by S. T. Moon
Drawing his knife, he staggered forward wishing he had a place to shelter and recover. Adrenaline and determination would keep him going for a while but he needed medical attention.
One of the human-sized Death Angels came around the corner and pointed at him. He’d seen this one earlier and thought he’d put it down. It limped toward him, one arm nonfunctional and one leg out of sync with the rest of its body.
Breaker backed away. It closed the distance between them and locked two of its arms on his shoulders. Almost giddy from fatigue and blood loss, Breaker laughed out loud at the idea they looked like broken dance partners who hated each other. He stabbed his boot knife into the neck that supported its optics while it pummeled him with its second pair of arms. Twisting the knife, he raked down into the central processing unit between the machine’s shoulders.
Pushing it off and getting away was the hardest physical task he’d ever performed in his life.
Time passed slowly because of his injuries—not to mention dehydration compounded by blood loss and shock. Regardless of the reason, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he saw Irene Vail. She emerged from the mist like a vision.
“You’re hard to catch up with,” she said. “We need to go. Right now.”
He hesitated. There was a reason he had returned to the D.C. Metro conflict—something or someone he came back for. The idea seemed important but he couldn’t grasp it. He studied her numbly. It seemed like a long time before he remembered the elaborate dinner he’d made for Irene and Victoria.
The woman he loved was in danger.
“We have to find Victoria first,” he said.
She shook her head sadly. “The time for that has passed. I need your absolute loyalty if you come with me. You have to forget about her. You must commit everything to being a fixer. Think of it as your final test,” she said.
“No. I’m not leaving without her. If you don’t already understand that, you’re not as good as you think you are,” he said.
“You can’t go much farther.” Irene crossed her arms.
“I can go as far as I need to.”
She took a step forward and jabbed him angrily. “You could be the best fixer in the last hundred years. Come with me and you’ll be calling the shots instead of following orders.”
“Victoria’s hurt. Her team is a shambles. They can’t be far from where we are right now. Help me or leave me here,” he said.
She tried to grab him. He slapped her arm away and bolted into the smoke and mist. As soon as he could, he turned down an alley. Again and again he changed course, hoping to lose her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Fighting Naked
Monica grabbed Frank Oden’s naked thigh with her left hand and prepared to plunge the needle into it.
She hesitated.
Oden laughed. “You can’t do it. Is it because you want one last orgasm or because you flunked out of fixer school?”
Snarling, she raised the needle high before plunging it into the meat of his leg. She wanted to really hurt him. At the top of the arc, she hesitated again, wondering if she should spear him straight through his cock.
She was off her game, he was right about that.
She should’ve realized all his complaining about wanting to be untied was a ruse.
Several things happened in an eyeblink. When she hesitated with the needle high above her head, he yanked his hands free of the ropes supposedly binding him to the bedpost, then chopped down on both sides of her neck.
She fell backward, nearly unconscious. The needle pinwheeled from her hand. When she tried to stand, she fell on her naked ass. She scrambled clumsily to her feet and staggered sideways—tits, ass, and thighs wobbling like Jell-O. She felt weak, unable to fully engage her toned musculature.
He worked frantically to untie his legs.
She punched him in the side of his jaw, hoping to knock him out.
He cursed, then spat blood.
“You shouldn’t be able to fight with all the dope I put in your system,” she said. Saying this—and more importantly remembering this—boosted her confidence. She screamed a karate kiai and flexed every muscle in her body to get them working.
“I’m gonna fuck you up,” he said.
“Then stop fucking talking about it and do it!” she screamed again, launching herself into a series of jumping front kicks. He retreated but took the last kick on his jaw and was thrown back.
She mounted him like a mixed martial arts fighter, or perhaps a Roman gladiator of old since they were both naked. Raining down elbows, she screamed so fiercely that her spit mixed with his blood.
He thrust his hips up and twisted sideways, unbalancing her, and she rolled over her own shoulders. She spun around and saw him lunging toward the window with a handful of clothing clutched to his chest.
“Stop right there!”
He hit the window at a full run, smashing through it to plummet toward the street.
She ran to the windowsill and looked down. The man she just tried to kill was sprinting naked toward the sound of distant chaos. He’d started this revolution in the historical sector of the city. Now he was going to have to survive in it bare-assed, bloodied, and injured. His personal army wouldn’t even know he was missing.
She dressed as fast as she could and went after him, knowing she would never catch up in time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Beginning of Something
Hanson Breaker understood the dark looks the villagers gave him when he led in the ragged band of refugees. They were outsiders and outsiders always brought trouble.
He took them to his longhouse where his family separated boys from girls and got them out of their frozen clothing. They would get them warm and fed.
“Quinn, Jenna, come with me,” he said.
“I’m not leaving the younger ones without protection,” Quinn said. Jenna said nothing but seemed ready to fight.
