The Society

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Zeke carefully, slowly, slid the handle of the door up. There was a slight click. “Anyone out there?” he whispered.

  "No,” Rowan whispered back. “I don't feel anyone. Not close."

  "Okay.” He tapped his comm-link and eased the door open. Chill air poured into the car. For such a large man, he moved lightly, sliding out of the van, kneeling down and sweeping the opposite side of the road with his gun.

  Cath went next. Henderson climbed out of his seat and out through the side door. Then Yoshi opened his door and seemed almost to vanish. Brew slid out, and Del gave Rowan a gentle push.

  Go on, angel. Don't worry, I'm here. He followed her as she moved slowly, her boots shushing on the wet pavement as she moved to the side and crouched down, pale hair glimmering in the moonlight.

  That hair of hers is going to make things difficult, he thought, but Cath handed Rowan a scarf, which she knotted around her head with no comment.

  They went around both sides of the van and across the drainage ditch, boots slipping in slush-snow. Delgado steadied Rowan when she slipped on the frost-rimed grass. His heart sped up, not quite racing but not resting either. He promised himself he would let nothing hurt her.

  There was an empty field here, and they slid over it in waves, taking care to move in an unpredictable pattern, Rowan moving like an automaton. All her attention was taken with fighting off the urge to throw up or scream at the tearing, jagged pain in her head and the twisting nausea. Why do Sigs affect her that way? What is it about them? Just the danger, or something else? It wasn't the first time he'd wondered. Is it the migmeters or something else?

  Slowly, they crept up on the easternmost edge of Headquarters. Everything was dark. Every building, every light that should have been showing paths over the quad or the basketball court was out. Delgado could feel no ripple of emotion in the air around them. It was as if everyone had left and the last person had shut off the lights.

  They skirted the east main building and started for the cover of a short laurel hedge. It was a gamble—a crossfire from the buildings could pin them down for mop-up. Henderson was obviously trusting Rowan's acuity.

  Henderson froze. Delgado went down to one knee, instinctively grabbing Rowan's wrist. She let out a short, sharp sound.

  They hit the ground, Zeke's leather jacket creaking. All except Rowan, whose knees seemed to have locked.

  A small flicker of light showed in the north building.

  Flashlight, Del thought. Something's not right.

  "Trap!” Rowan might have thought she was screaming, but all that came out was a choked whisper. “Go back! Go back!"

  The sound of the choppers coming back for another sweep got louder. Henderson was already scrambling back, cutting for the edge of the south building that would shield them from being seen and also let them access the transport net through an access hatch—Delgado knew this, because it was what he would do. Cath ran after him, followed by Zeke, who ran sideways, a gun in each hand. Brew and Yoshi were twin shadows.

  Del curled up to his feet. He yanked on Rowan's arm, felt her stumble. She was trying to do something, as if lifting a massive weight with her mind. Pushing, with all her strength.

  There was a sharp cry from the north building, and Rowan let out a soft sound of pain. “Leave them!” he whisper-yelled at her, yanking her along savagely. She stumbled again, he righted her, and something zinged across the quad.

  Del didn't hesitate. He pushed her in front of him and almost returned fire before Henderson hissed a sharp command, freezing his finger on the trigger. Rowan stumbled around the side of the building and almost fell into Zeke's arms. The massive man grabbed Del's shirt and hauled him in just as more bullets chewed the air behind him.

  "Let them think we're unarmed,” Henderson said, brief and clipped.

  They could have shot her! Delgado swallowed the instant flare of rage. He wanted to sink his hands in the throat of the man who had shot at her, wanted to hold him down and use a knife, wanted to—

  Justin! I need you. She was fighting something huge, little hitching sounds of effort coming from her as she wrestled with it.

  He threw every spare ounce of power he had into the link with her, his hand clamped around her arm and Zeke dragging her from the other side. The scarf came free and her pale hair trailed on a faint chill breeze as the sound of choppers roared overhead.

  Henderson reached the access hatch, knelt down, and keyed in the security code. Miracle of miracles, it opened, a round slice of metal. The old man covered them as Catherine scrambled down into darkness. So did Yoshi, followed by Brew, Del pushed Rowan at Zeke. “Get her down!” he said, and looked up just as the choppers roared overhead.

