The Recoil Trilogy 3 Book Boxed Set: Including Recoil, Refuse and Rebel

by Joanne Macgregor

  Quinn’s words from the previous night were reverberating through me. Everything revolves around fear.

  “You know what they’ll do to him, Jinxy, you know!” Quinn was desperate.

  Enhanced interrogation techniques. Tried for treason.

  “But you know, Blue, I might not hit the tango. I’m not as good a shot as you. You know how I tend to pull to the left.”

  Still I hesitated.

  “I might aim for the tango and take out your leprechaun by mistake. And wouldn’t that be a tragedy? But at least I’d see some splash and know how to correct my aim for the next shot. Two birds with, well, not one stone, but one opportunity.”

  A new flash — Quinn, lying bleeding on the sidewalk. Lying dead. I couldn’t let it happen. I lifted my dart-gun.

  “No!” Quinn stepped in front of his brother, who thrust him aside.

  My heart was thudding in my throat, my outstretched hand trembling. I didn’t know what to do. If I darted Connor, they’d take him in for questioning. Quinn would hate me. I’d lose him for sure. But if I didn’t, Bruce would fire. He would drop Quinn’s brother and maybe even Quinn himself. Either way, I lost. And Quinn lost. It was a choice between really bad and even worse.

  It’s not about them, it’s about us. It’s not what we’re prepared to allow to happen to them.

  “I’m counting to three, Blue, then I’ll take the shot for you. One …”

  Choose, Jinxy, choose now.

  “Two … I mean it!”

  It’s about what we’re prepared to do, who we’re prepared to become.

  “And …”

  As Bruce said, “Three”, I fired.

  Connor folded in on himself and crumpled to the ground, the dart sticking from his neck.

  “Bitch!” said Quinn. The gray eyes blazed with hatred at my betrayal now.

  Have I told you, Jinxy, that I love you?

  Quinn glanced back, noted the advancing black Hummer and the white van behind it, looked down at his brother, realized that he’d never be able to carry him, and ran straight past me. I stood trembling on the spot, my knees locked to stop me collapsing, watching as Connor was hauled like a sack of potatoes into the black Hummer.

  “Blue! Blue!”

  I twisted around. The white van had cut off Quinn’s escape. Bruce and the driver were wrestling a thrashing Quinn inside. Fiona was suddenly at my side, dragging me back by the elbow and shoving me inside the van, too. She pushed me into a seat. And then I was opposite Quinn again, just I had been on the first day we met. Straining against the plastic cable ties which bound his hands behind his back, he glared at me. His face was a rictus of rage. The van pulled off with a lurch. I stared down at his checkered sneakers, at the dart-gun in my gloved hand, lying limply in the pink satin of my lap.

  “You promised you wouldn’t. I trusted you!” Quinn snarled at me.

  He thought I’d ratted on him, that I’d told Sarge when and where he’d be meeting his brother.

  “I didn’t!”

  “How would they know otherwise?”

  “Shut up!” Bruce elbowed him hard in the ribs.

  “Are you going to kill me too now?”

  “Can be arranged,” said Bruce. “Easy.”

  “Cool it, Bruce,” said Fiona. “No one is shooting anyone.”

  Yet.

  “You are going to be confined to your quarters, specialist,” Fiona said to Quinn. “We have some questions to ask you.”

  They were going to interrogate Quinn. Interview and debrief.

  “About leaving the Academy compound.”

  “I had permission. I was granted leave to visit my sick grandmother.”

  “Only you didn’t visit your granny. You’ve been consorting with a known traitor.”

  “He’s not a traitor!”

  Quinn struggled against Bruce and kicked out savagely at Fiona and me. Fiona managed to pull her legs out of the way, but a black-and-white sneaker connected hard with my shin. Bruce twisted to face Quinn and pressed the muzzle of his sidearm against Quinn’s temple.

  “Sit still or I’ll shoot you myself. You know I want to.”

  “Go to hell!” Quinn spat out. He lunged upwards, shouting at me, “You don’t even know the half of it. Should I tell you what else they did?”