“There’s no more protected place than my longhouse. My sons and nephews are respected fighters. More importantly, nobody would dare interfere with the women of the Breaker clan,” he said.
“Where’re we going?” Quinn asked.
“I’m taking you to the village elders. You can’t stay in my longhouse forever. And if you want to move around the valley, you need their approval.”
Quinn and Jenna looked at each other, seeming to communicate without words. Hanson wondered what they had been through and how they’d survived this long.
More of the villagers had gathered outside, all of them watching Hanson and the two strangers. He greeted most by name, ignoring those few he was annoyed with for reasons unrelated to current events. Life in a small community had its share of drama.
The elders passed a smoking pipe around the hearth inside the meetinghouse. They smiled and nodded to Hanson, then to his guests. The reception seemed amiable.
These men and women were cautious but confident. He was glad he’d sent his oldest son ahead to explain the situation. Hitting them with what he wanted cold would have been disastrous. Some of the details, he knew, would be a surprise.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the valley, this is Quinn and Jenna. They’ve been held against their will, along with three dozen children and young adults, at what we always assumed was a vacation lodge.”
“Were we wrong? Doesn’t it belong to people from the grid?” Benjamin Garren asked, puffing on the pipe.
“It’s gone now. Burned to the ground. Jenna and Quinn told me many of the rich and powerful people of the occupied territories spent time there,” Hanson said.
“They kept us as slaves,” Quinn said.
“I was wondering when the boy would talk,” Benjamin said.
“I’m not a boy.”
Benjamin and the other elders studied him with interest. “No, you’re not. I meant no offense.”
Hanson waited. He could tell Quinn and Jenna wanted to plead their case, or better yet, leave and leave quickly.
�
�Keeping them here won’t be popular, not with our people or the neighboring villages,” Benjamin said. “We’ll do whatever you want, of course. You’re Hanson Breaker.”
Hanson turned to Quinn and Jenna, his back to the elders, which was unusual. It could be taken the wrong way but he needed this moment of privacy.
He said, “It’s time. Tell them everything.”
Quinn and Jenna exchanged a look.
“Hold on a second, Breaker,” Benjamin said. “I’m not sure I’m going to like where this is headed.”
“I’m sure you won’t.” Hanson replied. “It’s time to go to war,”
* * *
Benjamin and the elders were silent. The only sound was the hearth fire crackling. Tension filled the room.
Hanson had known most of the story before Quinn and Jenna began. He’d known it would be bad, but the details shocked him. He hadn’t expected either of them to talk about years of victimization. Especially not Quinn. Young men didn’t admit to such things, but Quinn didn’t seem to understand how scandalous his words were.
“What have you done?” Benjamin asked, meeting Hanson’s eyes for the first time in almost an hour.
There wasn’t a good answer.
Quinn spoke. “We’re not asking for you or your people to do anything. This stuff isn’t going to change. You can’t clean the darkness from human hearts.”
Hanson expected Benjamin and the other elders to leap at the excuse to do nothing. But the man’s jaw tightened. He clenched his fist, raised it slowly, then seemed to reconsider pounding it on the table.
“That’s no excuse to stand by and let evil men do evil things,” he said.
“Men and women, you mean,” Jenna said.
Hanson looked at her.
“I’ve thought a lot about the woman who freed us. I’m not sure she’s our friend. This woman, she killed more than twenty people, not counting the guards, like they were insects. There’s more than one type of evil,” she said.
Benjamin and the other elders listened to her words, respect dawning on their faces. “How does such a child attain such wisdom?” His words sounded like a compliment to Hanson.
“I’ve never been a child,” Jenna said, eyes hard and cold now. “I’ve spent my life as a slave to the gratification of others. What I fear now is turning into the woman who slaughtered our slavers. I fear it, but I crave it.”
Hanson shuddered.
“Thank you for seeking our counsel,” Benjamin said.
Quinn and Jenna turned to Hanson.
“Why did you put us through this if they can’t make any decisions?” Quinn asked.
“I respect their wisdom. What I’m about to do will change everything and it would be irresponsible for me to act on nothing but my own emotions,” Hanson said.
Benjamin said, “We’re furious. The young men and women of the valley will be insensate with rage and lusting for battle. You won’t have trouble inducing our fighting men and women to violence.”
Sally Henderson spoke from her place near the hearth. “The technological world will crush us with their machines.”
Among the elders, voices were raised and the argument was on.
Hanson listened carefully. He had expected this. He also knew Benjamin was right. Every generation went through the stage when they wanted to strike back. Age and wisdom usually saved them from such self-destructive impulses. It seemed that was about to change.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Clock is Ticking
Victoria was faster than Abel and the Randalls. She sprinted after Irene Vail. This time she’d catch her or die trying.
