Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)

by David G. McDaniel

  She couldn’t wait to see them smacked around.

  Zac added: “Lorenzo is not happy with what he’s being told.”

  Jess watched Lorenzo the most. He was, indeed, having an unpleasant conversation on his cell.

  She scanned the wider area, the whole of the farm property and surrounding woods. They could risk waiting and follow him to wherever he went next, but maybe they should take down everyone right now. Brutally if needed. Nab Lorenzo, see what else they could find there at this little farm hideaway then get him out of there—there was no way anyone would be able to follow as Zac carried them back over the mountains. Take Lorenzo, get back to the fighter and get this whole mission back on track.

  “I think we have to nab him,” she said. “Before something else changes. They’re going to bolt again and we might lose him this time.”

  “Agreed.”

  Jess looked up at Zac as he in turn studied their targets. She looked back at Lorenzo. “Go in fast,” she said. “No slow approach. I’d say take them all down so no one can follow. I don’t care if you kill them if you have to.” She didn’t, really. She hoped Zac didn’t. “Get Lorenzo, come back and get me. We’ll see what else we can find here then get the hell out of here.”

  “Got it.” And he rose to go. On impulse she stopped him with a hand on his arm. Looked at him, a little sheepishly, but he got her intent. He leaned in and gave her a kiss, held close and said: “This won’t take long.”

  She nodded. He stepped back and stood.

  And this time, giving the Bok no time to even become aware of his presence, he was among them. Crashing from the forest in one move, leaving her safely far behind, leaping across the distance as only he could, upon the first Bok before anyone saw him, leaned in and braced for the same sort of telekinetic punch they’d used before.

  None came.

  Crack! the sound of his fist hitting the first guy’s head echoed sharply across the field. That guy went flying. After seeing Zac punch multi-ton armored units around like they were toys Jess wondered what sort of restraint it took to punch a man and not vaporize his skull, but somehow Zac did it. With a small spray of blood the Bok went flying backwards.

  Despite the “gentleness” of the punch, however, she was quite certain he was dead.

  They certainly didn’t reckon on Zac.

  Lorenzo yelled. Fear in it. Others yelled, suddenly in action, not knowing in those first few instants what they were dealing with. Zac hit and probably killed the next guy. Out of nowhere here was the man from the club, moving like a jacked-up superhero, two of their number already on the ground.

  Crack! another went tumbling, out cold or dead. Crack! another, Zac a blur as he skidded and lunged, cutting back and forth across the randomly placed group that was now dispersing as they dove for cover or took up useless fighting stances. Jess could see Zac was reining himself in with the strikes, probably not thinking it smart to kill all of them.

  Crack!

  But Lorenzo saw what was happening.

  Whooom! He threw out his hands, just as he had before, knocking Zac flying. As Zac was leaping for another Bok, eyes not even on Lorenzo, the force came at his back and hurled him tumbling away on the same trajectory, completely missing his target. Jess felt a ripple in the air from the blast—even from that far away.

  Whatever Lorenzo did at the club was no fluke. His power was real.

  But Zac gained his footing as the others shouted, two of them leaping at him as he oriented himself, then another, throwing out their hands in similar fashion to Lorenzo and knocking Zac back before he could get set.

  And there was the answer.

  The other Bok could do what Lorenzo did.

  Of a sudden she heard a throaty Vrrrmmm! as an engine caught. She jerked and saw Lorenzo was in his car.

  No!

  Things were moving too fast. She heard the car grind as he slammed it into gear and was off, gravel spitting, the Lamborghini fishtailing for traction in the soft yard, whipping away in an expanding tail of dirt and grass that shot out over the melee behind him, onto the long driveway, accelerating impossibly fast on the bad surface, flying down the sloping path to the mountain road below …

  Crack! the sound of another skull cracking. The rest of the Bok, still four standing she could see, maybe more out of sight—she hadn’t done a proper headcount before all this started—surrounded Zac, the fifth going down hard as Zac hammered him to the ground. She cringed as the body hit in a solid thump of dirt and gore.

