"Yes, Mother."
Sakura ran her hand over her daughter's head, clumsy with the phone. "Are you all right, my Kazuko?"
"Yes, Mother. They scared me, but I will recover."
"Good."
She dialed 9-1-1 and sat in the guest chair, pistol still in hand.
Hospital security broke into the ward three minutes later. She set down the pistol, pushed it out of arm's reach, and spoke to them around the corner. Eventually a black-haired kid in a uniform too large and too wrinkled drew up the courage to step into the room.
Fingers laced on top of her head, she explained the situation twice, and twice again for the police. They arrested her pending an investigation, but cuffed her out of her daughter's sight, a courtesy Sakura admired and appreciated.
Given one phone call, she dialed Janet LaLonde.
* * *
Matt gripped the armrest and looked at white nothing out the window, his stomach unable to settle in the incredible turbulence. The sixty-seater bucked in the driving winds, and the little girl right behind him shrieked in terror, a continuous keening that made the difficult landing downright intolerable.
Her scream took him back to the Atlanta rooftop, as Bravo Squad slaughtered one another with ruthless efficiency in response to the banshee's wail. Sakura had been right, of course. Nobody believed the report she'd kicked upstairs, that they'd defeated a supernatural threat by giving a mummy a jacket, and a possessed girl three states away had woken up in response.
The terrified shrieking intensified as they slid down the runway, the sloppiest landing he'd ever experienced. He turned on his phone before the seatbelt light clicked off, eyes on the screen to keep from glaring at the still-hysterical child. A message popped up from Janet.
Sakura's in jail. 101 4th Street. Kazuko's okay.
Might be an ambush. Call me.
He pulled her up and hit "Send," then shuffled down the aisle with the sweating, praying, grateful throng. Janet briefed him on the situation: all signs pointed to self-defense, and the Olmsted County Sherriff's office would remand Sakura to his custody as a courtesy to the Department of Homeland Security, but as a foreign national she couldn't leave the country and would have to surrender her passport until they completed the investigation.
"So what's this about an ambush?" he asked.
"Sakura said one of the dead guys mentioned you."
"All right. I'll plan accordingly."
Matt picked up his bags and glanced up at the TV hanging from the baggage claim ceiling. The polar vortex covered half the country, with blizzard warnings from the Dakotas to the Carolinas. The boards next to the TV showed flight after flight changed to "Canceled."
"Not like we're going anywhere anyway."
* * *
Marie rolled her eyes. "You're babbling, Steve. Calm down and try again."
Breathless, Steve Palermo gasped into the phone. "They're dead. Ona, Sam, and Dave. Total freaking disaster, man. Bitch just went psycho on them, desperado-style."
"Did they get her daughter?"
Steve didn't reply. Big K held out his hand for the phone. His soft chocolate eyes flashed in anger as she turned away from him and asked again.
"Steve, stay with me here. Did they get her daughter?"
"No, man. She's okay, I mean fucked with cancer and all, but she's okay."
She reiterated for Big K's benefit. "So Ona, Sam, and Dave are dead, and both Kazuko Sakura and Isuji Sakura are still alive. Could you have fucked this up any worse?"
"I wasn't even there. I was the fucking lookout in the goddamned parking lot."
She rolled her eyes again. "Okay, yeah. You did great, Steve. Rowley's on his way there, which is what we wanted. Pete's guys will handle the rest of this, so you can bug out as soon as the storm is clear."
"So I didn't fuck up?"
She lifted her hand and made a "talk-talk-talk" gesture. Big K kept his hand out, his eyes flashing with anger as she kept talking. "No, you didn't fuck up. You did great."
"Really?"
"Really. See you when you get home."
She hung up.
Big K snorted and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned back into his muscular embrace, rubbing her hands down his dark skin. "Mayo Clinic's a total bust. They'll see what they can do on the way out."
He chuckled. "Wasn't a bust no matter how it turns out. All we wanted to do was lead Rowley there, and he took the bait hook, line, and sinker. Now we hit him where it hurts."
