His senses slowly reordered themselves, and that hurt, too.
“Mikey. Shit, I don’t know. I can’t tell. He’s breathing, anyway. Are you hearing me, Michael? Hey, c’mon, wake up...”
Alice. A coughing fit that almost choked him, his diaphragm pressing against the broken glass, the sensation of fractured bone grinding.
“Alice.”
“Yeah, Mikey. I hear you. It’s okay. He’s okay.”
The dull sensory confusion rolled back like a wave after breaking on the shore. Michael almost missed the numbness.
“What about Xia? Really? Clever bastard.”
He wanted to ask. About Xia. About Alice. Whether his dream had brought them here, or...but that didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been lying on the concrete in his dream, the ground beneath him discolored by some ancient industrial spill, hadn’t had a chest full of fractured ribs, breathing air tainted by the smells of waste oil and burning latex.
Alice rolled him onto his back. She looked horrible, like someone had beaten the shit out of her. Michael tried to feel anger over it, but nothing came. He was incapable of feeling, he thought, a remnant of the numbness that had somehow paralyzed his heart, lodged like a splinter of ice. Not his real heart – he could feel it with every beat, thanks to the broken ribs – but the figurative heart, the seat of emotion. Lost to him forever, he was certain. He would have been sad, had he been capable.
Alice smiled at him, not the terrible expression she wore for business, but the one she reserved for their private times. His awareness flooded back, along with a tide of conflicting emotion. He coughed again, then doubled up in agony.
That was good, though, in a way. Better than crying.
Alice waited until he had uncurled himself.
“You gonna live, Mikey?”
He nodded, considered words, and found them. It was a relief.
“What...what about Xia?”
Alice glanced to her right, seemingly reassured by whatever she saw there.
“He’s gonna be fine. At least, that’s what they say. Found him face down. Turns out he must have had some sort of gas mask or something in his kit, a filter or some shit. Kept him alive. He’s not as bad off as you, anyway.”
“Who...?”
Alice shook her head, then, annoyed by the hair that had gotten in her eyes, pulled it back with her hands, and started to search for a hair tie in one of the little bags attached to her belt.
“Reinforcements,” Alice said, pausing to put a rubber band in her mouth while she gathered her hair. A moment later, she had it tied back in a clumsy and somewhat off-center ponytail. “They showed up outside, and then convinced Chike to bring them in. Thule Cartel, I guess. They said that Gaul sent them to bail us out, and as embarrassing as it is, I suppose we have to be grateful. This might have gone a lot worse if they hadn’t shown up. I don’t know how much of that you were awake for...”
“Not sure myself.”
“Well, it was weird. One of those Thule guys has some sort of illusion protocol, and he put on quite a display. The other one, the woman – Lóa, I think – she does something weird with time, or at least it seemed like it. They found me first, got me back on my feet, and then we came after you two.”
“And the mission? The World Tree?”
“Mostly destroyed,” Alice said, shrugging. “The Thule people volunteered to hunt down whatever Anathema are left, and I’m inclined to let them. Taking out the Anathema around you guys took everything I had, and you and Xia can barely stand. Anyway, that creepy Thule girl claims that the World Tree is dying, so I guess we don’t need to worry about the Anathema using it to invade Central. Said it was hardly more than a sapling to begin with, and then stress killed it. Think we have Mitzi to thank for that.”
“Mitsuru? What did she...”
“Don’t know. Not really sure. She went Black, apparently, that Ecofage Protocol. Berserker mode, right? Apparently she was fighting Song Li – you know, the one with the weird Animate-the-Dead protocol? – and a mess of Anathema. It got nasty, is my understanding. Blood and nanite disassemblers everywhere, even splattered on the World Tree. At least, that’s the working theory, ’cause it’s all gone. Nothing there but a ten-meter crater.”
“What about Mitsuru?”
Alice looked away, her mouth drawn into one tight line.
“We can’t find her.”
