“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I met your counterpart in Pensacola.”
The man nodded. “Makes sense.”
“So what’s going on here?”
“We were returning to Pensacola when Mr. Boudreaux took a bullet. We decided to hole up here until he was well enough to travel. Unfortunately, the locals took exception to us using this building. There was some nastiness, in which the locals got the worst of it even though we lost a couple of Agents, and then they went and got a bunch more people and blocked us in.” He shrugged. “When Mr. Boudreaux is ready to travel, we’ll break out of here. They think they’re holding us here; we just haven’t chosen to go anywhere else.”
“When will he be ready to travel?”
“We don’t know.”
“You do too know,” Boudreaux’s voice came weakly from the room. “I’m dying, but I’m not dead quite yet.”
Williams shrugged. “Without medical attention, he may not make it.”
“So what are you doing about that?”
Williams snorted. “Medical attention? Around here? It doesn’t exist.”
“I happen to know where it does,” I replied. “It’s only a few hours south of here in Clanton, Alabama. They put me together a couple of times.”
“You’re an Agent, though,” Williams said with a shrug. “You’re hearty. You’ll heal from most things if just left alone.”
“No, they have a hospital, with medical supplies, a doctor, and everything. And they like me; I helped them out. If we could get him there, they would take care of him.”
“Well, that’s all good and everything, but there are about 100 people around us right now who’ll try to kill us if we leave. My job is to keep Mr. Boudreaux safe; I can’t get him to a car with all of those people outside who want to kill us.”
“Maybe I can talk with them,” I said. “You guys killed a bunch of them, which may have closed down the lines of communication. I’m new; maybe I can work something out with them.”
“You kill any of them?” Williams asked.
I looked at the floor. “Well, yeah, but no more than six or so. They may not hate me too much.”
“As inbred as this area is,” Williams said, “every one of those guys had a brother or a father or a son who now wants your blood.”
“Isn’t it worth at least trying?”
“Of course it is,” Boudreaux called. He started coughing again and then added in a softer voice, “Come here.”
Williams and I walked into his room and approached his bed.
“Let him talk to the locals,” Boudreaux said. “He may not know it, but he has negotiations skills as part of his imprint.”
“But he didn’t get the imprint,” Williams replied.
“That’s true, but he’s been imprinted a number of times. Sometimes, after enough imprints, you pick up the muscle memory of different skills. It’s also possible that he may remember some of the softer skills, too. One thing’s for certain, Williams; you’re not the person to negotiate anything.”
“No sir, I’m not. I just kill people.”
“And you’re damn good at it,” Boudreaux said with a sad smile. “Let’s hope Collins here can remember what he was good at.”
“Collins?” I asked.
“Yeah, you’re Joshua Collins. That’s your real name. Your Agent name is Stephen Spade, Hostage Rescue Team Leader.”
My jaw dropped. It all made sense. The things I’d done. The things I couldn’t allow—like people being taken hostage—it all made sense. I could do a room entry, because I would need that. Sniper? Yeah, me, too. I closed my mouth and nodded. I knew who I was, and everything was right. Now, I just needed an imprinter, so I could get “me” back. I’m not sure which me I wanted—not yet—but the first thing we needed was to get out of here and back to Clanton so Boudreaux could get fixed up. We needed to have a chat, but not yet. He wasn’t up to it, and I needed time to process. But chat we would.
Some things take time in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-One
I waited for the sun to come up before signaling the people surrounding our building, figuring that whoever was in charge out there was probably sleeping and would be in more of a mood to negotiate if he weren’t dragged from his bed at two in the morning. It also took me a little time to get used to the idea that I would be doing hostage negotiation from the side of the hostages. It just seemed…weird, somehow, and it took me some time to adjust.
After the sun rose though, there I was again, waving the kid’s T-shirt first in the window, and then reaching outside to wave it so that everyone outside could—hopefully—see it.
“In the building!” a voice yelled. “We see the white flag. What is it you want?”
“I’d like to talk with whoever is in charge out there. See if we can’t work out a solution so we can all go home.”
“How do you intend to have this talk?”
“I’m coming out.”
“Come on out.”
“Promise not to shoot me?”
There was a pause that was a lot longer than I would have liked, but the voice finally said, “Yeah, come on out. We won’t shoot you.”
“Don’t worry,” Williams said, clapping me on the back, “I’ve got my best sniper on the roof. If they shoot you, he has orders to kill them in return.”
“And that’s supposed to help me, how?”
Williams shrugged. “Won’t help you much at all. But it will be one fewer asshole we have to get past.”
I frowned at him and headed toward the door, but stopped on the way to point out the building that held their headquarters. “Come get me if I don’t come back, okay?”
Williams shrugged again. “If that’s what the boss says to do.”
