However, in my hands, I did carry the rag doll, Ragged-Altered-Annie, its red string hair bobbed up and down with my every step. Black button eyes stared blankly up at me. When I reached the sidewalk I quickly ducked down the alley that separated Resden from a much smaller building. The alley smelled of rotting garbage and biological waste. From London’s hand-drawn map inscribed on the palm of my hand I maneuvered through the waste to a steel side door, a steel side door guarded by an impenetrable lock.
But I had a key or at least Quinn’s ID. Swiping the card, I crossed my fingers and prayed Resden hadn’t inactivated it. Yet. When the light flashed from red to green, I nearly sang with relief. I took a second to calm my racing heart and slowly opened the door. No alarm sounded. So far London’s intel was dead-on, but I still didn’t fully trust the beauty queen.
Stay alive, Quinn, I begged.
I slipped one of the nine millimeters from underneath my t-shirt and step inside Resden. Before I’d cleared the doorway, someone grabbed my arm, pulling me backward into the sunlight. I landed hard on my ass in the center of the alley. Agent Black dressed all in black stood over me, looking as dangerous as he had when we first met. My jade eyes reflected off the black lens of his wrap-around sunglasses.
“Not so tough now,” he said, kicking the gun from my hand before I could get off a shot. Two of my knuckles burst under the assault, sending sharp pains up my arm. Thankfully numbness quickly set in. “Come on, girl.” He sent a kick into my ribs. “Show me what you got.”
Stars exploded behind my eyes hurtling me to unconsciousness. I considered throwing up, but felt the effort might hurt too much. Instead I sucked in an unsteady breath and leapt to my feet. Black backed up a step and grinned.
“Now that’s more like it.” He cracked his knuckles. Pop. Pop. Pop. The sound sent a shiver up my spine.
I glanced at my gun, which lay a few feet away. Its shiny surface mocked me. This was gonna hurt. With a final glance of longing at the cold metal I threw my leg out in a sweep kick. The blow smashed into his calf, knocking him back. I followed the kick with a knife-edge fist into the throat, but he twisted, rendering the punch ineffective.
“Good,” he said. “But not good enough, sweetheart.”
Grabbing for my arm, he slammed me against the wall. My forehead smacked the brick, opening a gash over my right eye. Blood poured from the wound, blinding me. The agent took advantage of my stupor and thrust my body toward his in an old-fashioned fairy-wrestler clothesline move.
I ducked, missing his elbow to my thorax, but my shoulder paid the price. It sprung from its socket with a loud pop and my vision went grey. My stomach followed suit. I puked on the agent’s shoes. Hell, if I couldn’t beat’em, they’d sure as heck have a dry cleaning bill to remember.
“Bitch.” He grabbed a clump of my hair and spun me to the ground. I didn’t fight. The concrete seemed like the perfect place to sleep off the millions of sharp pains rocketing through my body. Or so it seemed until agent-asshole decided to the winner went my spoils. He grabbed the waistband of my jeans and pulled. Brass buttons flew in various directions.
I yelped as his sweaty hand touched the flesh above my pubic bone. No fucking way, I thought as I struggled to free myself from his hold. I wasn’t a victim to lay passively back. Nope, if he wanted my body, he’d pay the price with his life.
Wedging my knee into his thigh I pushed, hoping to send his nuts exploding through the top of his head. No such luck. His fist smashed into the side of my head. I spit out a mouthful of blood and resumed my fight. I fought with every dirty trick I had, but nothing deterred him from his assault.
He yanked my knees apart and fumbled with his zipper.
“No,” I screamed.
Pop.
Pop.
Gunfire exploded in the alley. Agent Black fell forward, crushing me to the ground underneath him. The warmth of blood oozed over me smelling of copper and death. Rolling out from underneath him I kicked his lifeless body aside and struggled to sit up, to breathe. London stood half out of the sewer, my shiny nine-millimeter in her shaking hand. Neither of us said a word as I crawled toward her. We sat in silence for a few seconds before I took the weapon from her limp wrist. I nodded once, and she slipped back into the sewer.