Michael started, tried to stand up, and she had to gently force him back down.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know how else to say it,” Alice said, with a shake of her head. “Nobody saw what happened. We know she was fighting the Anathema right next to the World Tree. Which has become a hole in the ground. And we can’t find Mitsuru anywhere.”
“Is she,” Michael asked, his face twitching as he considered the possibilities, “alive? There are no traces? What about the telepaths?”
“Hush, Mikey,” Alice said, rubbing his shoulder. “Calm down. We’re working on it. We’re doing everything, trust me. I don’t know if Mitzi is okay. I don’t know what is going on right now. But I will find out, okay? Trust me.”
Alice grinned, and to an unstudied eye, she might have looked blasé.
“And the kids? Are they...”
She frowned and shook her head, and Michael’s breath caught as he prepared himself for the worst.
“I don’t know. We’re cut off from Central at the moment – some kind of communications failure. Without Mitsuru or Haley, we don’t have a direct connection to the Etheric Network. Comms are still working, more or less, but no one seems to know what’s going on or who’s in charge. Total fucking chaos, I guess.” Alice looked away. “Apparently Alistair went through the portal with some other Anathema, so it seems they succeeded in opening a path to wherever they were going. I’m thinking Central, judging from the mess on that side. It wasn’t a big force or anything, just a squad at best, so Gaul should have been able to handle it, even if he needed to borrow forces from the cartels, but I haven’t heard any resolution or damage report. According to Karim, Katya and Alex followed Alistair across.”
She noticed his expression, and laughed softly.
“Yeah. Today is turning out to be total shit, right?”
***
“Youngest half-sister Ériu,” Samnang said pleasantly, offering her hand. “I am pleased to see you again.”
Eerie stared in horror from where she crouched, back pressed against the wall of the chamber, legs shaking, hands balled into fists.
“Why are you here?”
Samnang clicked her tongue.
“I should be asking you the same question, Ériu. Truly, I am pained to see you so diminished. Why do you subject yourself to such degrading associations? To allow them to tamper with you is unforgivable. Would you like me to take revenge, little sister? To seek satisfaction on your behalf?”
Eerie covered the injection mark with her hand self-consciously.
“No,” she countered shakily. “I want to know why you are here. You should know that I will come back when I decide – not before. You cannot force me, Samnang, and neither will the Church of Sleep.”
“Oh, I know that,” Samnang said, laughing and crossing her arms. “The Church sent me in the hopes that I might be able to reason with you. Then again, now that I’m here – I think I’d rather do you a favor. Tell me,” Samnang said, inclining her head at Alex, who was cautiously retreating from Alistair and his extended blade, “do you like that boy?”
Twenty-Three.
“Come at me, Alex! I’ll be generous and give you the first shot.”
Alex continued to back away, keeping his hands high and his eyes not on the long knife in Alistair’s hand, but on his center of gravity, remembering the lessons that Michael and Margot had drilled into him. The blade can be used to feint and distract, after all, but the body behind it is limited and predictable.
“If you want to be generous, get rid of the knife.”
Alist
air laughed and moved forward, moving the blade playfully from one hand to the other, sliding gradually to the right so that he commanded the center of the room, limiting Alex’s movement and options. Alex knew that he meant to cut off any avenues of escape, but Alistair’s footwork was perfect, and he couldn’t see any openings to attack or dart past him. Alistair was taking his time about it, but he was gradually backing Alex into a corner.
“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Afraid I’d beat your ass hand-to-hand? Like the last time?”
Alistair laughed, but Alex wasn’t shaken. He knew that he had been fortunate the last time he encountered Alistair, and had the element of surprise on his side – but Alex also knew that he won that fight. Since that encounter, his abilities had increased dramatically, as had his combat experience. If Alistair expected the same from Alex this time around, then he had badly underestimated him.
“Oh, yes,” Alistair agreed, swinging the blade lackadaisically. “I’m very afraid. Why don’t you teach me another lesson, Alex?”