  Fiona nodded at Bruce. His thumb moved the safety catch off.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I lifted my dart gun and shot Quinn in the chest. The outrage had not yet faded from his eyes when he slumped forward. I reached out both hands, steadied him and pushed him back gently into his seat.

  Bruce eased the safety back on and glared at me.

  “I’m guessing there will be some questions for you, too, Blue,” said Fiona.

  “Yeah, what the hell was he talking about?” demanded Bruce.

  I said nothing. I was doing tactical breathing to put the brakes on my rising panic. I needed to think. Hard.

  I’m trusting you, Jinxy, with my life.

  Chapter 26

  Dirty Rat

  The sun was setting, staining the sky with streaks of vermillion and violet, as we returned to the ASTA headquarters. Quinn was beginning to come around. He blinked blearily at me, shook his head and seemed to register where he was and what had happened. Who had done it. He glared at me and then made a rush to leap out of the van as soon as the door slid open. He toppled against a seat and was hauled back onto his feet by Bruce and Fiona, who half-supported and half-dragged him, tripping and stumbling, out of the van and up the ramp into the transport bay.

  I followed behind, my stomach churning, my mind racing, my eyes on the ground. Leya was waiting for us in the bay with Cameron standing a little way behind her. Had they heard about our mission?

  “You’re back,” said Leya, rubbing a finger over the tattoo on her temple. Her face wore an odd expression — somewhere between satisfaction and resignation.

  “Another successful mission by our unit,” said Bruce, releasing his hold on Quinn to blow the smoking barrel of an imaginary gun.

  Quinn sagged against Fiona then slid to his knees.

  “Pitiful.” Sarge exited the armory, walked toward our little group, and stared down at Quinn with contempt etched across his features.

  “Fiona, my office for a mission debrief. Bruce, haul his ass to his quarters and confine him there. Stand guard until I send further instructions.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Bruce, yanking Quinn to his feet.

  “Leya, you’d better help him with the prisoner. Then go advise Ms. Roth of developments and report to my office — we have a lot to chat about. Blue, I don’t know why you’re standing there like a deer in the headlights. Return your weapon to the armory and then go to your quarters. And stay there.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, then asked Bruce, “Do you want me to check your weapons in for you?” I didn’t like the idea of him being armed while he was with Quinn.

  “No. I might need them,” said Bruce.

  “Sir?” I appealed to Sarge, but he was already turning to leave with Fiona.

  “Don’t you hurt him,” I whispered furiously at Bruce.

  “Leya, some help here?” Bruce said.

  Quinn was half a foot taller than him and still not steady on his feet.

  “Coming,” said Leya. Her brows drew together as she laid a hand briefly on my arm. “I decided I’d wait and see what happened first. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to —” She cut herself off, then continued, “Because he’s a nice guy, and I’m sorry, Jinx. I really am. But it’s my job.”

  She moved to the other side of Quinn, and she and Bruce led him away. His right foot dragged behind him, and the sneaker slipped off and lay on the dirty concrete floor. I walked over and picked it up, still puzzling over Leya’s words. Cameron came to stand next to me, and we watched them disappear through the door while he cleaned his glasses on a Kleenex. His face looked bare without the specs.

  “I’m confused. What on earth did Leya mean?”

&nb
sp; Cameron, his unfocused gaze still on Leya, spoke softly. “She knows.”

  I glanced up at him. For once, his face wasn’t impassive. He looked sad.

  “Knows what?” I asked.

  “Everything.” He sighed, putting his glasses back on. “She’s a mole.”

  Those three words were a punch to the gut.

  A stream of images flowed through my mind. Leya, always quizzing everyone on their politics, always fishing for their views. Leya, texting about our ratting mission — intentionally testing to see if everyone in intel could keep a secret, and later ratting on Quinn’s warning? Leya, chatting with Roberta Roth down a deserted hallway, smiling and joking, “She only wanted to know how I’m getting along with the job”. Leya, having no family visits — was she even a teenager? Leya, never as good a shot as the rest of us, not good enough, really, to have earned her Game score or been recruited for the unit. Had she even actually shot Juan in the simulation? Perhaps he had simply crushed a green paintball and smeared it on himself, all part of the setup. Leya, being supportive and understanding and encouraging me through all my doubts and struggles. Had it all been an act? Had she cared for me at all, or only pretended to be my friend so she could help me be the best little shooter in all of ASTA?

