her, “Just put the gun down, come with me, and everything will be alright . . .”

  Her head rose, and she regarded him with a steely expression as she said, “That’s the last lie you’re going to tell me.”

  And she pulled the trigger.

  The shot hit Damian in the side. He staggered, but instead of falling he reached for the secondary gun he carried at his back. She fired again, the second shot hitting him in the shoulder. Damian let out a low growl of rage and pain, drawing his weapon at last. She fired four more times; one in each of his knees, his other shoulder, and in the other side. As the echo of the last shot faded, Damian finally collapsed back onto the concrete, eyes closed as blood began to pool around his body.

  Liane stood, her arm outstretched and frozen as she looked down at her fallen Handler. Then she tucked the gun back into her holster, going back behind the boiler to where Seth lay hidden. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, though his eyes opened as she lifted him up over her shoulder.

  “Where are we going?” he said, words slurring out of bloodless lips.

  “Where I can find someone to help you,” Liane answered shortly. He went limp, wakefulness fading at last as she carried him further into the depth of the boiler room. She stopped in front of a large exhaust pipe, pulling the grate away with a sharp tug and darting inside, sliding it back in place behind her. The enormous blades of the fan were spinning a short distance away, blowing her hair back. She picked up a long, wedge-shaped piece of metal from the floor, sliding it towards the fan blades with infinite care. The blade struck the wedge with a sharp clang, freezing in place. Liane darted through them with Seth, kicking the wedge away as she did so. The fan blades began to turn again, and Liane headed further into the darkness of the pipe, away from the sirens that resonated above.

  By the time the police swarmed the building, stumbling over bodies in their haste, Seth and Liane were long gone. Even when the officers recovered the grievously wounded man from the boiler room, no one thought to check the exhaust pipes. The escape route lay undetected as the wounded were carried away and the dead piled into body bags.

  Chapter 18

  Seth awoke with a start, hands splaying against the blankets that covered him as he sat up. Pain shot through his side, and he eased himself back down, suppressing a moan.

  “You nearly lost a spleen.” The voice came from the corner nearest him. His eyes darted over to see Liane sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. She looked exhausted, dark shadows coloring the pale skin under her oddly-colored eyes. “The bullet nearly severed it. Ahmad knew a surgeon who was able to stitch you back together, but you’ll still need to rest for several more weeks.”

  Seth glanced around the room. It was filthy and decrepit; obviously abandoned, the walls caked with grime and the lone window covered with a stained sheet in lieu of a curtain. But the mattress on which he lay was new, the blankets clean. Swallowing with a dry tongue, he asked, “Where are we?”

  “The ruins beyond the city,” she answered. “There are no cameras or patrols out here. It seemed safer than anywhere else.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Four days,” she said, gesturing to the case of syringes near his bed. “I bought enough to keep you out completely. It made it easier for me to leave you alone, to not have to worry about you giving us away.”

  “How did you get us out of the building?”

  “Through an entrance I found when I first moved in,” she said nonchalantly. “I never told Damian about it, so I knew it would be safe.”

  Seth glanced at the covered window, observing, “I don’t think anywhere is ‘safe’ for us anymore.”

  “It’s not,” she agreed with a nod. “I thought about trying to get out of the city, but it seemed too dangerous with you like this.”

  “Do you intend to leave it now?”

  “No.” She shook her head, her face grim. “The Agency is battered, but it still stands. And since it’s here, that’s where I need to be in order to bring it down.”

  Seth admitted aloud, “I didn’t think . . . I didn’t know that it would be as bad as it was back there.”

  “Both of us nearly died,” Liane said. “But after seeing what they’re willing to throw at me to keep me quiet, I have a different plan of attack. I just have to live long enough to make it happen.”

  She stood, brushing the dust from her black pants and looking sadly at him as she went on, “But this is my fight, not yours. I want you to do what I originally suggested, to run as long and as far as you can. There are a couple of forged passports by t
he sink, and enough food to last you for a week of travel.”

  Seth tried, and failed, to sit up again. Collapsing back on the pillow, he asked, “Where are you going?”

  She looked back at him, saddened. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Seth. I wouldn’t be much of one if I didn’t give you a chance at escaping all this.”

  “You can’t bring down the Agency on your own,” he protested. “You’re just one person. You’re going to need help in this.”

  “Help from you?” she said with a small, patronizing smile. Seth thought back to the fight, how she’d moved unlike any human, modified or not. Clearly she was doing the same.

  “So I can’t fight like you,” he said, stubbornness filling his face. “There are other ways of helping.”

  She leaned back against the wall, folding her arms and waiting.

  “I know how this world works,” Seth said defiantly. “Your life has been in the Agency. You don’t know anything about how to survive outside of it. I can help you blend in, to pass as a normal person.” Liane tensed, clearly taking offense to the last, and he went on doggedly, “You can’t do anything to bring down the Agency if you can’t hide.”

  Liane glanced away, seeming preoccupied as she said, “I shot Damian.”

  “Good,” Seth said immediately.

  “But I didn’t kill him,” she said with a shake of her head. “The Agency is more than capable of healing his wounds. When they do, they’ll send him after me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect you again.”

  “Then don’t,” Seth retorted. “Let me protect myself.”

  Liane was quiet for a long moment. He saw her glance at the door, and for a moment he thought she meant to head towards it and leave him behind. But then she turned, returning to the corner and sinking down again. As she leaned back against the wall, Liane glanced to the window, observing, “When the sun goes down, we’ll move on. And tomorrow, we’ll begin.”