Phantom Legacy: The Phantom Chronicles, Book 3

by T. C. Edge

  Chloe’s eyes grew wet at the sight, her insides knotting and coiling up tight. She turned to the medical supplies, set in metal cabinets to one side on the interior wall, and began rooting around for medical staplers. She found a pair and turned back, just as the falcon began to rise and drift slowly from beneath the underpass. She stopped, the jet’s motion making her unsteady, her trembling hand no help either.

  What was she going to do? Start stapling his flesh together, alone, without Nadia to help? She had no experience of such things. She shook her head and placed the staplers down, feeling completely helpless.

  The jet rose a little awkwardly - though whether that was because Nadia was inexperienced, or due to the storm, Chloe didn’t know - shuddering as it lifted into the swirling, stormy sky. Chloe held the table’s edge with one hand, and reached over to Tanner’s chest with the other, making sure he didn’t roll off or fall to the floor. The jet continued up, teetering a little from side to side, before the engines began to burn louder, as if set to shoot them skyward at speed. Chloe felt her chest tense at the sensation, hunkering lower and holding onto Tanner tighter. Then the engines suddenly calmed, and Nadia came rushing back down the passage, shaking her head.

  “I’m not thinking straight,” she grunted, annoyed with herself. “We have to strap him down first or he’ll go flying off.”

  They set about doing so, the briefing table clearly doubling up for this particular purpose. From underneath, straps extended, allowing them to shackle Tanner to the surface. Once done, Nadia told Chloe to take a seat and strap in, though didn’t indicate just where - presumably her normal seat for takeoff at the front of the jet. Chloe instead chose to take the co-pilots chair, rushing up through the passage to the cockpit with her friend, who dropped hurriedly into the pilot’s seat.

  “I…didn’t realise you could fly,” croaked Chloe, nervously watching Nadia prepare the jet for skyward acceleration.

  “I know enough,” Nadia said, flipping switches and tapping buttons. “The autopilot’s a good guide to fill in the blanks.”

  Chloe took her word for it. Nadia was far too sensible a character to try to fly this thing unless she knew she could. Although, the storm was making things a little trickier, and she admitted herself that she wasn’t quite thinking straight…

  Strapping herself in, Chloe sat back, holding onto her armrests as Nadia kicked the falcon into gear. The engines grew louder once more, the power thrusters used for vertical takeoff turning to the rear for regular, forward flight. Ahead, the stormy skies were blurred by the rain splashing wildly on the windshield. Chloe shut her eyes and gritted her teeth, and felt Remus’ clawed metal feet grip tighter at her shoulder.

  The jet accelerated, pinning Chloe back. She held a breath as it went, pressing through the stormy skies, rising up at an angle as it fled from the heart of the tempest. It took a few moments only for the acceleration to level out, the pressure to equalise. Chloe let out a breath and opened her eyes again to find the falcon engulfed in cloud, the jet shaking and shuddering as it passed pockets of thicker mist, buffeted by the fierce winds.

  After a few frustrating and rather frightening minutes, the shaking started to cease, and the falcon sped out of the dark grey clouds and entered into calmer surroundings, high up in the sky. Clouds remained, though lighter and less densely clumped, and the rain became a gentle patter. Chloe looked through the window and saw the large wall of dark grey storm clouds pressing on over the landscape, the city invisible beneath its bulk. She was glad to be free of it.

  But Ragan…he was still down there…

  Nadia put the jet into auto-pilot and hover mode, the thrusters changing position again to keep it steady. Then she unclipped herself and rushed back to Tanner, Chloe following right behind, Remus leaving her shoulder and fluttering through after them.

  They found Tanner still in place, his straps enough to keep him fastened to the table. Chloe picked up the medical staplers and looked at Nadia. The Texan took them gingerly, her eyes nervous.

  “Do you have any experience with that?” Chloe asked.

  “Some,” said Nadia. “I’m…going to need your help.”

  Chloe nodded, similarly nervous. She’d stitched up a scar or two of her own over the years, but nothing that compared to this. Her efforts had been poor enough, even with shallow wounds, to create uneven, unsightly scars. The one on her abdomen that the guard, Matt, had spotted at Sub-Tower 12, had been of her own doing.