  Rowan half fell into the access hatch, and he knew she was safe. Zeke followed, then Henderson.

  Light poured down, blinding him. Delgado went into a fighting crouch, then rolled as bullets dug into the frozen earth. Clumsy, sloppy. I'd take that kid to the range and make him practice.

  He felt Rowan's instinctive horrified cry and her talent coiling, striking like a snake. The light above them yawed, and Del saw Henderson vanish down the hole. “Come on, Del!” Henderson's voice crackled over the comm-link.

  "Go,” Del said. The chopper veered off, but another one was coming. He could see what they couldn't, a line of dark shapes coming over the quad, lit by the backwash of light from four choppers sweeping in from the west. “I'll cover you. Get to an exit."

  "Del, come on. That's an order!"

  "Hurry up, old man. Get Rowan out.” Del's eyes had just begun to come back after the assault of light. The chopper that had spotted them veered crazily toward the field.

  Justin! Her mental cry was sharp and despairing. Every cell in his body wanted to turn back, go down the hole. But a quick calculation of the numbers told him that the Sigs would pour down the hole, and it would become a desperate fight in the dark.

  Go, angel. I'll see you soon. He kicked the access hatch shut, fired a round into the keypad, and took a deep breath. The Sigs were almost around the corner—even he could sense them now.

  Justin! Stop it! Come on!

  "Can't even if I wanted to, angel,” he muttered, bending almost double and running for the building. “Go. For God's sake, old man, get her out."

  He reached the back door just as the first Sig came around the corner, spraying the area around the hatch with gunfire. Del slipped into the darkness, leaving the door open slightly, peering out, gun held ready.

  The smell was something he recognized, a stench that rose around him. No wonder Rowan hadn't sensed anything. He glanced back at the hallway, lit by a soft red glowstick clutched in someone's hand. Someone's dead limp hand.

  Dead bodies.

  His gorge rose briefly, pointlessly. An assault like this would have taken phenomenal resources to crack the shields, dampers, and countermeasures. Why hadn't anyone been alerted? Why hadn't the fail-safes gone off, and all team leaders been alerted?

  Traitor. Someone must have shut down the grids. Either that or Sigma had sent a fucking army.

  "General,” he said into the comm-link, “I'm inside the south building. Looks like an abattoir. Everyone's iced."

  "What?"

  "Someone blew the safety grid from inside, General, I bet you dollars to doughnuts.” He pitched his voice low. “I'm going to do a sweep, see if I can pick any—"

  Thwish. He felt the spear of ice bury itself in his back.

  What the—He reached behind his back with his free hand, a slim metal wand tipped with something very sharp.

  The tranquilizer dart came free in his hand, and he stared at it for a moment, his entire body suddenly numb.

  Justin! Justin! NO! Rowan's horrified scream.

  "Tranquilizer ... dart ... Get ... her ... out...” Delgado said, and passed out.

  Chapter Forty

  "Well, isn't this a fucked-up situation,” Henderson said in the darkness.

  Rowan shuddered. The blackness closed
around her, a claustrophobic trap even though the tunnel was wide enough for a transport and a narrow walkway on either side. Henderson's Brigade walked single file: Henderson, Brew, Cath, Rowan, Yoshi, Zeke.

  Justin, she keened, tears slicking her cheeks. Her head hurt from pushing both the helicopter pilot and the other Sigma psychics. She had fought off their combined mental weight, keeping them blind to her as long as she could until it was too late.

  Sobs rose up in her chest. She stayed fiercely silent.

  "What's up?” Brew's quiet voice.

  "We have to decide. Go back toward the central hub and see what we can salvage, if they've cleared out, or take our luck with outside."

  Silence again. Rowan leaned against the wall. She had never felt so tired. Even her hair hurt. “Everyone they had,” she murmured.

  "What, Rowan?” Henderson, suddenly attentive.

  "Back there. After we saw the flashlight. It felt like they had a large group of psychics there, trying to pin us down.” Her voice was flat, exhausted.

  "Were they working through someone?” he asked.

