Jade Gods

by Patrick Freivald

With a sneer she pushed him back, turned, and put her hand on the doorknob.

  "Mama, no."

  "You stay right here, baby. Momma's going to take care of this."

  She turned the knob, slowly, and opened the door. Well-oiled, it didn't creak.

  Just inside, the bathroom door stood open. She'd closed it when she left, as she always did, to keep Adam from getting into any toilet or bathtub-related trouble. A soft step brought the 'bad man' in focus – huge, with broad shoulders, he moved with a graceful efficiency she hadn't seen since the shootout at the grocery store. Aaron Walters, her presidential bodyguard, stripped the hair from her brush and put it in a bag, then stuffed it into his pocket.

  Red fury washed over her vision. She strangled it, buried it under discipline and focus.

  Then she cleared her throat.

  His hands snapped to the sink, turning it on. "Hey, Mrs Rowley?" he called, the deep rumble of his voice carrying over rushing water. "I'll just be a second."

  With a forced smile she opened the apartment door and pulled Adam inside while Aaron toweled off his hands and stepped out of the restroom. She hugged him, forcing down the gag reflex, and pulled back keeping his damp hands in hers.

  "Well, look at you! You look fantastic!"

  He grinned. "Back on full duty. They said you requested me, so thank you for that."

  "You saved my life."

  "Just doing my job."

  She nodded, heart pounding in her chest. "That's why I asked you here, wanted you protecting my family." His smile died as she continued. "Is that what the hair's about? Just doing your job?"

  He flushed, cast his eyes to the floor. "Shit. It would have been better had you not seen that."

  "Who's it for? What's it for?"

  Massive shoulders rolled up, then down; a shrug. "My orders are to protect you and your family even at the cost of my own life… and to collect samples. I'm sorry, but you and your son are too valuable not to study."

  The world blurred through tears, and despite herself her voice cracked. "You could have asked, you son of a bitch."

  "We did, ma'am. Your husband said, 'no'."

  A snarl tore from her throat. "You could have asked me. That's my hair you've got in your pocket. I'm the one who came back from the dead. I'm the one who sees that fucking place every goddamned time I close my eyes."

  "Place?"

  She heard the shift in his tone, from careful defensiveness to curiosity and sympathy, and whether fake or not she resented it. "Yeah. An expansive plane stretching as far as the eye can see, full of none of your fucking business get out of my apartment."

  Wiping the tears away she advanced, small steps on the balls of her feet, not quite hostile.

  "Mama, no!"

  She ignored her son and inched closer, planning her moves in the confines of the short hallway. "Now. I'm not asking."

  Aaron stood tall, squaring his shoulders to fill the space. He dwarfed her, with biceps as big as her thighs, his torso a solid wall of muscle under the black suit. As their eyes met he stepped back – she saw no fear in them, only hesitation, but she couldn't parse the nature of it.

  Another step back, and he paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Ma'am, if I may offer a word of advice. These people are loyal first to their country, and then to mankind as a whole. Folks like you and me and even your husband rate far lower, except insofar as they think they can use you."

  She waited, he said nothing and didn't move. "So what's the advice?"

  "Know your place and your priorities." He opened the door. "You have a good day, ma'am."

  As the latch clicked shut she rushed to the bedroom and yanked her suitcase from the closet. Three changes of clothes for her and six for Adam, the emergency cash they hid in the drop-down ceiling, topped by her .357 and his 1911 and several boxes of ammo for each. Adam watched her from the doorway, ancient eyes tracking her movement with scrutiny nothing like childhood curiosity.

  "Get in your stroller, baby boy. We're leaving."

  "No," Adam said, his high voice weary well beyond its years. "They won't let us."

  She slammed the suitcase as closed as it would go, then sat on it to force the buckles close enough to latch. "You can't know that."

  "If you run they'll hurt you."

  She dropped to her knees and wrapped him in a hug. "Don't you understand, little man? It's only you I care about. Only you."

  His tiny lips brushed her ear as he whispered, "What they'll do to me is so much worse."

  Strength left her, and she sagged against the wall. "Oh, baby boy. How can you know so much?"