  I clenched my teeth when I thought about how she had been all sympathetic to me after my bust-up with Quinn, all the while fishing for the reasons. And last night, coming into my room without waiting to be asked in, glancing at the side table, seeing Quinn’s phone. It all clicked into place.

  And Cameron. Quiet Cameron. Observant Cameron. Always shadowing Leya — listening, watching, thinking.

  “Hurry,” he said.

  I grabbed him and kissed him on the cheek, whispered, “Thank you!” and set off, running.

  Chapter 27

  In Case of Emergency

  I darted past the armory through the doors and decon unit, and sprinted towards the northeast wing. The sneaker and dart gun inside my denim bag bounced against my side. It was dinnertime so the hallways were mostly empty, but my little-girl getup and frantic pace still attracted one or two curious glances. I was just in time to see Leya and Bruce lead their prisoner through the entrance to his wing.

  Quinn seemed steadier on his feet now. Good.

  I ducked under the secret staircase and waited until Leya re-emerged and walked off in the direction of Sarge’s office. No doubt the backstabbing, double-crossing sneak of a dirty rat-snitching bitch was off to raise the alarm. That gave me an idea.

  It was an emergency — a good time, if ever there was one, to break some glass. I waited a few more minutes to give Leya enough time to be well away from this section of the compound, then took the dart gun out my bag and slammed its butt into the glass front panel of the fire alarm. As soon as I pulled the white T-handle down, a siren screamed through the compound. I picked the longest, sharpest shard of glass up off the floor and tucked it into Quinn’s sneaker inside my bag; it never hurt to have extra weapons.

  I pressed myself against the underside of the stairs as a group of people passed on their way to the nearest exit. A minute later, a couple of cadets and a trainer from the blue unit exited the northeast wing.

  “Do you think it’s another drill?” one asked.

  “Got to be.”

  “Damn! I’ll never get back to sleep after this. And my shift starts at midnight.”

  I stowed my weapon and waited a little longer, hoping that Bruce would come out and leave Quinn locked inside — that would be entirely like him. Even if he dragged Quinn out with him, I could dart Bruce and try to get Quinn away in the confusion of the evacuation. But after a few minutes with no one else emerging, I figured Bruce didn’t intend to come out. Maybe he rated Sarge’s orders to stay put higher than a fire drill. That figured. Bruce would rate Sarge’s orders higher than a direct command from God.

  I slipped out from under the staircase and entered the northeast wing, aware that my movements would be picked up by the cameras. I would need a cover story after this to account for my actions. I could say that I was checking whether my team-member had needed help with evacuating himself and his prisoner. I ran up the stairs to Quinn’s first-floor room and pounded on the door.

  “Bruce! It’s me, Blue. Open up — there’s a fire!”

  The door was flung open, and I was looking into Quinn’s gray eyes.

  “You!” he spat out.

  “Not now, okay?” I said.

  “You betrayed us. You shot my brother, you shot me!”

  “I darted you both, there’s a difference,” I said, stepping around him to where Bruce stood with his sidearm pressed against Quinn’s back.

  “What was that — back there?” I said to Bruce. “I thought you were on the mission as backup to protect me.”

  “I was protecting you. What do you think would have happened to you if you’d wimped out? They’re already suspicious of your relationship with this one.” Bruce gave Quinn a sharp poke in the back with the pistol, turning him away from the door.

  I smacked his hand away. “What is it with you and guns?” I snapped.

  “I’m a professional marksman,” said Bruce, kicking the door closed and gesturing Quinn over to sit on the bed. “Guns is what I do.”

  “And are you a professional snitch, too?”

  “A snitch?”

  “Like Leya.”

  “Leya’s not a snitch,” Bruce said, sounding appalled.

  “Oh yes, she is. She’s in Sarge’s office now, giving her report on her precious team members. Guess Squad before Blood isn’t her motto.”