  She looked at Tanner’s face with trepidation. They needed a proper medic for this job, someone experienced at operating on such grievous wounds. Even then, the scarring would probably be bad - neater, yes, but highly visible. This was a very serious job, and needed a highly competent hand to limit the damage. Tanner didn’t have that luxury, and the longer they left it, the worse it would be. Close the cuts now, and his nanites would have an easier job healing and stitching the flesh together. They needed to get this done. They needed to be brave.

  “I suggest we start with the worst ones,” said Nadia, looking up at Chloe, as if she wanted confirmation. Chloe nodded. “We can use the stapler for the deeper, larger cuts, and then suture the smaller ones with thread. I’ve done some of that before,” she added, growing in some confidence.

  Chloe nodded again, and Nadia pointed out the worst of Tanner’s gashes. With trembling fingers, Chloe reached out and touched the torn, inflamed flesh, pulling it together. Very gently, Nadia positioned the stapler, and pressed down, binding the ripped flesh back together. They continued the process, moving along the cut until it had been fully closed.

  Chloe tried to block it all out as they worked, moving from cut to cut, closing them as best they could. Once they’d reached the limits of what the less delicate stapler could manage, Nadia hurried over and fetched precision tweezers and thread for the smaller wounds. She worked diligently, Chloe acting as nurse in wiping blood and helping wherever she could. To Chloe’s admittedly untrained eyes, Nadia appeared more adept than she’d made out, her focus becoming quite intense as she worked. That panic, that grief in her face, faded as she set about the task.

  Chloe lost track of just how long they worked, the minutes flooding by as the storm outside dissipated. Bit by bit, Tanner’s face came back together, though there appeared to be nothing they could do about his right eye. His nose was reformed, his lips sewn back up, the jagged gashes knitted together. What remained was a patchwork of tracks dividing swollen and bloodied flesh. It was the best they could do. Both knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  They applied antiseptic to aid his nanites in the recovery, covering the stitched cuts with dressings and putting a patch over his right eye. Almost his entire face was covered in white cloth, his left eye about the only part of him you could still see. That eye remained closed, and would be like that for a while.

  Nadia administered an additional shot, one that would help his nanites to function at full capacity for an extended time while he remained unconscious. His wounds would heal quickly, and only time would tell of the extent of the damage. They’d have to be patient now, and wait. Wait to see how Tanner healed; wait for Ragan to get in contact.

  Ragan…

  Chloe felt a fresh pulse of grief, her emotions so drained. She dropped into a chair at the front of the jet, leaving Nadia alone by Tanner’s side, gently stroking his hair. It seemed both of them needed some space, some time alone, to process things.

  Chloe slumped back, Remus dropping down beside her. He drew near, curling up and resting in the nook of her arm.

  “You did good today, buddy,” she whispered, struggling not to cry. “Sleep tight now. You deserve it.”

  She dropped her head back onto the cushioned rest behind her, gazing up and forward blankly and at nothing in particular. Her life had changed immeasurably over the last week or so. So much had happened, and things would, could, never be the same again.

  But though she had friends now, a familiar feeling flourished inside her. A feeling she knew al
l too well. Now, with Ragan gone, it came stomping back into her heart, a cold, empty feeling.

  Of being alone.

  27

  Mikel stood beside his jet-car, parked off in a lay-by beside a quiet freeway. Behind him, far towards the south, storm clouds drifted off on the distant winds, drenching the lands below as they passed. The storm had first aided him in his hunt, then scuppered him at the last. The arrival of the NDSA soldiers had sounded the klaxon for his retreat, their approach hidden by the tempest and forcing Mikel into a swift decision.

  Mikel’s hunt had ended prematurely. His fangs were still extended, despite the city now being almost a hundred miles south. Sometimes it would take them time to fully withdraw, depending upon the depths of his hunger, and the tantalising nature of his prey. Right now, his desire was profound, the tease of Hunt and the Phantom so agonising. He shook his head to himself in rebuke. It was his own fault, he knew, for trying to take them down. He could easily have left and spared himself this final pain.