  That one was dead for sure. Zac was frustrated, she could tell, and in the face of their unusual resistance his restraint was questionable. No Bok would live through this morning. She could see that now.

  Zac was anchoring himself as best he could, but they were jumping around in exaggerated karate-like motions; creating a scene that had become brutal and ultra-violent fast. Zac was trying, but he could no longer control this the way he wanted. Even now, distracted by the loud, hurried departure of Lorenzo—she could see the indecision in his face, even at that range, not knowing whether to give chase or stay and make sure she was safe—the small group took advantage and shoved him with invisible walls of force. All four of them at once. His feet dug in, raking gouges as he was pushed backward, and before they could deliver another he was at one of them with a leap and that man went down in a bloody spray.

  Definitely dead.

  “Your friend is really something.”

  Jess screamed. Fell to her left; scrambled to get away from the girl standing suddenly right beside her. Where did she come from?!

  “The Old Guard is saying you’re the one,” the girl went on, a sneer of confidence on her face. Having a conversation as if she hadn’t just stopped Jessica’s heart cold. It was Merci, the girl from the club. Matrix-style braids, snaked and tied in loops that stood out from her head. She didn’t immediately close the distance between them as Jess stumbled backward and fell. “Lorenzo doesn’t believe it,” she said. “Neither do I.”

  Now she stepped closer and Jess scurried, on her palms and heels, slipping, trying to get away but hampered by the underbrush.

  The girl shook her head, pretending disappointment.

  “You’re weak.”

  Jess found her footing and ran. Out of the woods, around the back of the farmhouse. As she hit the grass at a sprint she caught a glimpse of Zac swatting the Bok like flies—there were more, it turned out. More than they thought. Zac was slowed by their ability to push back but Jess had no time to consider it, fleeing at full speed and desperate to find her way clear. At once terrified beyond reason and humiliated to be running like a child. But the terror was winning this battle and she was on it full bore, heels kicking out behind her as she flew. Out of the edge of her tunnel vision she saw Zac grab a yellow Ferrari and flip it over on top of his assailants; thought she heard gunshots; then she was around the back of the farmhouse and heading for the other end, past the pond, looking frantically for a place to hide …

  Whoooom! a tingle ripped up her spine and the blast sent her tumbling to the side, the world a sudden blur as she left her feet and went hurtling through the air …

  Splash! she hit the surface of the pond and went under.

  It wasn’t deep but she struggled to get her bearings, the force of the blast completely disorienting. Cold water was up her nose, everything a dark haze as she flailed about, trying to feel the bottom. She found it with one hand, twisted hard to the side, got a foot down, then the other, pushed off and stood. Her head surged above the surface and she took a gasping breath of air.

  Then a splash beside her as the girl leapt in, Jess still trying to blink away the water enough to see, and the girl had a handful of her long hair right at the scalp and was jerking back. Jess cried out sharply in pain.

  “Who is he!” the girl was demanding, yelling right in her ear. And as Jess winced, squinting hard against the sting, she vowed not to scream again. She would not give this bitch the satisfaction.

 
“Who’s your friend!” the girl thrashed her head. Jess tried to resist but couldn’t. The girl was not much bigger but seemed stronger somehow. Vaguely she heard yells on the other side of the farmhouse, the sounds of the fight.

  Zac! She wanted to call to him, but he was completely occupied with his own struggle.

  It was just her and the girl.

  “You may not be special,” the girl said with false calm, “but he is. How does he move like that?”

  Jess grunted behind clinched teeth, refusing to speak. Then, unexpectedly, the girl shoved her head forward, plunging it beneath the water. Jess thrashed, panicking, trying in vain to break the surface so she could breathe. She knew the thrashing would only shorten whatever air she had in her lungs—she hadn’t even had a chance to take a gulp before the girl pushed her under—but reason played no part in this. She wanted oxygen. Now.

  The girl yanked her clear. Jess swayed in her tightly clinched grip, gasping hard, scalp aching where the girl squeezed the handful of her hair like a vice.