  “She wouldn’t!”

  “She’s a plant, a mole. She’s been playing us since the beginning. Running to them and telling tales about all of us.”

  “That is … Dude, that is so bad, I don’t even have a word for it!” Bruce looked genuinely furious. His face was red, his thick brows pulled down into a single line, and the hand without the weapon was clenched in a fist. “She broke the code!”

  “Hey, I guess she was only following orders,” I needled.

  “You think — Sarge?”

  “Of course Sarge.”

  “No. No, man.” Bruce looked like everything he’d believed in was turning out to be false, everyone he’d trusted had turned out to be undeserving. Yeah, welcome to the real world, Brucey-baby.

  “You should go give Leya a piece of your mind,” I urged. “If you’re quick enough, you might even catch her before she reaches Sarge.”

  “Yeah! I will, I’ll go right now!” His hand was already on the door handle when he stopped and turned back to face me, smiling ruefully and shaking his head. “Nice try, Blue. But I’m not falling for it.”

  Cursing wildly inside my head, I forced my face to stay neutral.

  “Fine, it’s no skin off my back — I haven’t done anything wrong. But I thought you really valued loyalty.”

  “I do. Loyalty to my squad” — I made a disbelieving noise — “loyalty to my country and to the people who protect its citizens.”

  “Oh, please,” said Quinn. “Protect its interests, maybe. But its citizens? Not so much.”

  “Who asked you for your opinion, you commie traitor?”

  “Yeah, shut up,” I added, partly because I didn’t want Quinn to provoke Bruce any further, and partly to lull Bruce into thinking I was still on his side. “You haven’t been out there like we have, risking our lives to shoot infected rats and take down terrorists. We’ve probably saved a bunch of lives, protecting and serving our government, and its people.”

  “Yeah!” Bruce held up his left hand for a fist-bump, and though it pained me to do it, I touched my knuckles to his.

  “You are such a fool!” said Quinn. “Protecting and serving your government. I wonder if you’d still feel that way if you knew the truth.”

  What truth? Was there more to know? He’d said something last night about there being something else I needed to see.

  “Don’t listen to him, Blu
e. He’s trying to mess with your head, to distract you.”

  It was distracting me.

  “Should I tell you?” Quinn said.

  “Ignore him, Blue, just ignore him. It’s all BS.” Bruce pointed a finger at Quinn. “And you, O’Riley — shut up, or I’ll make you!”

  I gave myself a mental shake. I could ask Quinn what he meant later, when Bruce had been dealt with. I forced my thoughts back to the present, back to the vague plan I’d devised for getting us out of here, a plan which began with getting Quinn’s hands free and overpowering Bruce.

  I twisted my mouth in a sneer and spoke to Quinn.

  “And you look ridiculous with only one shoe. The other one’s in there.” I took a step closer to Quinn and tossed my bag casually onto the bed beside him. “Put it on, they’ll be coming for you soon.”

  He glared at me, twisted his shoulders to show me the cable ties snaring his wrists. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my hands are tied.”

  “Whatever,” I said, and with my back momentarily to Bruce, I stared hard into Quinn’s furious eyes, then at the bag, then back again, before slowly turning back around.

  “And they’re going to stay tied,” Bruce snarled at Quinn.

  I stepped closer to Bruce, trying to block his view of Quinn, trying to keep his attention on me.

  All the while my eyes were scanning the room, noticing objects and distances and potentials. Bruce, armed with a sidearm — between me and the door, blocking my exit. Me — between Bruce and Quinn, blocking Bruce’s sight-lines. Bruce’s rifle — leaning up against the wall to the far side of the desk. Quinn’s phone, loaded with the incriminating video and who knew what else — visible through the open door to the bathroom, lying on the slab beside the basin. The clock on the shelf beside the door, ticking away the minutes impossibly fast. Bright lights blazing through the window as the compound lights switched on in the darkening evening outside.

  “Maybe I should help him put on his shoe?” I said, knowing how Bruce would respond, but playing for time.

  “No you shouldn’t. If he doesn’t like wearing only one shoe, he can kick the other one off and go barefoot. That won’t kill him.”