  "I don't know.” She closed her eyes. Pinwheels and sparks of false light flared through the darkness. “I couldn't tell. I was busy trying to hold them off."

  "Christ,” Brew said. “Bloody fucking hell."

  "Don't freak out,” Cath hissed.

  "Shut up.” This from Yoshi. They were all claustrophobic. Fear began to taint the air, a sharp acrid smell.

  Rowan dragged in a deep breath. “Let's just calm down,” she said, hearing the false serenity in her tone. It was hard to reach that place of tranquility that let her heal people, but she took another breath and prayed for it.

  It came. Finally. She felt the fear fade, stroking at its edges, soothing it away.

  "What do you think we should do?” Cath asked.

  Is she asking me? I don't have any clue. Justin. Justin. “I'd say we should go back and get him,” she said slowly.

  "No,” Henderson vetoed immediately. “We go on and hope nobody's found the exit."

  "What if they have?” Rowan asked, then clamped her mouth shut.

  "Then we're dead.” Henderson moved briefly. “Everyone, hand on shoulder. Let's go."

  The sound of their footsteps fell into a well of dark silence. Rowan reached out for Justin, again, felt nothing. An absence. “He said tranquilizer dart.” Her voice was ragged. “Why would they do that?"

  "He's valuable,” Yoshi said. “He was one of their best operatives, and they need to figure out how he escaped them."

  "Not to mention the fact he's been linked to you,” Henderson said. “And if they can break him, they can root out any Society cells they find."

  Rowan swallowed a sob, willed her mouth to shut.

  They trooped on in silence until Henderson halted. “Here it is,” he said. “Rowan, can you do one more thing?"

  She felt pale as glass, past exhaustion and in a sort of enervated haze. “I think I can,” she said, hearing her voice crack and hating it. Why couldn't she be strong? Like Justin, like Cath? I thought I was so ready. I was so sure I was ready for this.

  "Good. Scan out there and tell me if anyone's waiting to surprise us."

  Rowan closed her eyes. Yoshi's hand tightened slightly on her shoulder. It wasn't Justin's support, but it did make her feel a little better. She took another deep breath, centered herself, and cast her awareness out the way Kate had taught her.

  Kate. Was she dead? Justin had said something about everyone being dead.

  Contact.

  —what the—

  —it's me—

  —oh God—

  Rowan sagged in relief. “It's Eleanor. And Boomer, and Bobby, a couple others. No Sigs that I can feel."

  "Good.” Henderson felt for the keypad.

  Rowan, worn thin and exhausted, felt a shock-blast of worry and tight-throat claustrophobia, awe and fear and terror combined. She drowned in Cath's emotions for a moment, her knees buckling.

  "Careful, Ro.” Yoshi dug his fingers into her shoulder. The grating pain helped, gave her a focus. She closed her eyes and stumbled out, her hand on Cath's shoulder.

  It was a good thing her eyes were closed. Light played over her face. She flinched. Blinked.

  "Dammit, Boomer, turn that off. Are they following you?” Eleanor lowered the machine gun from her shoulder.

  "Rowan!” Bobby cried.

  "We need to move,” Henderson barked crisply. “Any other survivors?"

  "Not that we saw,” Eleanor said heavily. “We were in the infirmary looking for Rowan. Boomer had one of his presentiments. They came to the infirmary last. If it wasn't for Bobby, they'd have caught us too."

  "The infirmary last? That makes no sense.” Zeke's dirt-smudged face swung around, and he looked at Rowan.

  No. Oh, no.

  "Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Why? All that, just for me?"

  "I doubt you were more than a secondary objective.” Henderson glanced at the small, ragged group, and Rowan looked around.

  Boomer. Eleanor. Bobby. Emily, whose round face was terribly pale, a bandage glaring white around her head. A tall thin young man with his arm in a sling. She dredged up his name—Eric. Tamara, one of Lyle's team, her red hair caked with mud and her face covered in dried blood, her eyes terribly shocked. Garth, another one of Lyle's team, his arm around Tamara's shoulders, wincing whenever he took a deep breath. And last of all, little Melissa, her eyes wide as she held Bobby's hand, her blond hair in two pigtails falling down her back.

  And Henderson's Brigade. Minus one.