  Final…

  Yes, he thought, a smile burgeoning. This will be the last time. A final hunger, unquenched, unsatisfied. And soon, gone forever.

  Perhaps it was all a good thing. Had he fed on Chloe or Hunt, he might have had second thoughts. Such was the pure ecstasy of feeding, in such contrast to the agony of his endless craving, that he may have thought differently right now. He knew himself too well. He’d have been on cloud nine, in a state of euphoria. And in such a state, why would you desire any change at all?

  No, this was a good thing, he thought again, reinforcing, convincing himself. He wanted to banish this feeling for good, purge the curse from inside him. One final feeding didn’t matter one bit, no matter how long he’d desired it. Soon enough, such base cravings would be dispelled. He’d be free of their torment, their suffocating grip…forever.

  He smiled brighter, turning his eyes up towards the now blue sky. He stood under the shade of some trees, the air swirling across him on a breeze, damp with condensation following the storm. The ground tingled with moisture, drops of stormwater tapping as they dripped through leaves. A peaceful sound, and a peaceful place. A nice place to wait.

  Mikel pulled out his communicator, linked directly to one in Martha Mitchell’s possession. He used it a final time not so long ago, updating the woman on what had happened in Cincinnati. She’d seemed awkward on the line, as if surprised to hear from him. She really shouldn’t have been. Mikel had all the confidence that he was going to escape the city unscathed. Mrs Mitchell clearly didn’t quite know the true depths of his talents.

  The conversation had been brief, both getting right down to business. Mikel had updated Martha on his current location, and she’d promised to send a transport to fetch him. Now he was waiting, relaxing in the shade, listening to sprinkling rainwater showering through the trees, and chirping birds singing their song, his thoughts turning forwards, and not back.

  Forwards, into the unknown. Into a future that Mikel couldn’t wait to discover.

  A light sound, artificial and unlike the natural tones and tinkling notes around him, began to hum in the distance. He turned his eyes north, up along the freeway that stretched towards the MSA border. In the sky, a blur was approaching, grey-silver in colour, sun glinting off its polished surface.

  Its form grew in detail as it drew near, the sound of its engines chasing off the tapping of water droplets and the mirthful tweeting of the birds. The jet was sleek, narrow, and very unlike the one Mikel had been using. It came right towards him, before slowing in a sharp motion, its thrusters rotating down as the jet hovered and stopped in midair, before gently descending towards the tarmac, billowing mist pouring from its underside.

  Mikel stepped away from his own little transport - it wouldn’t be needed any longer - and stood in the open as the jet’s engines mellowed and quietened down. A door on its closest flank slid open, then a short ramp extended. A powerfully built man in a black suit stamped on down, narrow dark eyes regarding Mikel cautiously.

  A familiar smell flooded Mikel’s nose, a final tease that he could do without. He recognised the man - he was one of Martha Mitchell’s bodyguards, a nano-enhanced Raven. Mikel glanced to the cockpit and saw the other of the towering duo, glaring at him through the glass. He shook his head, and snorted as the first man stepped towards him.

  “Mikel,” he said, voice deep and gruff. “We have been ordered to transport you to our mistress.”

  “Yes, I’m fully aware of that, Raven,” said Mikel, his senses tingling, hunger growing. Ravens weren’t his favourite by any means, but they still made good feeding.

  “Hmmmm,” grunted the Raven, drawing out a syringe from his pocket. He brandished it so Mikel could see. “We have instructions to put you out,” he said. “You are not to know the location of our…facility.”

  Mikel’s gaze narrowed on the man, a wariness pinching at him. He’d made the decision to trust Martha Mitchell, however, and so had to follow that through. Still, the idea of willingly giving himself up to be put under was against his programming. Particularly when his escort were an enemy he was genetically designed to hate.

  He hesitated a moment, studying the man’s expression, though didn’t get much from the exercise. He was greeted by a stern glare, clenched jaw, and rigidly tense body posture. That, ironically, helped assuage his concerns. Were this to be a trap, surely the Raven would try to adopt a fairer, more inviting expression as a lure?