Wiping a stream of blood from my eyes I glanced at the dead agent and grinned. “Sometimes, Agent Black, it’s better to be lucky than good.”
Chapter 37
In the darkened corridor of Resden I consulted the map on my hand one more time, feeling much more faith in it, and London than I had an hour ago. Her willingness to kill to save my ass had significantly changed my outlook. As for the rest of my semi-hazy plan, I had little faith that: 1) it would work, and 2) either Quinn or I would survive it. But a little faith beat total destruction of mutants everywhere, right? So I shuffled onward, my destination, according to the map, just four short floors away.
Command Central, as London called it, was located on the fourth floor next to the west fire exit. I pulled Quinn’s ID out once again, running the strip through the lock on the steel fire door that led to the stairwell. Resden’s mistrust of their employees bordered on obsessive. Every door had a lock. Every lock a key.
I climbed the four flights of stairs wincing with each step. My cells seemed slow to heal as if the human world was negatively effecting my regeneration. Or maybe it was the plague. Either way my body felt much like Ragged-Altered-Annie. Battered, worn, and unloved. But like the threadbare toy each ache served a purpose. I shook the rag doll, listening for the telltale ping of the tiny microprocessor inside booting up.
Ping.
The fluorescent safety lights lining the hallway flickered and Ragged-Altered-Annie began to hum.
Time to play.
When I reached the fourth floor I took a few seconds to catch my breath and calm my fear. Fear was good. It made me strong. But it could also get me killed. After my endorphins settled, I used Quinn’s ID to open the fourth floor fire door. The hallway appeared empty, but I wasn’t fooled. Behind the closed door of Command Central they waited. Agents and Resden security. Men and women who’d waited all their lives for the chance to destroy a mutant.
Why keep them waiting?
I stepped into the corridor, moving fast and keeping to the shadows. Nobody’s microprocessing device inside the doll worked its magic, jamming all electronic frequencies within a hundred feet, rendering Resden’s electronic security useless, as I slipped past. Even if an agent spotted me they couldn’t leave the room, not unless I wanted them to. The doll had also jammed the electronic door locks. All around me lights flickered. Power rushed through me. I felt like Zeus with a stack of lightning bolts.
At the end of the corridor a half-empty box sat. A sign stapled to the front read: Toys for Tots (No Mutant Toys Accepted). I’d reached my destination. With one last squeeze of Ragged-Altered-Annie I tossed her headlong into the bin. It would take the HOA hours to find her and disable the jamming device.
Without electronic eyes and ears Resden’s security consisted of armed guards sweeping the corridors and hallways, but little else. Simple military mentality: Use force to achieve your objective. Overwhelm your enemy by sheer numbers. It had worked before. But us mutants had learned a trick or two from the first mutant war.
I glanced at the watch strung around my neck. Fifteen minutes to go. I had to find Quinn and fast. According to London Quinn was being held in one of the storage rooms on the same floor as the lab. The only way to access it was via the bank of elevators on my right. I headed for the elevators, keeping alert and ready. The sheen of my nine-millimeter against my palm reassured me somewhat as I stabbed the call button with the barrel.
I held my breath as the elevator doors slowly opened, revealing the glass and chrome interior, and nothing else. No agents. No armed guards. I stepped inside, pressed number 40 and grinned as the elevator shot upward through the central nervous system of Resden.
My emotions ran the gauntlet from the s
ick rush of excitement at the upcoming battle, to desperation to save Quinn and the rest of mutantity, to absolute terror. What if Quinn said no? What if, even after his capture, he still wanted to be human? Could I convince him to help me? The cold alloy in my gun hand and my heart said yes. But the rest of me had doubts.
Without judgment, emotion, or picking sides in this war, a computerized voice announced my arrival on the 40th floor. The doors whooshed open, and nobody shot at me.
Fuck.
So far this rescue was much too easy. And that made me nervous.
“There she is,” yelled a man dressed in a Resden uniform. A barrage of gunfire followed.
That’s better.