  They were in a small stand of pine trees, the clean fragrance of pine rising and swamping them. The chill wind after the confines of the tunnel was like heaven, no matter that her teeth almost immediately began chattering. Yoshi, right next to her, curled his hand around her upper arm and peered at her face. “General? She's going into shock."

  Zeke slid his leather jacket off, draping it over Rowan's camel coat. It was warmer, and she blinked at him gratefully.

  "All right,” Henderson said. “We've got to get out of here. Can everyone walk?"

  Murmurs of assent.

  "Brew? Which way to the road? We'll parallel, come into town, get some shelter, and send someone for a cache.” Henderson started giving orders, and Rowan simply stood and stared at the yawning hole that was the end of the transport tunnel. Any moment she expected to see Justin emerge, maybe bloody but still alive, his dark eyes meeting hers as they always did.

  I never even told him how much he means to me, she thought, and shivered harder.

  "Rowan?” Henderson was right next to her. Cath and Zeke pushed the round metal door closed. Yoshi lay his hand over the keypad once it was closed, his eyes closing and a small sound of effort coming from him. Electricity crackled. Rowan suddenly understood—he was scrambling the lock.

  She blinked up at Henderson's lined face. “He's not coming, is he?"

  "Don't underestimate him,” the General replied softly. “If there's a way, he'll come back to you. You did good work, keeping them off us. Good job, operative."

  Bile rose in Rowan's throat. She hadn't done anything but screw up. She hadn't realized it was a trap until it was too late, the combined weight of the Sigma psychics keeping her blind and deaf. She'd screwed up when it counted.

  "Don't blame yourself,” Henderson said. “It will poison you. And I need you if I'm going to get everybody out of this."

  Her eyes met his, startled. “You don't—” she began, but he shook his head, laying a finger against his lips. Rowan shut up.

  "Right. Let's move out. Everyone pick a partner and buddy up. Brew, Yoshi, you two take Rowan. If she starts fading give her a glucose tab and call a rest stop. Cath, Zeke, take the kids. All right, everyone. Let's go. Quiet and quick as we can now."

  Moments later, the small stand of pines was empty.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Consciousness. Fuzzy, fading. Restraints. Wrist, elbow, knees, ankles, boo
ts bound together, gag in the mouth. Blindfold. Arms twisted behind his back savagely.

  First thought: They must have a high opinion of me.

  Second thought: Rowan. Did she get out?

  He wished he had even a quarter of her talent, so he could tell for sure. He lay perfectly still, trussed up, his arm bent back uncomfortably under him, his back strained. He was on something hard and cold, metal. Thrumming metal.

  A chopper.

  "He's awake.” A familiar, whistling voice.

  Jilssen.

  Rage woke down in the depths of Delgado's bones. He pushed it down. He had to think.

  But the fuzziness of the tranquilizer was still on him, and the thought that Jilssen was here, that Jilssen had been trying to get Rowan into a telem rig—maybe one tuned to broadcast her location—that Jilssen had been stalking her through Headquarters, blinded him momentarily.

  The thought that Jilssen might have turned the security grid off with his clearance was almost as bad.

  A boot in his ribs. “Stay still, Delgado,” a gruff male voice warned him. He placed the voice—up above him, crouched over.

  Del reached.

  The man stumbled backward as Del's mental fingers curved into his brain, striking unerringly. He could have squeezed the man's mind for information, but instead he simply burst all the locks and smashed through, vandalizing, striking back.

  Shouts. The metal floor tipping. Delgado found another mind, curiously unprotected, and forced his way in like a battering ram. The first man was screaming, clawing at his own eyes. The second stumbled toward Delgado, compelled, ready to cut his bonds and set him loose.

  If he hadn't been so slow, so fuzzy from the tranquilizer, it might have worked.

  Something jabbed into his arm. Del twisted, trying to strike out, and went limp, a terrible slow creeping fire invading his body.

  NO. NO. NO—

  "Now.” Jilssen's voice, hot and rancid in his ear. “I've wanted to do that for so long."

  It was Zed. He would know that feeling anywhere, the slow fire taking over muscle and nerves, the languor, the utter lethargic incapableness.