Alex stepped back from the blade, then cursed himself, realizing he’d given up a few more centimeters of precious ground. Behind Alistair, Katya was sprawled on the floor, her legs folded awkwardly beneath her, her mouth hanging open and her eyes vacant. It seemed unlikely that she was just playing possum, waiting for the right moment to shake off Alistair’s telepathic assault and intervene. The only other people in the room were a technician over with the computers, the girl with the tattoos on her face, and Eerie – so unless the wet and shivering Changeling had a plan, Alex was on his own. Worse, he was unarmed.
That left only one option. Alex steeled his resolve, took another reluctant step back, and reached for the Black Door.
Alistair moved faster than Alex would have believed possible. Alex never even saw the kick that slammed into the side of his right knee, dropping him halfway to the floor and sending jolts of pain up his leg. Alex caught himself with his hands and then lurched backward, expecting Alistair to go for his head. The former Auditor just laughed and watched Alex struggle back up, toying with his knife, continuing to circle. Alex took a halting step, and then another, trying to judge how much weight he could put on his injured knee.
It wasn’t good, but it would have to do.
Alex surged forward, feinting high and then throwing a low kick at Alistair’s ankle, aiming to slow his movements or even knock him down. Alistair took a half-step back, ignoring the feint, and swept the machete down in front of him, dragging the tip across Alex’s shin. Alex cried out and stumbled back, yielding still more space, his hand automatically checking the cut on his leg. He glanced downward and saw a white flash of bone through the severed tissue, and felt a wave of dizziness. There was no pain, but a great deal of blood, enough to saturate his sock and dampen the inside of his boot.
Alistair laughed again, and Alex snuck a look behind him. The wall was less than two meters distant. Their battle had lasted only a few seconds, and he had already ceded nearly half the distance he had begun with.
His options were limited. If Alex attempted to stand his ground, Alistair would carve him up. There was no way to fall back and defend, not empty-handed against a machete, not facing the former Chief Auditor.
Alex shifted his stance and rotated his hips, as if he were setting up for another kick. In the meantime, he began the implanted routine that would open the Black Door and activate the Absolute Protocol, intending to freeze the blood in Alistair’s head solid.
This time he saw the attack coming, and lifted his uninjured leg to block the low kick that Alistair threw. He very nearly didn’t see the follow-up attack, a quick swing of the knife level with Alex’s throat. Without a better option, he thrust his arm in the path of the machete, stopping it with his forearm. The blade sunk through the flesh and chipped his radial bone. Alex bit his lip to keep from crying out and took another step back.
He needed a new idea, and quickly.
***
“He’s not really trying, you know. Alistair is depraved. He’s dragging this out to make a point.”
Samnang waited, but Eerie didn’t say anything in response, watching the fight with wide eyes and a pale face. The injection that the Far Shores personnel had given her was still active, the poison quietly spreading through her body. The Changeling could hardly stand, her skin red and hot with fever.
“Answer the question, Ériu. Do you like him? Does this boy belong to you?”
Alistair faked an abdominal stab with the knife and Alex twisted away, taking the full force of Alistair’s left hook on the side of his jaw. The Anathema laughed cruelly while the boy struggled back to his feet.
“We don’t have forever,” Samnang reminded her gently. Alistair lunged at Alex, feinting with the blade and then striking him with his free hand, a precise blow that splintered Alex’s collarbone and made him cry out in pain. “Well, I suppose that we do. The boy doesn’t, though.”
***
Alex searched for openings where there were none. He did his best to ignore the searing pain from his chest, from what felt like a broken bone when he attempted to move or breathe. He could force himself into action, but all the strength had left his movements. Alistair’s stance was casual, but his defense was impeccable. Every attack that Alex tried was effortlessly dodged or deflected, with a bit more damage dealt out as a reward. An attempt at a right-left combination earned Alex a knee to the midsection that knocked him to the ground. A low kick was met with a shin check that numbed the entirety of his leg. A jab to buy Alex space ended with the hilt of the knife driven painfully into his elbow, sending pins and needles down his arm. And his protocol...