She turned around and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's good of you to do this. Most people wouldn't put themselves out there like this for a friend."
"I'm not most people. You don't get payback, folks will walk all over you your whole life. He fucked with Yardley, he gets payback. It's that simple."
"Most people wouldn't see it that way. You're a good friend."
"The best, babe."
Chapter 7
The baby monitor clipped to Monica's waist squawked, a sound more gleeful than plaintive. Monica leaned the broom against the deck and blew a stray wisp of hair out of her face.
"This is ridiculous."
The walkway down to the truck sat under a quarter inch of dense white crap, and she'd swept it off four times already. The snow fell in massive, heavy flakes, what her daddy called "heart attack snow" from his days up north at Fort Drum. The trees rocked in the roaring wind under a gray sky more uniform than she'd ever seen.
And speaking of uniforms, the pair of state policemen parked at the end of the driveway didn't lift a finger to help her.
The Rowleys didn't own a snow shovel. Nobody owned a snow shovel. White Spruce got maybe two inches of snow a year, on a bad year. Maybe a blizzard in January or February a couple times a decade, a few inches over the course of a day.
The forecast predicted sixteen inches in twelve hours. Schools and most businesses had closed in anticipation, and the local news couldn't quite settle on "Snowmageddeon" or "Snowpocalypse".
"C'mon, Ted!"
Ted looked up, his muzzle white, tail a berserk whirlwind. He ran in wide circles, flopped on his side, and looked at her, tongue lolling into the snow.
"In the house, dog. Let's go."
Ted rolled to his feet and galumphed up the stairs to the deck door. She let him in, kicked the snow off her work boots, and stepped inside to the ever-present sound of The Wiggles.
Adam stood in the living room, leaning against the portable baby cage on wobbly legs. He smiled and babbled and shook his hand up and down in what might be a wave.
She crouched down to unlace her boots, but first she waved back, wiggling her fingers. "Hey little brown eyes. Holding down the fort?"
"Da."
Monica smiled, but glanced at the severe weather warning scrolling across the bottom of the screen. "Oh, great, you speak Russian now, little man? Maybe we should have named you Vladimir."
"Da!"
She kicked off her boots, rushed over and swept him into her arms. He reached for the windows and babbled, a string of nonsense that almost resembled real American speech. She looked at the white deck and whitening trees, and rubbed her son's back.
A contentment she'd never felt washed over her, tinged with longing for her husband's company. His job took him away far too often, but it also made their life possible. He loved being the hero, and she loved him for needing to do it, but . . . .
No, they'd had those discussions, time and time again. No buts, no ifs, no could-have-beens. They led a blessed life, and even the horrors of the past year didn't change that. She leaned her head against Adam's soft cheek.
"What do you think? Bed time?"
Adam pouted, as close as he came to crying these days.
"Well, all right. You can stay up a bit. Ain't like we're going anywhere tomorrow anyways."
* * *
Sakura walked out of the cell, her scowl the same as if she'd been slated for execution or had won the lottery. Matt walked next to her as she collected her personal effe
cts—minus her combat knives, now state's evidence—and led her to the rental car, a block away in public parking.
"You're sure she's safe?"
Matt shivered through the insufferable cold, face turned against the biting wind. "Yeah. They've got SWAT crawling all over the building. No one will get within a mile of her."
He gasped in relief as they settled into the comparative warmth of the car. With numb fingers he fired up the engine and cranked the heat. Frigid air blasted him in the face, so he killed the fan to give it a chance to get hot. "This place is insane."
Sakura blew into her cupped hands. "How do you live in this country?"
Matt smiled through a shiver and put the car in gear. "I live in Tennessee. Even with all the snow, White Spruce ain't supposed to drop below twenty-six, and that’s just for a day or two."
A few minutes later he tried the blower, and if not warm, the tepid air didn't make his shivering worse. He made a U-turn into sparse traffic and headed for the Clinic.