  She grated: “Tell me who he is! Where is he from?”

  Jess didn’t know why she said it: “Go to hell.”

  And she was back under. Freaking. Knowing what it meant to die. The girl held her; Jess tried to kick, tried to sweep her legs, to use anything she knew to bring her down, to loosen her grip, but the girl was impossibly strong and Jess could do nothing.

  She was about to drown.

  Then her head was back above the water, the girl was saying something Jess couldn’t hear behind the pounding in her ears, red rage rushing to cloud her watery vision as fresh oxygen rushed to fill her depleted cells and …

  Something snapped.

  With a roar that boomed in the air—from deep within her lungs though she scarcely knew she made it—she surged from imminent death to that other place. That other Jessica. In the same instant she squatted and spun, hair twisting painfully in the girl’s grip, jabbed an arm upward in a single lightning move whap! and had her assailant firmly by the throat. A sudden, furious action, palm open and grabbing the girl’s neck in a thundering, wet smack. It happened so fast she had it before the girl could throw up anything in defense. It happened so fast Jess herself didn’t even know what she was doing until it was done. In reaction the girl released her hair, both hands coming for hers.

  Too late.

  Jess no longer cared about hair. This wasn’t about getting free. This attack was no threat, no ploy to get the girl to stop what she was doing. This was no slow choke. This was the killing blow. One contiguous, determined move, full malice behind it, full intent, hand jamming into the girl’s neck as hard as she possibly could and continuing, thrusting all the way to the spine as her fist clinched, gripping in a bloodlust of sudden power, one goal in mind and the absolute decision to do it:

  Kill.

  Even as the girl’s hands reached Jessica’s wrist her grip was closing as hard as it could, as hard as it possibly ever could—a squeeze so filled with rage the girl’s throat collapsed instantly in her grasp, fingers closing and digging in, yanking free like grabbing a handful of dough, pulling away with a ferocious jerk beyond any physical power she should possess, skin ripping, tendons and ligaments fighting to hold things in place—to no avail. Whether a normal human could’ve achieved something so extreme mattered little. Jess was not normal in that moment and this girl was about to die.

  It was over in an instant. The girl’s eyes so wide by now that Jess thought they would pop from her head, hands grasping at the torn, bloody gash where her throat used to be, staring at her killer in mute horror. Staring at her own throat, which was now right there in front of her, where it most definitely should not be, held firmly in Jessica’s grip. The gasping became feeble, a bloody, gurgling sound that escaped the bloody hole that was once a neck, and with a stagger and a few more impotent flails of her arms Merci, poor Merci, fell to the side. Sploosh. Her body slipped beneath the water and sank, floating just below the surface, clouds of blood billowing from the ragged gash, thickly, like deep red food coloring, staining the water in a swirling cloud of death. Lapping gently into Jessica.

  In no time she was standing in a pool of it.

  She blinked. Looked at her still outstretched hand, gripping the bloody pound of flesh, purple-grey, tubes and veins, little chunks of arteries and pale white skin …

  She tossed the lumpy mess into the pond.

  Staring at her blood-soaked hand.

  At the blood in the water all around.

  Soon she noticed the sounds of fighting had stopped. Everything on the farm was quiet. Just an abandoned old farmhouse, high on the mountain, a breeze blowing gently, morning sun shining warmly on a pleasant day, not a soul making a noise.

  Slowly she turned. Little ripples of sound broke the silence as the water splashed red against her skin. And there, standing on the shore, was Zac. Watching her, clothes torn, flecks of blood on his own skin, a look of disbelief on his face. Had he seen what she just did?

  He must’ve.

  Her dress was shredded; wet, black tatters clinging to her. Whatever possessed her, whatever power, whatever impulse drove her to do what she’d just done was fading. She could feel a retch building.

  She shuddered. All at once. Shook violently for a second, so hard she splashed the water; got it under control and stood staring at him, little shivers continuing to wrack her. Wondering how long she could maintain.

