Sloan wanted to deny knowledge of the testing on the newest of metahumans, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to these people. Before she could confess, she was interrupted.
“We don’t have time to discuss it now,” Meg growled. She stepped back, positioning herself so she had a commanding view of the metahumans in the passageway.
Instinctively, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, easing her calming empath vibrations across the group. Like an invisible cooling breeze on a suffocating hot summer day, Meg watched as everybody raised their faces and breathed the strength she sent coursing through them. Even through the eerie glow of the red emergency lights, Meg could see her gift working to relax the tension in their bodies and focus in their eyes.
Sloan stood in awe, never having experienced Meg’s empath skills. “What was that?” her voice a breathy daze. A warm, sweet breath spoke directly into her ear. “Don’t worry, Sloan. My sister is just helping everyone feel focused.”
The girl turned her head toward the source of the voice and found herself staring into the bright, honey-green eyes of Evan Winter.
“We have to go rescue them,” Meg said calmly. “We also need to go take care of our mom.”
“I need to get you to safety,” Creed growled protectively. “I already lost my brother, I won’t lose anyone else.”
Meg’s eyes watered immediately as she scanned the corridor and confirmed Creed’s anguish. In all the excitement, she’d overlooked Gavil’s absence until now.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Creed, but we must save them.” Meg spoke softly as she stepped closer to the soul-shaken soldier. She reached out to touch his shadowed face as though they had all the time in the world.
His eyes closed briefly, breathing in her strength.
When his thick lashes fluttered open he stared at the dark-eyed beauty that held what was left of his bruised and broken heart with the strength and tenderness of a tigress, and he knew he would follow her anywhere. He nodded once before saying, “What’s the plan?”
Meg crouched, motioning everyone to follow, huddling in the shadowed corner of the passageway.
“Alik, you, Farrow and Maze get the van and pull it right up to those doors,” Meg pointed to the front doors of the Research Hospital.
“Keys?” Farrow asked.
“I left them in the visor,” Alik assured.
“Creed, Evan, Sloan and I will take the elevator downstairs, gather every child we can find and meet you back here in eight minutes.”
“Okay,” Alik said, staring at his battered, but still functional watch.
“Stay sharp, everyone, and God be with us all,” she whispered as they stood.
Just then, the front doors to the Research Hospital burst open and the red emergency lights were pin-pricked with blinding white flashes of gunfire.
MetaMonarchs, Part 3
13 years ago
The Institute in Southern California
“Just calm down, Williams. Start from the beginning. Who stole what?”
Kenneth’s face was brick red with rage. “I just hired that woman you recommended. Your former student—The West Point graduate, Dr. Margo Pullman.”
“Yes, I remember her. What happened?”
“She was supposed to be the perfect soldier! You said she would obey orders without question!”
“She’s not a Monarch, Williams. What did she do?”
“She stole them!”
“Stole whom?”
“The three most promising metahumans I ever created! She took the first survivor of the serum, a three-year-old female labeled M57, a two-year-old male, M61 and the youngest subject who had just been dosed today with the most advanced version of the Infinite serum—a newborn male, M74.”
Senator Donovan Arkdone didn’t interrupt Williams’ tirade. During the past year of their partnership, he’d learned how fragile Williams’ psyche truly was. Better to let him burst into flames and stand back so as not to get burned.
Kenneth’s breathing was coming out in furious puffs.
“The stupid woman snuck into the building after hours telling the guard she was anxious to set up her office. He saw her walking to her car a few minutes later with a laundry cart she claimed would help her bring in her things. She stole them by hiding them in a damn laundry cart, Donovan!”
He started panting like a laboring animal. Donovan responded as he would to any psychotic patient, by repeating their worries and confirming their emotions proving to the subject that he truly was listening and did “care.”
“Of course that is horribly upsetting,” Arkdone placated believably. “Yet it's only three, and you can create many more.”