That also wasn’t very helpful, but I opened the door and walked out into the main campus area for the college. Someone waved me over to another one of the buildings, and I jogged over, feeling pretty naked in the killing zone between the two forces. I wasn’t scared, I just didn’t want to be standing in the open if someone decided they didn’t feel like honoring the truce.
The man led me into the building and relieved me of my pistol, then led me down a corridor and into an office space where three men were waiting for me at a conference table. One man sat at the end of the large wooden table while the other two men stood behind him, one on each side, with rifles at port arms like he was some sort of third world dictator.
“I understand you want to talk,” the man said with no preamble. “What is it you want to talk about?”
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Joshua Collins. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?”
“The person that holds your life in his hands. What do you want?”
“We’d like to leave, with no further injuries to either side.”
“Sure,” the man said. “Give us the guy in the orange shirt and the guy that joined you last night, and the rest of you can all leave.”
As Luc Boudreaux was the only person I’d seen in an orange shirt, I knew that wasn’t going to happen—nor did I particularly feel like turning myself in to him. “Sorry,” I said, “but I can’t give you those people. What I can do is tell you that so far, the men in that building have been holding back. If they really wanted, they could have killed all of you, whenever they pleased.”
“They ain’t so tough,” the man to the right of the leader said. “I killed one of them on the way in.”
“Then you’re a very lucky man,” I replied. “Those men are—” I didn’t think they’d know what Agents were, so I fed them something I figured they would, “—special forces troopers, and they could come assault you guys whenever they wanted.”
“I doubt they could,” the leader said, “or they already would have done it.” He shrugged. “That’s my bottom line. The guy in the orange shirt and the guy who arrived last night. Give me them, and the rest can leave.”
“Can’t do it,” I
said, “but I can trade you weapons, ammo, and food for our freedom.”
“Got plenty of all those. The two men, or nothing.”
“I can’t give you them.”
“Then we have nothing left to talk about,” the leader said. “Get him out of here.”
The toughs led me back through the outer office, where several people were now standing around talking. One turned around, and it was the kid from the night before.
“That’s him!” he yelled pointing at me. “That’s the guy that killed Kenny!”
“I—” That was all I managed to say.
Something hit me in the back of the head, and the lights went out across this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Two
I woke up gagging from the bucket of water thrown into my face. I couldn’t wipe it off, as my hands were chained to the frame of the bed I was laying on. I tried to move my feet and found they were similarly shackled.
The leader was there, along with several other men and one woman.
“You’re making a big mistake,” I said. “They will come get me, and when they do, they will kill all of you.”
“Thanks for the warning,” the man said, “but we’ve doubled our guards. They won’t get out of the building alive. And as for you, before too long, there won’t be much to save.”
He punched me in the face, and my head rocked to the side. The man had a nice halo of stars as I looked back over to him.
“They told me you were heavy,” he said as he rubbed his fist. “What are you made of, rock?”
“Iron,” I said, smiling. “I eat my carrots.”
“Oh, a funny guy, eh? We’ll see how funny you are when we cut off your genitals and shove them into your mouth.”
I tried, but couldn’t come up with anything funny to say to that.
“Nothing to say, huh?” the leader asked. “Well, then. Let’s get started.”
He hit me again, and the beating commenced in earnest, punctuated periodically by slaps from the woman, who apparently was the mother of one of the people I killed. She didn’t appear to care that they’d been trying to kill me, and all I had done was defend myself.
I passed out a few times—from the pain and the abuse—but was always woken up again by a bucket of water to the face. They went until they got tired, then switched in new people. What they lacked in technique, they made up for with sheer enthusiasm. I was aware of several broken bones and some major internal damage by the time I finally passed out for good.
* * *
Gunshots woke me up, eventually, overly loud in the tiny room I was being held in. I didn’t feel any additional pain, but I was admittedly in so much pain at the time I’m not sure I would have noticed bullets hitting me.
“Damn, you look like shit,” a voice said. It may have been Williams, but my eyes had swollen shut some time earlier, and I think at least one of my ear drums may have ruptured. “So much for being a negotiator.”
I tried to remind him I hadn’t actually been imprinted for it, but think I only said, “Mugh…” before passing out again.
* * *
When I woke up again, I instantly recognized my surroundings. I should; I’d spent enough time in my room at St. Vincent’s.
“Ugh,” I said.
“You truly are the bad penny that keeps turning up,” Dr. Briggs said. I didn’t have to look; I knew her voice and level of sarcasm as intimately as I knew the hospital room.
“Mah,” I mumbled.
“I see you make friends everywhere you go, Ishmael,” a male voice said. It sounded like Jacobs.
“Not Ishmael,” I said, struggling to speak correctly through a couple of missing and cracked teeth. “I’m Collins, Joshua Collins.”
“Well, at least I now have a name to put your files under,” Dr. Briggs said, “although I thought I was done having to waste our precious resources on you.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. I was able to get one eye half-open, but everything was blurry.