  Mikel nodded and stepped towards the man. He was tall, a fair few inches above Mikel, and almost twice as broad, not that that was saying much given Mikel’s slightness of frame. The man stepped to the side and allowed Mikel to pass into the jet. Then he followed him inside; the ramp retracted, door closing.

  Guided by the Raven’s grunts and nods of the head, Mikel took a seat at the back. The interior was plush, all cream leather and polished wood. He eyed the Raven carefully as the brute approached, syringe in hand, tentatively reaching forward to administer the drug. He seemed nervous to be this close to Mikel, a fact that drew a simmering smile onto the nano-vamp’s face.

  Fear. Unmistakable fear.

  “Could you…roll up your arm?” He glanced into Mikel’s cold eyes, then turned them right down again.

  Mikel obliged, drawing up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing cold, white skin, flesh that was almost translucent. He stared right at the Raven’s face as he stooped down, tip of the needle inching for Mikel’s flesh.

  Mikel drew in a final breath. The air was thick with the smell of sweet nanites, mingled with that scent of fear. The needle crept in, and the Raven pressed down, sending the drug into Mikel’s dark blood. He smiled, feeling the drug take quick effect, his fangs finally drawing back.

  His last moments as Mikel, the nano-vamp, came upon him. When he next woke up, he knew - he hoped - he’d do so a very different man.

  28

  Martha Mitchell paced down the corridor in the depths of the Lake Michigan facility, passing through a door and stepping into the central laboratory down on the lowest subaquatic level. Scientists and technicians hurried about at work, the place humming with excitement. These last days and hours had been thrilling for them. Whether here of their own accord, or under the President’s coercion, they remained innovators and creators, one and all. Each worked with relish, their long journey down here beneath the waves bearing the fruit they’d longed to harvest.

  Martha stepped in, feeling conflicted. To one side, at a large bank of monitors, President Pamela Chase stood in conference with Doctor Harold Lang, chief decoder, and several of his subordinates. They were nodding hurriedly, smiling broadly, a swarm of fawning sycophants, desperate for their ruler’s approval.

  How things change, Martha thought, watching on as she approached the group. Pamela was once the shy young thing, just trying to fit in. Now, all bowed to her. It was her world they wanted to fit into.

  Martha continued on, and Pamela noted her arrival. She shooed the scientists away with a wav
e of her hand, and they bowed and stepped back as Pamela moved towards Martha.

  “And?” Pamela asked.

  Martha drew a steadying breath.

  “I’ve just had word from Kurt,” she said. “Mikel has been picked up and is currently on his way here.”

  Pamela nodded.

  “They put him out, I assume?”

  “Yes,” said Martha. “He’s also been restrained for good measure.”

  “Excellent,” beamed Pamela, running a hand through her shoulder length black hair. Martha had already updated her a little earlier on Mikel’s recent experience in Cincinnati, which had been greeted with a mixed reception. Pamela had, of course, hoped for Mikel to wipe out Ragan’s entire crew, and perhaps perish himself in the process. It seemed none of that had happened, though Mikel felt sure that Ragan’s team would no longer be a problem.

  According to his testimony, he’d maimed Clifton Tanner, whatever that meant - Martha didn’t care to hear the details - and had departed with the group under attack by a unit of Crimson Corps soldiers. Martha suspected that would be Captain Quinn, Colonel Slattery’s favoured operative in the field. In addition, a large force of NDSA soldiers, Panthers included, had been bearing down on them.

  It seemed unlikely, then, that Ragan or any of his team will have made it out alive.

  The thought set a dull tone to Martha’s heart. She felt increasingly hollow, the facilitator of such death, and was struggling to lift up the smile that Pamela always demanded to see.

  The President perused her now, as she always did, studying that sour expression. She tutted and shook her head.

  “Now, we’re certain Mikel will comply?” she questioned, frowning. “Perhaps it would be better to just put the wretch down while he’s sleeping.”

  Martha felt a ping of disapproval at the idea. She still didn’t know quite why she felt this loyalty to Mikel. It wasn’t him, per se, but what he represented. Martha had lied and deceived, betrayed people she cared about. Somehow, keeping up her end of the bargain with Mikel was a thread she didn’t want to sever. She didn’t want to lose her grasp on her humanity entirely.