  Wondering how long until she fell completely apart.

  Zac, too, looked as if he was trying to come to grips with what had happened.

  “I killed them,” he said. “All of them.”

  But that wasn’t what shocked him. Zac had killed before. Many times. His shock came not from the murder of the Bok. His shock came from this. He did see what she’d done, and …

  It shook him.

  She looked at her bloody hand, then back at him.

  “I had to,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

  She stared at him.

  Fading fast.

  CHAPTER 36: HEALING

  “There must be something,” Bianca paced at the front of the bridge, near the edge of the domed view screen, alternately glancing at the screen-in-screen displays showing different overhead views of the Earth’s surface and directly at the Earth below, peering hard at the Spanish peninsula, bright in the fresh morning sun. The shadow-line of sunrise curved far out in the Atlantic, inching slowly across the ocean toward America.

  She and Nani had grown more and more frustrated as they failed to turn the image of Jess and Zac into any real leads. The Project had decided to go silent, no more info available through those channels. The last word was that they’d captured one of the Bok, not Lorenzo, and were laying low, no doubt trying to make a plan of their own. Hours after the incident the police had no more reports on any deaths or arrests, which at least meant Jess was probably still alive.

  Bianca stared vacantly at the panoramic domed screen, a spectacular view that was no longer stunning in the least. No more magic in it. Especially not now. Just the Earth, stretching all the way side to side. Huge. Impossible to see every detail.

  So huge.

  Never had that fact hit home more than now.

  Jess could be anywhere.

  Among the other police reports was the report of a theft, a motorcycle, and she was convinced it was the one taken by Zac and Jess. Frustratingly no details were yet available; the police on the scene had so many more important bits of information to file there was nothing yet in the records on that one. If Nani could just get the owner’s name or the info on the bike registry or anything, maybe she could use that to do something.

  Maybe.

  “There must be something,” Bianca repeated in the tense silence.

  “I’m looking!” Nani snapped. She looked immediately apologetic. “I’m looking, ok?”

  “I know,” Bianca tried to suffuse a bit of calm into the bridge. “I’m just thinking out loud. We’re doing everything we c
an. I know.”

  “They’re both smart,” said Nani. “Zac has incredible strength. Between them …” she shook her head. “They’ll either go back to the fighter, or they’ll turn up or get our attention somehow. Personally I think they’re chasing Lorenzo. It hasn’t been that long. I expect them to show up any time, ready for Satori to pick them up and get back here to us. We may be worrying for nothing.”

  Bianca hoped she was right.

  * *

  Jess couldn’t get the last stains of blood from her palm. She scrubbed and scrubbed in the running water, checking her killing hand again and again. No matter how she scrubbed … she couldn’t get it clean. Either hand.

  Couldn’t make them stop shaking.

  Somewhere upstairs Zac ran a hot bath, looking for clothes, looking for towels, claiming she needed to clean off, needed to dry off. Needed to rest.

  She just wanted to wash away these damn stains.

  The water ran steady from the old iron faucet, over her hands and into the deep, chipped, porcelain sink; a lulling sound, filling the quiet emptiness of the abandoned farmhouse, failing utterly to block the images of the bloody massacre laying outside.

  She looked up, into the dusty mirror on the wall over the faucet. Into her own face.

  The face of a killer.

  Her hair was a wet mess, tangled about her head. Strands nearly covered one eye. She didn’t push them away. Didn’t care. Water dripped slowly down her chin; her skin itched but she didn’t scratch. Just stood there, absorbing her own image, seeing someone familiar yet … not. A girl who felt no regret. A girl who felt only an aching numbness, so deep, so thorough … she wondered if she might care about anything ever again. How could she?

  Most of her makeup was gone, from the pond, from the race through the night … from everything. Her mouth hung partly open, still damp, bottom lip trembling. She thought to wash away the rest, or wipe her lips with the back of her hand. Instead she just let them hang, mouth open, lips heavy, staring back at herself, hair in her eye, across her cheek, water running …