“That’s not all she did. She destroyed my mainframe, took all their files and completely removed all the data and samples we had of the perfected infinite serum. How the hell did she think to do that?”
“She was special ops and an exemplary West Point grad. She is capable of anything she sets her mind to.” Senator Arkdone’s voice accidentally sounded almost wistful. Kenneth wanted to reach through the phone and smack him in the forehead with a baseball bat.
“Are you listening to me, Professor?” Spittle flew from his pursed lips. “Now I’m going to have to start back at the beginning! Do you have any idea how far back this set me?”
“Well, Kenneth, didn’t you have backups of your files?”
“Yes. Of course I did. She destroyed those when she took out my mainframe!”
“My, she is thorough, isn’t she?” Donovan nearly cooed into the phone, forgetting his need to calm his associate. “Can you imagine what a weapon she could have been as a MetaMonarch herself?”
“Focus, Donovan,” Williams seethed between clenched teeth.
“Well, the solution is quite simple, partner—Get them back.”
“I already have people hunting her.”
“Excellent. Then it’s just a matter of time before you get that original serum back from the subjects themselves.”
“Right,” Williams forced himself to take a deep breath. “I mean, where could they possibly hide that money couldn’t find?”
“Exactly.”
Chapter 7 Bullets and Memories Ricochet Off Cement
“Hit the deck!” Creed yelled to the others as he ran toward the gunfire, his thick hands ablaze with returned gunfire.
Sloan crouched on her belly, instinctively holding her hands over her head and closing her eyes at the onslaught of at least a half-dozen metahumans firing directly at their group.
She was sure she was going to die right there on the floor and experienced her life flashing before her eyes.
She was just a little girl, a baby, when she solved the complex puzzle before her, then she was strapped down to a bed, face-down, and she saw a wicked-faced man come toward her with a syringe dripping with some unknown fluid. He yanked her elastic pants down, exposing her left hip and jabbed her with the needle. He giggled horribly as the pressure and fullness billowed beneath her skin.
Sloan had screamed; screamed until she was hoarse.
Then she saw a notebook under her wrist, notations written in her hand as she pressed her face harder into the eyepieces of the microscope. She saw Dr. Williams smile as she presented her first case study and findings. He was nodding in approval. Then his face morphed into a bloody mass. His lips cracking as he spoke. Bloody liquids oozed down his skinless face… slipping down his jaw and raw neck.
Sloan shivered.
The deafening sound of bullets blazed above her as she felt reality slip aside.
Just then a warm, strong hand gripped her waist and pulled her aside.
Her eyes closed, she felt the hand release, but the heat of a body beside her remained as a shield between her and the attackers. The gunfire intensified, if that was possible. The echoes of bullets ricocheting off the cement walls were deafening, but she had to see who was beside her; who pulled her to safety. She willed her eyes open just wide enough to look. Be
side her, crouched defensively around her, was the boy no older than she. He glanced back, over his shoulder as though checking on her and she found herself lost in his hazel eyes.
Even when he looked away to reload his gun, the image of his golden-green, worried eyes were imprinted in Sloan’s mind. She tried to watch his hands as he smoothly slipped the used magazine free, reached into a pocket, retrieved a fresh cartridge and slammed it into place, but all she could see was the look in his eyes. He protected her with his body; pulled her aside and shielded her from the gunfire flying inches above their heads.
“RUN!” yelled a familiar voice.
Without thinking, Sloan followed the movements of the boy beside her. He leaped to his feet, and though she felt his hand pull her up, she didn’t need the encouragement. She wasn’t leaving his side.
Footsteps echoed through the corridor as everybody ran for their lives. Alik and Farrow vaulted over fallen bodies and burst through the front doors of the Research Hospital with such strength, both doors hung wide on shattered hinges. Their soldiers’ eyes scanned the shadows for threats, even as their legs carried them directly toward the van glowing white in the moonlight.
Chapter 8 Down and Out
Three of the four metahumans running toward the elevator kept their guns at the ready. Sloan was unarmed.