  "Can we have pannakes for dinner?"

  "Sure, little man. We can have pancakes."

  "Chockit chips?"

  "With chocolate chips."

  She wiped the wet from his cheeks, stood, and turned to the suitcase. With a sigh she put it in the closet, still packed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Terror from the North descended on Cleveland with a whisper. Hovercrafts and boats encroached on the shoreline at a few knots, just enough speed to avoid succumbing to the incessant, eastward nag of the waves. Given the option, Matt chose to ride a hovercraft with forty marines trained in search and destroy – they would wait five minutes and then follow the augs into the tunnel connecting the beach to the Office of Planning and Development's secret headquarters five blocks away.

  If they had anything to mop up, he and Sakura were dead, so FADE had kitted them out from the Special Threat Bureau's armory – ceramic composite 'bonk killer' ammo and four spare AA-12s with dozens of drum magazines with both fragmentation grenades and tungsten-tipped armor-piercing sabot rounds. Neither of the latter wouldn't benefit from guidance from the Dragonfly network and IFF software, but in a pinch could still put big holes in things they needed dead.

  Their orders were simple: nothing leaves the tunnel.

  Dragonflies lifted off from the foremost boats, rising above the frosty waves, and ahead of them the city washed in a sea of colors in Matt's heads-up display. Civilians blipped orange and then faded to pale green – suspected but unconfirmed non-hostiles. The marines shone bright green, and as the swarm of semi-intelligent drones approached the suspected OPD headquarters guards popped up in red double-triangles – armed hostiles within the attack perimeter.

  Dozens, then hundreds, popped red in the block surrounding the complex, with clustered bunches on rooftops in the buildings surrounding.

  "Are you getting this?" Matt asked no one in particular.

  "Rah, Sergeant," someone said in the COM. "Those are some fancy toys you have there."

  Matt grunted. "Fog of war is so 2015. Welcome to the new age."

  "Roger that," she replied. "They'll be dead before they realize they're under attack. Proceed as planned."

  They approached the beach at twenty knots. Ahead of them, the SPARX unfolded from the water, humanoid monstrosities fifteen feet tall. Water sloughed from their hulking frames, sheeting off of hydrophobic plates thicker than tank armor as they accelerated to a run. They hit the beach at forty miles per hour, feet churning up massive explosions of rock and sand as they covered the distance to the streets.

  Lines of fire streaked from the sky, and orange-red flames blossomed from the rooftops as red triangles went dark on the HUD. The hovercraft leapt from the water in a blast of sand, then lurched to a halt in front of the 'escape tunnel'. A trio of limousines sat parked next to what looked for all the world like a parking garage. Next to them their tuxedoes chauffeurs lay face down, hands zip-tied behind their backs, a pair of marines with assault carbines standing over each.

  Matt leapt as the hovercraft slowed, feet churning to keep his forward momentum, then slowing to avoid impact with the bay doors. A glimmer of dragonflies hovered around the unopened doors. He put a hand on the cool metal and spoke into the COM.
"Why aren't these open?"

  The same female voice replied. "The plan requires that the targets flee into the tunnel. We didn't want to tip them off that we knew it's here, and can't breach without triggering the alarm."

  "Can't you disable it?"

  "This isn't the movies, Sergeant."

  He turned to the marines crowding the beach behind him. "I need sappers, now."

  The voice in his ear interrupted. "They've already been rigged and are awaiting your orders. Analysis of the situation suggests you wait eighteen more seconds before alerting the targets by blowing the doors."

  "Detonate on zero."

  "Roger that, Sergeant. Sixteen… Fifteen…"

  He backpedaled, and waved back the marines coming to the fore. With a nod to Sakura he got in the driver's seat of one of the limos, a lumbering vehicle with half-inch bullet-proof glass and, judging by the weight, armor in the doors. She appeared beside him, hitting the button to roll down her window and propping her REC7 on the side-view mirror. The engine roared when he turned the key, and when the voice in his ear said "four" he floored it. At zero the HUD flashed white, and shrapnel pinged off the windshield, leaving spiderweb cracks in the first layer of filament-coated glass.