I ducked for cover, stabbing my index finger into the close doors button again and again. Behind me bullets shattered the glass panels and dimpled the steel frame of the elevator. Much too slowly the elevator doors closed, protecting me from another volley of shots. The elevator began to rise. “You missed,” I said into the empty, bullet-riddled elevator. “Better luck next time.” An alarm sounded and the elevator shuttered to a halt.
Shit. I’d spoke too soon.
My heart pounded in my chest. I’d never liked closed-in spaces. Not since sixth grade when a group of bigger mutated kids had locked me inside a walk-in freezer. I nearly froze to death, but Quinn had rescued me.
Now it was my turn to return the favor.
Taking a calming breath I scanned the dark interior of the elevator. The only way out was a trapdoor about two feet above my head. I tried jumping for it, but missed by a couple of inches, busting my trigger finger in the process.
I glanced at the gold hand railing that circled the elevator. It looked sturdy enough. Only one way to find out for sure. I jammed the heel of my boot against the railing and launched my body toward the trapdoor. It refused to budge. Damn Redsen, Arthur, and the guy that invented elevators. I didn’t have time for this.
The stench of gun smoke and fear seeped into the elevator. Resden’s guards weren’t highly trained soldiers or agents for that matter. Hell by my lack of bullet wounds I doubted the guards had ever fired their weapons until today.
“Open that door,” one of the guards said. “Hurry.”
Why the rush? I wondered, checking my weapon. Two rounds left. Where these drones in a hurry to die? I sure as hell wasn’t. Killing might seem glamorous to teenage boys like these, but this wasn’t a video game. In a real battle gunfire hurt your ears and stung your eyes. Shell casings flew and confusion reigned. Terror clogged your heart. And if you were lucky you survived the friendly fire of your teammates. Maybe even get off a shot or two. It wasn’t like Cyborg 8. Not a ricen bomb or unicorn in sight. I slid a fresh clip into my nine-millimeter and flexed my broken finger.
Too bad too because right about now I could really use a restart button.
Chapter 38
Keeping my weapon trained on the doors, I waited, my heart fluttering inside my chest. At the first crack of light through the steel doors I fired. The answering scream and muffled thud suggested I’d hit something.
Good.
After my initial shot an eerie silence filled the elevator. Minutes ticked by. Minutes I didn’t have. I glanced at the timepiece around my neck and sighed. Five minutes until the first bomb exploded.
Four and a half.
Four minutes.
Somehow as I watched time slip away it seemed to slow, as did the rapid beat of my heart. My sense of urgency faded and my limbs relaxed. Covering a yawn, I blinked, forcing my eyelids to stay open. My body felt heavy, leaden. But in a nice way, like a warm bath or hug. I wanted to snuggle up, close my eyes, and dream of kitty-rats.
What the fuck?
“Shit,” I said, sniffing the sweet smell swirling around me. Nitrous oxide. The guards were pumping laughing gas into the elevator shaft. The thought struck me funny, and I laughed, but quickly sobered.
I had to get out of here.
Pressing my shirt over my mouth I dug my heels into the hand railing once more and sprung for the trapdoor, this time with true desperation, and a giggle.
Much to my surprise the door popped open.
I jumped again, this time catching the edge of the opening with my freshly healed finger. I pulled myself up, giving thanks to every gnome, fairy, or elf who’d ever put up a fight. Without them I wouldn’t have had the strength to heft myself through the trapdoor to freedom.
Or semi-freedom at least.
I was still trapped inside the elevator shaft, but I no longer found it nearly as humorous. My eyes searched the shadows for any means of escape, finding only one, and not a good option at all. My escape route consisted of four dangling cables and the floor above. With a glance down I weighed the odds of a forty-story fall versus a head full of laughing gas and three armed guards. The cables won out, but just barely.
I grabbed the closest cable and began my ascent to the floor overhead. The plastic dug into my skin, blistering my tender flesh. I tried to remember high school, and Mr. Devers gym class rope technique, but nothing came to mind. I knew high school had been a waste of time. This proved it. Gym and Algebra. Neither worked as promised. If I survived my death-defying climb and Quinn’s rescue I was going to complain to the school board.
Before I reached the safety of the forty-first floor my first timed explosion detonated, shaking the foundation of Resden and deafening me. Heat shimmered through the elevator shaft.