City blocks blurred past as the car heated to sane temperatures. Sakura sat still as death, neither speaking nor fidgeting, eyes flicking from mirror to mirror.
With Sakura, Matt tried to avoid anything of a personal nature, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. "Are you all right?"
"There's an SUV following us, two blocks back. Ford, twenty-ten or eleven, three targets."
"Okay." Matt only saw anonymous headlights in the rear-view mirror. He turned left, off-course. Moments later a dark SUV turned behind them. "Care for some ordnance?"
"Yes, please."
"Get to the trunk," Matt said. "I checked some bags, just in case."
She unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled herself into the back. A grunt, then a tearing sound as the false ledge behind the back seats ripped away. She leaned forward and slid the AA-12 combat shotgun between the front seats, then turned back. A moment's stretching, her feet kicking against the back of his seat, and she reemerged with the REC-7 assault rifle.
"You checked these?"
He shrugged. "This is America. With the right permit you can check anything."
She pushed his combat helmet onto his head, then turned away. "They're closing fast. Look for a box."
"Janet, you with me?"
"Loud and clear," she said through his helmet.
"We've got a tail. Contact imminent."
As if on cue, an armored truck trundled out of the next intersection, blocking their path, a man with an assault rifle standing to take aim outside the side door. Matt whipped the steering wheel around and hit the gas, tires shrieking as the car spun. Sakura steadied herself with one hand and whipped around as the car accelerated toward their pursuers.
Confused drivers veered off the road. The SUV kept true.
Matt kept his foot on the pedal. "I can't play chicken with you in the car."
Sakura responded with a burst from the REC-7, shattering Matt's right eardrum in the confined space. The windshield spiderwebbed around a trio of holes. Matt struck it twice with the heel of his palm, bashing the now opaque glass out of his way. He touched his ear, then wiped the blood on his pants.
The SUV skidded sideways. Matt veered around it, processing the blurred image of a driver missing the back of his skull, a man in a black mask groping for the steering wheel. Sakura wheeled around as Matt blew through a red light, fishtailing around for another pass.
The SUV had careened to a halt in the middle of the road.
"Grenades?" Sakura shouted.
Ears ringing, Matt shook his head.
"Right. Checked baggage. Permits." Sakura fired another burst, and another. Men ducked, their fates unknown. The truck screeched up next to the SUV. The side door opened, and boots hit the ground beneath it. Sakura shot the man in the feet, and he fell to the pavement, writhing.
One figure bolted from the car up into the van. Hands grabbed the wounded man and the truck jerked forward, inertia closing the door.
The truck leapt the curb at the corner, skidded over the sidewalk and down the embankment, headed for the expressway. Sakura squeezed back into shotgun. Matt hit the gas, tires spraying muddy snow behind them. Sakura leaned out the window as the truck came back into view. Her REC-7 chattered as the car lurched over the curb, and her shots went high.
The truck turned left into light oncoming traffic.
"Janet," Matt said, "he's going south!"
"Pursuit in progress," Janet said. "52 southbound. Request air support, over."
Matt gunned the gas, his heart catching as they leapt the embankment. They hit the pavement in a skid, straightened, and shot after the truck. Oncoming headlights swerved to the side of the road as snow pelted his visor. His neck burned in the relentless wind beneath his helmet.
Sakura jammed another magazine home and took aim. She swore as the tires slipped on a chunk of slush, the lurch half-throwing her out of the car. She lodged herself in the window with her legs, then slithered most of the way back into the car. "Get closer!"
"I'm trying," Matt said, his foot on the floor. The tires slipped every time they transitioned from snow to pavement and back, jerking the car into a series of erratic skids. They closed in on the truck from the left-hand side.
Sakura half-stood, peering over the top of the car, and opened fire.
A man in a ski mask leaned out the passenger seat window and bullets peppered the front of their car.
Sakura responded with a short burst.
The man slumped. A rifle emerged from the back door, and Matt guided the car behind a plow. Shots pinged off the massive blade and the driver swerved.