Meg reached to press the button that would open the elevator doors. Even as she futilely jabbed the unlit button, she realized the problem.
“Oh, God! The electricity’s out, so the elevator won’t work!” Her voice sounded shrill with desperation.
“How are we going to get to the children?” Sloan gasped.
Evan and Creed frowned deeply, feeling responsible. “Maybe I could rig it to work. It is probably a standard hydraulic or cable mechanism. If it’s hydraulic I could jimmy it to lower, but…”
“But what?” Meg snapped impatiently.
“But I wouldn’t be able to make it lift back up without electricity.”
“Shit!” Creed cursed under his breath. His eyes darted frantically around the corridor and in the dim red light a metallic box hanging on the wall glinted. Rushing to it he used the butt of his gun to break the glass. Shoving the gun in his holster to free his hands, he reached in and grabbed the emergency axe stowed there next to a fire hose.
Meg locked her jaw in single-minded approval.
“Back up!”
Creed ran to the closed doors of the elevator and crammed the blade of the axe into the seam before yanking the handle up and to the left, twisting an opening wide enough to fit his strong fingers. With tendons stretching beautifully, he forced one side of the elevator door wide. Then he braced his back against that opening and used his powerful leg to kick the other side of the door open. He did the same to the second set of doors, forcing his way into the elevator car.
Creed and Meg stepped into the silent cube and scanned it only to see an emergency rooftop exit. “That won’t help,” Meg seethed, but Creed wasn’t looking up. His crisp blue eyes were studying the elevator’s flooring.
Without a word, he leaned down to pick up the axe and held it like a lumberjack.
“Evan, there was a ladder in the facilities closet. We’re going to need it.” Creed’s voice was calm, calculating.
“You’re not going to try to break through the floor, are you?” His green eyes glowed in awe at the realization of Creed’s impromptu plan.
“Meg, you’re going to have to step out—I’m going to need room,” Creed glanced at his dark-eyed angel.
She obeyed immediately and turned to Evan. “Do you need help getting the ladder?” she asked, prompting him to move.
“No, I got it!” Evan shook himself before sprinting down the hallway and around the corner and back to the room in which they had destroyed the electrical transformers. He didn’t even notice Sloan on his heels until he was dropping his duffle bag so he had room to squeeze into the small alcove that housed the six-foot ladder. He yanked the old metal ladder off its wall brackets and was maneuvering it in the small space back toward the door. Sloan held it wide for him, worry etched across her beautifully dainty face.
“It’ll be okay, Sloan. Creed and Meg know what they’re doing,” he whispered as he hurried passed her, hoping he wasn’t lying to the girl. She ducked back into the room and came out with Evan’s duffle bag wrapped around her tiny frame. The bag was nearly as big as she was, but she ran with determination to keep up with Evan’s fast pace back to the elevator. They could already hear what Creed was doing. Metal on metal screamed with every solid thwack!
When they rounded the corner they saw Meg standing guard, gun raised and ready as Creed stood in the doorway of the elevator and beat the heck out of the metal floor. He had already removed one of the metal sheets that had been riveted to steel beams beneath. Nothing was stopping the powerful swings of his axe. Within three minutes, Creed had chopped the elevator floor to hell and a gaping three-foot hole was left in his wake.
“Get ready to pass me the ladder,” He said only partially out of breath from his efforts.
He peered into the blackness of the elevator’s shaft.
“I’m guessing it’s about a ten-foot drop,” Meg said aloud as she remembered the approximate height of the basement ceiling from her last excursion down there.
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too.” Creed scowled. “Okay, so I’m going to jump down. Once I’m there, you’ll need to lower the ladder to me so I can set it up. Got it?”
“What if you land on one of the shaft floor pistons below?"
“I'll jump near the corner of the shaft, away from the pistons.”
“Are you sure? You're bleeding." Meg looked worried as she motioned to the fresh blood oozing down his right side causing the black T-shirt to stick against him.