I glanced down, preparing to fry like a Fey-sucker in a bug zapper, but only a small plume of smoke appeared below me. A dozen or so more alarms shrieked in response to the explosion but inside my ruptured ears, it sounded like the mutant teacher from Charlie Brown.
Waaa-waa-waa.
Shaking my head to clear the annoying buzz I struggled to climb the rest of the way up to the forty-first floor. When I finally reached it, I released the cable and leapt for the small steel beam between the elevator shaft and the steel doors. My heels landed on the edge, teetering back and forth for a few seconds. The end of my life flashed before my eyes filled with the bruised faces of garden gnomes and angry fairies. If I survived, I’d seek a more suitable profession. Maybe fashion model or crash test mutant.
My body steadied and I forgot all about the pissed off gnomes and fairies. Since, I hadn’t died yet saving Quinn once again became my primary focus. The second bomb would explode in ten more minutes. This one was much closer and more powerful than the first.
Pulling my combat knife from the tongue of my boot, I stabbed the steel doors that separated me from floor 41 and pushed with every ounce of strength left in my shaking arms. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging my already inflamed corneas. I stopped long enough to wipe the perspiration from my brow and curse my lack of upper body strength in four different languages.
Sometimes I hated being a girl.
Like a virgin on prom night, after a lot of grunts and an array of strained muscles, I finally achieved my objective. The doors popped open and I stumbled inside, landing face down on the plush carpet of the research wing of Resden Enterprise.
Grabbing the nearest doorknob for support, I hauled myself up, coming face to face with the stuff of nightmares. A nameplate with shiny gold letters that spelled out my worst fears:
London Resden-West
Head of Mutant Research
Son-of a bitch.
Chapter 39
That bitch.
Who the hell was she? A long lost cousin? A wayward blood tie from the mutant war days? As far as I knew the Resden line died with me, but what if that wasn’t true? What would happen if Arthur had another heir? With me out of the picture would London inherit Resden? Was that her plan all along? Had she sent me into Resden to die, but not before I killed the one man standing in the way of her succession? Dear old Grandpa. As plans went I had to admit it was a damn good one.
I glanced down at the inky map outlined on my palm and gave a small laugh. Black smears like running clumps of Tammy Fey-Sucker Baker mascara circled m
y hand. Apparently Resden could invent one hell of a killer virus, but it failed in the endeavor to develop a sweat-proof marker.
I shrugged. Losing the map didn’t bother me. It was likely bullshit anyway. If Quinn was inside Resden I’d find him. If not, I’d blow the place apart and hope to hell the vaccine went with it. Let’s see how London liked inheriting a pile of rubble.
Scanning the empty hallway I noted a large metal door at the end. Someone at Resden didn’t want the average mutated joe to know what secrets lied behind door number 1. Not only was the door solid steel, but the lock was the stuff of lockpicking nightmares. Even the nimblest of fingered mutants couldn’t break it. I smiled, yanking my only grenade from the pocket of my jeans.
Why bother with finesse at this stage?
I pulled the pin from the grenade, released the handle, and threw it at the steel door. Five and a half seconds later a barrage of metal projectiles and steel door bits flew my way. I ducked down, shielding my eyes with my forearms. Chunks of skin splintered off my body, like flay of Indeara, but the pain quickly dissipated.
Glancing down I checked for internal organ damage. Nothing. Like a mutant kitty I had nine hundred lives. At least that’s what I told myself every time I did something stupid, like tossing a grenade at a metal door.
Once the smoke cleared at the end of the corridor my eyes focused on the shredded bodies of three agents, their dark blue suits and sunglasses ripped to pieces by the blast. I stepped through what used to be a solid door, fanning the smoke from my eyes, and into a room bigger than my entire apartment complex. Large metal machines and computer systems filled the darkened space. It looked almost like a mechanical graveyard complete with the skeletons of the dead and dying. A PC hummed, coughed, and sputtered in front of me before the screen winked out. I stepped around its carcass, searching the shadows for any sign of Quinn or the mutant vaccine.
The Body Dwellers Page 14