  They blasted through the falling tangle of twisted metal at twenty miles per hour, Sakura's weapon raised as she scanned for hostiles. Dragonflies zipped ahead of them, skimming along the eight-foot ceilings along the concrete passageway, sensors lighting the way through the pitch-black. The car rocked as shockwaves shuddered through the ground, hellfires or something bigger detonating on the surface forty feet above.

  A mile ahead figures scrambled out of a doorway toward two SUVs and another limousine, their outlines popping bright red on the HUD as the dragonflies closed within sensor range. Four hostiles moved too fast for humans, and another two far too slow to be anything but very old men or women.

  Matt floored it.

  They closed before the hostiles had finished getting in their cars. A hundred meters out Matt whipped the wheel to the side, shrieking to a skidding halt across the narrow passage.

  Sakura opened fire. Even muffled by his helmet the REC7's chatter deafened him, sensation returning after each burst as his regenerates healed the damage and muffled the agitated nerves. Three tight bursts took the closest targets. An old woman using a walker and two bodyguards fell. The rest scrambled, several diving into an SUV and slamming the doors, others taking cover behind their vehicles.

  Matt leapt out of the limo, rolled to his feet, and opened fire with his AA-12. Fin-guided munitions exploded behind the limo, shredding limbs and pulping organs without the slightest regard to conventional notions of defilade. Tires shrieked as the occupied SUV rocketed toward them.

  "Got it." Sakura became a streaking blur headed straight at the approaching vehicle. She veered right, skimming past the tires a few feet from the ground, then appeared stock-still behind it, remote detonator in her left hand, knife in her right. As her thumb twitched the tunnel shuddered, and the vehicle hopped, skidded, flipped.

  Rolling, a door popped open and two shapes flew out. Whispers urged Matt to tear and rend them, gorge on their bloody organs and choke to death on the meat. He fired instead, grenades flitting in slow motion toward the impossibly fast targets that dodged and darted forward. Sakura appeared behind one, REC7 raised, and shot him in the back of the head from a meter away. As he stumbled and fell, eyes wide in shock and pain, the other hit Matt.

  The world rocked as his helmet cracked into their limo like a rifle shot, and he rolled left to avoid a fist that dented the fender. The AA-12 tore from his hands and a fist pounded into his chest. Ribs cracked and the wind left his lungs even through the body armor.

  With a brutal slash his monofilament knife raked across his assailant's wrist. Cloth parted, and skin, but the knife lodged in bone far stronger than anything he'd encountered in a human opponent. His adversary twisted and the knife tore free, flying into the darkness to pop blue on the HUD as a Dragonfly found and tracked it.

  Grabbing the cut wrist, Matt slammed the heel of his palm into it sideways.

  The shocking jolt shot up to his elbow, rupturing ligaments in a wrenching heat. He pulled back, and winced as his helmet tore from his head.

  In the infrared his opponent shone blue and black, colder than room temperature. In the ultraviolet he blazed hotter than a furnace. Gossamer wisps of tattered cloth hung from bones that stretched out twenty feet, enormous skeletal wings that did and didn't exist. Claws raked down Matt's face, tearing his cheeks to strips of tattered flesh.

  As the hot, meaty taste of blood filled his mouth he jerked the WildStang from its holster and pulled the trigger. Chunks flew from the egregoroi's abdomen and it stumbled back, laughing. He fired again as it dove behind the limo, form collapsing to human-sized.

  Face a mass of sticky itches, he scooped up the AA-12 and swapped drum magazines for armor-piercing tungsten sabots, then circled the vehicle.

  * * *

  Isuji Sakura turned from the dead man and approached the occupied SUV at a run, tossing a grenade as she did so. It skittered underneath and detonated, lifting the front end inches from the ground. Tires squealed as she slid, dropping below the bumper and punching upward with a knife, savaging metal, plastic, and rubber with equal abandon. Frigid liquid that stank of oil and antifreeze gushed over her as the car pulled away.