“Don’t thank me,” Dr. Briggs said. “You can thank your buddies who brought you in. They were very insistent about me taking care of you.”
“Sorry,” I muttered again.
I saw a white blur, and then her voice whispered in my ear. “I would have done it for you anyway.” Something brushed my cheek, and I swear I saw an eye, which would have meant…it was her lips on my cheek?!
Before I could ask, though, I passed out again. I’m not sure whether it was from the damage I’d taken or the shock of her kissing me.
Strange things happen in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Three
“Boy, you must have been a mess if I healed up faster than you did,” Luc Boudreaux said as he came into my room.
I was almost functional again. I could open my eyes and see pretty well out of one of them. Most of the worst trauma marks were fading into the background patchwork of previous scars, and they told me I’d be able to walk the next day, ‘If I was a good boy.’
For once, there was no driving force—I didn’t have anywhere I needed to go or anything I needed to do, so I actually intended to be good. For once.
“Hi, Mr. Boudreaux,” I replied. “Yeah, I was pretty messed up when I got here.”
“They told me,” he said with a nod. “Sorry. I hoped you’d be able to do a better job negotiating.”
I shrugged. “Well, I didn’t have the imprint, and it probably wouldn’t have mattered much anyway. I killed their leader’s kid on the way in the night I met you; he was bound and determined I was going to pay for it. I was just bound.”
Boudreaux chuckled. “Like I said, sorry about that. When I heard they hadn’t let you go, I authorized Williams to get you back and get us all out of there.” He sighed. “I hadn’t wanted to kill them all…”
“That’s what had to be done, though,” I said. “They knew you were the leader and wanted to kill you, too.”
“Well, then, I don’t feel so badly.” He pointed to the chair. “Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “We need to talk. I have some questions I need answered.”
“Figured as much,” he said, dropping heavily into the chair. “There’s no one so confused as someone who hasn’t been imprinted yet.”
“Tell me about me. Did you know me…before?”
“Yes, I did. We actually were friends growing up. We went our own ways for a time—you into the service and me into management. I was at the funeral for your wife and son. They were killed in a hostage situation that went bad, and you said you wished there was something you could have done to help them, to ensure what happened to them never happened to anyone else.
“We had just started the Agent program, and were looking to diversify it a little. We knew we needed more skill sets than we had. Ninjas and assassins, we had in plenty, but we needed people who could act within the law, but who were able to take down bad guys when needed. It just kind of clicked that a hostage rescue team was what we needed, and you were the perfect person to lead it.”
“Who was Spade?”
“He was a Delta Force team leader, one of the last we had. You talk about elite…he had been everywhere and done everything. We were lucky to get him. We paid him millions to get his imprint, and it was worth every penny. We filled out your team with other elite operators—a couple more Delta guys and some DEVGRU folks from the U.S. Navy’s SEAL Team Six. You successfully completed every mission we sent you on. You were one of my best…and when you weren’t that, you were one of my best friends, although it was too dangerous to spend any time together.”
“I want to get me back,” I said, looking him in the eye.
“I’m sure you do. Which ‘me’ are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. It seems to me that Spade is needed a lot more than Collins in this new world.”
“That is certainly true. While Collins has some skills due to his time in the service, Spade takes those s
kills to a whole new level and adds in some other ones as well.”
I nodded. “I’ve seen some of that. Even though I don’t remember the skills, I have the muscle memory for some of them, and if I just let them happen—without thinking about them—I can do a lot of things.”
“Yep, a fully loaded Spade would be pretty handy these days.”
“So how do I get him back?”
“With some difficulty, I believe.”
“Well, you can’t just taunt me with him, and then refuse to tell me how to bring him back.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you, but it isn’t going to be easy.” He sighed. “I take it something went wrong in New Orleans. That was where you were going right before the bombs started falling. There was a situation, and we sent you there to get imprinted, even though you had just finished a mission and were taking some vacation as Collins. Unfortunately, the situation degenerated quickly, and the bombs and missiles started.”
“I was in the imprinter when that happened,” I said. “I guess I’d been prepped and had Collins removed and stored, but hadn’t gotten the load for Spade yet.”
“Any chance we can go back and finish it up there? In New Orleans?”
I shook my head. “Unfortunately, I burned down the building before I knew who I was or what I was doing.”
“Damn it!”
Although I’d thought the same thing, many times, since I’d come to realize who and what I was, even I hadn’t said it with quite that much vehemence. “What?” I asked. “Surely, there are other copies of the Spade and Collins imprints.”
“There were only three copies of the Spade imprint—we didn’t want the competitors to get hold of them and find out what we were doing. They were at the Corporate HQ in Charlotte, in Philadelphia, and at a secret facility in New Orleans, in case you were a long distance from the other two places and we needed you up to speed quickly.”
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