The rising sun cut through the grayness that had made the place seem like another world. She passed tipped-over food carts and abandoned vehicles. In one intersection there were thousands of shell casings. Glass and cement buildings were riddled with holes.
Her quarry darted across the street.
“Irene!”
The slim blonde fixer didn’t even slow. Neither did Victoria. She wondered why Irene would be running and decided she must be looking for Breaker.
Victoria had been this way twice already and knew Irene was running toward an improvised barricade that had been rammed by a car. It was on fire the last time she saw it and impassable without specialized equipment.
Victoria took a shortcut through a building with all the glass busted out on the ground level. She ran down an escalator and up another, emerging on the other side of the block. When she arrived on the next street she intercepted Irene.
“Stop running, Irene.”
“Shouldn’t you be leading your team?” Irene seemed distracted.
“We’re on the same side,” Victoria said. “We need to find Breaker. Why don’t we work together now and fight over him later?”
“I’ve already activated his tracking chip. All fixers have them,” Irene said.
Something was wrong. The woman seemed frazzled, which made her look like a completely different person. She was worried about something; she almost looked frightened.
“Tell me the rest,” Victoria said.
Irene threw up her hands in frustration. “He’s on probation, which means if he gets too far from me, the tracking device at the base of his skull will explode.”
Victoria gaped at her.
“It’s small. It’ll look like a seizure to any examination less invasive than an autopsy,” Irene said. “And even then, the results will be inconclusive.”
“What about you? Who has the button for your failsafe?” Victoria asked.
“I had it removed. That’s why my boss’s boss is afraid of me, and the reason the merger was good for me,” Irene said. She spun away from Victoria and started jogging deeper into the city. Victoria followed her.
“We’re going to lose him. Why aren’t we working together? Help me. Help me save him.”
Fatigue and desperation did things to her imagination. Just when she needed to focus, she remembered her encounters with Breaker. Memories of forcing her way onto the bullet train and finding him in his cabin ready to jump off at supersonic speeds, played vividly in her mind and she shivered. She could feel the train rocking beneath her feet and see the blur of the mountainous landscape speeding by just before he leaped into the sky.
He’d disappeared, just like she feared he would now. Except this time he’d be gone forever.
Tears streamed down her face. All she wanted was to find him. She could figure everything else out after that.
“Working together would be smart,” Irene said. She checked her tracking device. “You and I should be allies and friends. But you know we can’t.”
Victoria searched for the words that would convince the blonde to help her save Breaker. “I’d rather see him alive and with you than dead.”
“Interesting. I would probably feel the same way. If I could feel anything at all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Victoria & Irene
“He’s on the next block,” Irene said. “At this rate, we should catch him easily. But we need to talk first.”
“After we get to him.” Victoria picked up the pace despite her exhaustion.
“He’ll have to choose one of us.”
Victoria tried to control her racing heart. She’d thought she was out of adrenaline. Somehow, a fight with the blonde assassin scared her more than a Death Angel.
The other woman was small. If she was athletic and muscular, her clothing concealed it. All of that was by design, Victoria had no doubt. The woman had probably killed more people than a front line commando in one of the ancient wars. She wondered how many died in their sleep or during the throes of passion and how many had been in face-to-face fights.
“I’ve never asked you or anyone else for anything,” Irene said.
“You can’t have Breaker.”
“I’ll have him if he chooses me.” Irene spread her feet slightly and let her hands fall near her waist. It was the most casual of fighting stances, but perfectly
balanced. “I’m really trying, Victoria. His choice would be a lot easier if he only had one woman to choose from.”
* * *
Breaker examined the remnants of a medical kit. Someone had administered first aid then evacuated the patient. He’d seen enough emergency crews working to hope for some cast-off supplies. In a way, what he found was worse.
The medic had been dead for a while. Breaker dragged the body into a doorway and banged on the door. No one answered.
“I’m sorry,” he read the medic’s name tag, “R. A. Mitchell. Someone will come to pick you up. In the meantime, I need this med kit.”
He stayed with the corpse while he tended his wounds, feeling it was the least he could do to pay his respects. When he was done he regarded the man for a long moment. “Thanks.”
They tried to eradicate his emotions during fixer training. That was impossible and everyone knew it. But they tried anyway.
He worked his way back to the last place he’d seen Victoria and Irene. They hadn’t moved very far and appeared to be arguing.
Snatches of their conversation drifted to him on the breeze. Irene managed to stay put together despite the chaos. She moved with grace and beauty he could appreciate. He also knew what she’d been through to earn her high status among the fixers.
Victoria looked disheveled and older than he remembered. She had dark circles around her eyes. Her hair was pulled back but rumpled, as though this wasn’t the first time she had tried to restrain her dark tresses. Her uniform and tactical gear had white lines of dried sweat staining newer dampness. He saw blood and grime on both women.
He knew what they were arguing about. And he knew his choice, impossible as it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Fate of Frank Oden