  She caught the rear bumper left-handed and used it to flip to her feet, landing as the SUV stuttered and died. The front doors popped open as the grenades left her fingertips. They passed through the widening gap as the guards inside started to roll out, weapons coming up, fingers on the triggers. They died in a mess of fire and bloody shrapnel before their young faces had registered any danger.

  A figure exploded out the back window, short black hair and a Navy dress blues all she had time to register. She blocked two punches before dropping and driving her fingers into her opponent's thigh. He pulled back before she could puncture muscle and shatter bone, and she flipped forward, striking hard, forcing him to defend his groin from the unrelenting onslaught.

  His knee caught her shoulder and knocked her sideways. She sprinted into the stumble and his strike at her neck caught only air. Using her momentum she ran up the wall, and flipped down, steel-toed boot aimed at where his vertebrae met his skull. He spun, knocked her leg sideways, and grunted as she bounced off his shoulder, both of them landing in a crouch.

  A grim satisfaction stole over her, wisps of memory from the dojos of her youth. Since augmentation she'd had few opponents fast enough to be anything more than fighting dolls, and most of those had died before they'd realized how much her speed outmatched theirs. Her opponent scrambled back as her punches became kicks became a standing flurry of strikes, but none of them landed.

  He backed into the limo and rolled left, arms raised to block anticipated attacks.

  She ripped the 9mm from her holster and quadruple-tapped him in the head.

  As the bullets ricocheted and skimmed off his skull he turned, smirked. "Surprise."

  His jaw unhinged, impossibly wide, huge canines black with rot growing from the extended bone. Hell poured from it.

  White-hot streamers of liquid fire followed her across the artificial cavern, reducing concrete and steel to molten slag in her wake. She zig-zagged around him, swapping the magazine for AP rounds, flipped feet-over-head over a stream of shimmering, white-hot air, and pressed her pistol against the left side of his neck. High-velocity tungsten entered his carotid artery and exited near his spine.

  The backwash melted her armor to her skin, and her ammo detonated under the heat.

  The gun exploded, carrying with it fingers and chunks of her palm. She jammed her truncated pinky into his – its – neck and tore forward. A shower of blood sprayed out as muscle ruptured outward. A knife-hand strike to its spine broke her middle and ring fin
gers on her right hand, so she head-butted her reeling opponent before he could recover.

  Stumbling, stars filled her vision. Weaponless and missing much of her right hand, she scrambled back. It turned, laughing, a smoky mass of black nothing jerking and jetting from its shoulder blades to form black wings darker than the void between galaxies. Ramiel hunched under the low ceiling, his eyes glowing embers against the darkness, every bit as alive as the day Matt had killed him.

  * * *

  Matt turned at the blast of heat from down the tunnel and opened fire at the thing hulking over Sakura. Plumes of flame erupted where the bullets punched through flesh, and the efrit stumbled sideways under the barrage. The magazine clicked dry so he popped it out and reached for another.

  The black thing swarmed over the limo. Matt turned, ducked a swiping claw, and brought the butt of the shotgun up into its jaw. Metal kinked with the impact, but the bone shattered. It roared in his face, so he jammed a thermite grenade in its mouth left-handed, shattering teeth and breaking his own knuckles with the impact. It bit down, savaging his wrist as claws raked at his armor. Thumb hooked on the pin ring, he pulled it free and dropped as far as he could from its head.

  His helmet darkened as the bright flash illuminated the tunnel. A faint sensation that might have been pain replaced the feeling below his left elbow. He fell, catching himself with his right hand, trying not to look at the charred, red-black stump of his left.

  The egregoroi wobbled then dropped to its knees, no blood gushing from the flash-cauterized remains of its neck. It stayed there, an unmoving supplicant with hands in its lap, as Matt loaded the AA-12 one-handed, picked it up, and braced the kinked stock against his shoulder.

  Ramiel struggled to his hands and knees. Sakura fumbled with her pistol, forcing swollen, bent fingers around the grip and through the trigger guard. Matt braced and pulled the trigger, walking his aim down to blast chunks of white-hot demon against the floor and wall, arcing side to side to pulp the demon's hips and skull. As he reloaded Sakura advanced, firing, each shot into the inferno that passed as the egregoroi's brain.