Creed glanced down at his side as though just noticing his gunshot wound compliments of Williams’ spy, Slider/Miro. “I don’t even feel it, but it must have opened up when I used the axe.”
“You switched off your pain,” Meg said matter-of-factly.
“What?” Creed asked then shook his head dismissively. “Never mind. We have work to do.”
With the grace of a panther, he leaped into the jagged-edged hole and disappeared. A second later, they heard his feet land firmly onto the ground far below.
“Are you okay?” Meg was on her hands and knees, trying to see into the musty blackness below.
“Yeah, lower the ladder.”
Together, Evan and Meg slipped the folded ladder feet-first into the blackness as far as their arms could reach lying on their bellies. They felt Creed grasp the weight of the metal frame and take it the rest of the way.
Squeaking sounds echoed softly up the shaft to the sensitive ears of the metahumans still waiting above.
“Okay, Meg,” Creed voice commanded.
He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Meg was already spinning and lowering her legs into the black hole, trusting the ladder to be there to catch her. Her strong hands grasped the jagged metal edge of the elevator’s floor and felt her skin slice just before her feet touched the top of the ladder. Grimacing, she adjusted her grip and used her feet to find the next tier of the ladder before letting go and slowly crouching atop the ladder. Once she started down, she called up to Sloan and Evan. “Be careful not to cut yourself on the jagged edges up there.”
She felt Creed’s strong hands grab her hips and lead her safely to the ground.
Creed smelled Meg’s blood before she could hide her injury. "Okay, whoever is coming next brings the axe," Creed called even as he was ripping off a swatch of his own shirt.
“I’m coming,” Sloan’s small voice echoed down the darkness.
Creed helped her down before tending to Meg’s cut, remaining confident Evan would manage.
“Give me your hand,” he said in the darkness. Meg offered her gouged hand and felt his strong fingers touch her with such gentleness in the pitch dark until he found the torn flesh and felt
it oozing blood. He grimaced sympathetically.
“It’s deep,” was all he said before he started wrapping the cotton strip around it tightly to stop the blood loss.
“How did you know I cut myself?” Meg spoke only to distract herself from the pain in her hand.
“I can smell it—copper and strawberries,” he said simply.
“Strawberries?” Meg repeated, sure she misunderstood him.
“Are you badly hurt?” Evan asked, worry in his voice.
“I’m fine, Ev.” Meg shook off the pain even as she balled her fist around the makeshift bandage.
“Pass me the axe,” Creed turned toward Sloan. Her hands were trembling, but she forced herself to unzip the duffle bag and feel around for the wooden handle.
“Step back,” Creed warned before repeating the steps he used earlier to pry the elevator doors open, this time from the inside and blinded by darkness.
Seconds later, they were stepping across the threshold and into the corridor. Retracing her steps from earlier, Meg led the group down the basement corridor and into the supply closet. Without hesitation, Meg slipped her hand behind the cabinet to hit the lever that would open the hidden door. Before she did, she turned to the others and nodded solemnly at their weapons warning them to be ready. Evan stepped directly in front of the unarmed Sloan, obviously willing to take on the responsibility of protecting her, again.
They stepped to the side of the opening and braced themselves for gunfire. Meg silently mouthed the words—three, two, one then pulled the lever.
When the door slid open, they were looking into the room that had housed the children no more than thirty minutes before.
The room looked empty.
“Oh, dear God! Where are they?” Meg wailed in anguish.
“Check the beds, look everywhere!” Creed called to the others even as he ran from bed to bed patting the rumpled sheets looking for someone, anyone to rescue.
While the others frantically searched the room with their eyes, Meg held still and closed hers. She pulled out her empath senses and felt herself reach around the room. Almost immediately she found what she was searching for and started running toward the farthest end of the room.
Winter's Warrior: Mark of the Monarch (Winter's Saga #4) Page 4