Matt braked hard, and the plow rebounded off of the jersey wall. Matt cut left and hit the accelerator, zipping around the huge yellow vehicle, crossing two lanes of traffic and sliding across the snow-covered median before swerving back.
Behind him the plow jackknifed but didn't tip, and traffic screeched to a halt behind it.
"We got them," Matt said as they approached the truck.
Something small fell from the truck's rear window and tumbled across the slushy asphalt. As Matt veered around it, it exploded. Shrapnel peppered his face as the side window shattered. The tires held.
"Steady!" Sakura said.
Matt spared her a glance. Red leaked into his left eye, half-blinding him, and his head hurt. Something had punched straight through his helmet, but had slowed enough to not kill him. "Like old times, yeah?"
"Shut up and drive."
An air horn sounded as he dodged a tractor trailer. Behind him, it jackknifed and slid. He veered right and approached the armored truck. Another grenade clattered out the rear door, bouncing to the curb before detonating.
"Chopper en route," Janet said. "ETA one minute. State Tactical responding."
Sakura slipped inside, traded her rifle for Matt's AA-12, and took aim.
She pulled the trigger.
The back door rocked as another grenade tumbled out. Matt drove right over it. It exploded behind them, pinging off the back of the car.
The truck lurched away from them and three more grenades tumbled out.
Matt slammed on the brakes, sliding haphazardly through the slush. Inertia carried the grenades forward and they detonated in front of the car, rocking his head back into the headrest.
Sakura grunted as gunfire scattered off of the hood.
"You okay?" Matt asked. He couldn't see out of his left eye. Blood drenched his face.
"Yes," Sakura said, her voice flat. "Hurts, though." She returned fire as the truck pulled away. Two microgrenades detonated under the vehicle, to no effect. "Solid tires."
Black smoke rose from the front of the car as Matt accelerated again. "Where's my chopper?"
"Any time," Janet replied. "SWAT is setting up a roadblock a mile or so up."
Flames licked the underside of the hood. Matt kept his foot on the gas and the motor groaned.
The grenadier's head appeared in the window again.
"Kill him, please," Matt said.
The State Police helicopter buzzed less than fifty feet overhead, a sniper in the door. "Take out the driver," Matt said into his helmet.
Janet repeated the order.
"Affirmative," replied a male voice. "I've got him."
A burst of light erupted from the truck. A trail of smoke circled right and upward and contacted the helicopter. Shrapnel rained down as the burning fuselage fell from the sky right in front of them.
Matt slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel sideways. Sakura ducked back into the car as they skidded into the tumbling wreckage with a deafening crunch.
The intense heat ignited Matt's sleeve.
"OUT! OUT!" he yelled. His door jammed against the fuselage, he batted at his shirt with his other hand. Sakura limped out as he unbuckled, then she half-dragged him across the seat to the asphalt. They struggled away from the burning mess and dropped to the ground.
Matt tore off his helmet, reached up, and pulled a twisted chunk of metal from just above his temple. It came away with a wet slurp, and blood spurted from the wound. He put a hand over it. The gas leaking from the car ignited in a whoosh of black smoke. Matt turned his face away from the heat.
He examined Sakura in the dying light. A dark splotch stained her pants on her right thigh. He leaned into his helmet without putting it back on. "We need a medic."
"Ambulances en route." Janet's voice carried through the empty space.
Sakura grabbed Matt's head and wiped away a smear of blood with her sleeve. "Through and through. I'll be fine." She patted his cheek. "So will you."
"The truck?" Matt asked. More blood trickled down his face, undoing much of Sakura's kindness.
"No sign of them at the roadblock, Matt." Janet sighed.
He stared at the flames as they flickered in the slushy mess.
"Well, shit."
* * *
Monica slurped her hot chocolate and stared out at the never-ending white surrounding the house. Trees sagged under the weight, their trunks half-visible through the deluge. She patted Adam's back and let out the mother of all sighs.
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