“Too slow, Alex!” Alistair crowed, laughing as Alex stumbled, reeling from a blow to the side of his head that left his ears ringing. “Your protocol won’t work on me. I don’t even need to use telepathy to see it coming.”
Alex bought time, circling with his guard high. Katya had warned him as much – as powerful as the Absolute Protocol was, it was too slow for use in close combat. Alex could see no way to gain the space and time to employ it properly without a weapon or some sort of distraction. He only needed a few seconds, but Alistair knew exactly what he needed, and kept it frustratingly out of reach. It was nearly impossible to defeat a telepath in hand-to-hand combat, due solely to their ability to anticipate attacks and respond accordingly. Alistair was fully capable of more advanced techniques, as well, including misdirection, blinding, and even direct telepathic attack.
Alex avoided a wild slash from the machete in the vicinity of his head, gave up another step, and used the momentary respite to glance around. There were three or four bodies nearby, from the fallen Anathema, but only one was close enough for Alex to reach. The soldier lay sprawled across the elevated perimeter of the room, one arm dangling over the lip above the sunken floor on which Alex faced Alistair. That soldier was armed with a type of carbine that Alex didn’t recognize – not an ideal weapon for close quarters, but better than nothing.
Alex made his play, feinting as if he were planning to dive for a double-leg takedown, and then diving for the carbine instead. He felt his fingers close on the barrel.
Then, impossibly, the front half of his index and middle fingers, along with the whole of his pinkie, separated from his hand and tumbled to the ground.
The blade pulled back, streaks of red across the middle. Alex was momentarily fixated, watching the fragments of his fingers leak and roll on the floor, before the pain hit. Alex flinched, far too late, clutching his maimed right hand to his chest and crying out. From the other side of the room, he faintly heard Eerie make an anguished sound, but it was hard to hear over the sound of the blood rushing in his head. He glanced at the stumps of his fingers, neatly severed and bleeding profusely, and thought briefly that he would simply pass out. Alistair’s mocking laughter brought him back to reality.
“Too bad. You really need that gun,” Alistair said, chuckling and wiping the mac
hete clean on his pants. “Care to try again?”
Alex screamed and lunged for Alistair, meaning to hit him with a shoulder block, knocking him to the ground, but he collided with nothing but air. Alistair sidestepped the attack gracefully, passing so close that Alex could see his grin and the knife aimed for his head. Alex twisted desperately, and the knife passed by his head, the side of his face going suddenly numb. Then he fell, crashing into the ground, knocking the air from his chest with his own momentum. His vision blurred, and he momentarily had trouble making out the small thing lying on the ground beside him.
Then his vision cleared, and he wished it hadn’t.
Alex scrambled to his feet and ran halfway across the room, his uninjured hand clamped to the side of his head, where his right ear had been.
***
Eerie slid slowly down the wall, body ravaged and burning with poison, a quiet noise coming from the back of her throat that sounded almost as if she were choking. Samnang crouched beside her, putting a hand to her forehead sympathetically.
“You must decide, little sister.” Samnang inclined her head to whisper in the Changeling’s ear. “Shall I take him from you?”
“No,” Eerie whispered. “Please don’t.”
***
Alex was in shock. He knew he was in shock, because instead of dwelling on the bits of him that were scattered across the floor of the room, he noticed that his failed rush had at least allowed him back to the center of the room. As if it mattered. As if this were an actual fight, and not a protracted massacre.
Alistair was going to take him apart, piece by piece, Alex realized, in a fit of slowly dawning horror. And no one was coming to rescue him.
He leapt back up, aware that he had only made it back to standing because Alistair allowed it. His opponent laughed and spun the knife around as if he was in a martial arts movie.
The Far Shores (The Central Series) Page 60
