by Jaz Primo
Not six feet away from him, two teenage girls huddled behind the trunk of a nearby car. The man lifted the shotgun, aiming at them.
“Police! Drop the gun now!” Gibbons ordered.
I admired the grit of a man holding only a baton who’d try to face down a gunman like that.
The man turned toward us instead.
I held up my hand and generated a shield just as the man pulled the trigger. The girls screamed.
Pellets appeared in a pattern, suspended in midair before us. The man fired again, but I caught the next round, as well.
I dropped the shield and pellets skittered to the pavement. I pushed my hand outward toward the gunman.
He flew into the air, landing about twenty feet away onto the street with a heavy thud.
“Bloody hell,” Gibbons muttered, staring at me with mouth agape.
He quickly recovered, rushing forward with me to apprehend the gunman. I stripped the shotgun from the man’s firm grip while Gibbons rolled him over and cuffed him.
The man muttered gibberish, so I took a chance and I opened my thoughts to him.
…must kill the zombies or they’ll get me! I can’t get away!
Then a wave of other excited and random thoughts invaded my mind, causing me to reel. I closed off my mind and pressed my palm to my forehead.
“Thanks ever so much. You okay, Bringer?” Gibbons asked.
“Yeah, fine,” I said, appreciating the solitude of my own mind once again. “He thinks that everyone’s a zombie.”
“What? How can you—”
“Trust me, I know,” I insisted.
I looked around at people who were starting to gather and come out from hiding places to stare at us, some commenting about what they had just seen.
“…threw the man into the air and down street right before my eyes.”
“…see that? Just like the news said he did overseas.”
Gibbons rose to stand, addressing the crowd. “See here now, move along! We’re in a state of civil emergency! Get back to your homes and stay off the streets!”
I’d say one thing for Gibbons, he knew how to take command of even the most bizarre situations.
He tried his personal radio again to call in our situation.
“Suspect in custody. No injuries,” he said.
“Hold until relief arrives. No free units at the moment,” came the response from dispatch.
Then we heard more shouting and screams from around the corner and not far away.
Gibbons and I looked at each other.
“It’s the apocalypse, it is,” he said. “Help me get this man over to that post and we’ll handcuff him in place.”
We ran toward the direction of the next commotion.
* * *
Two hours after apprehending two more violent suspects, Gibbons had run out of handcuffs and I was out of breath. He was kind enough to purchase a sports drink for me from a nearby convenience store as we paused to catch our breath.
“I’d been thinking about moving the wife and kids out to the country,” he said between swigs from his bottled water. “Now I’m convinced to do it.”
“There’s no place safe from this until we stop who’s causing it,” I said.
“You’re right, of course,” he agreed.
“You’re a brave man, Gibbons,” I said. “Staring down a man with a shotgun like you did.”
“Very kind of you to say, sir. But what you did is even more amazing,” he said. “I’d be in bad way if you hadn’t stopped those rounds.”
“We both would,” I said.
My mobile phone rang. It was Sanders.
“Tell me something good, this is probably costing me a million-dollar roaming charge,” I said.
Gibbons chuckled.
“We’ve managed to correlate a common person at some scenes,” Sanders said.
“Just a second,” I said, putting my phone on speaker. “Go ahead. You’re on speaker.”
“She’s a dark-haired woman wearing blue jeans and a dark-colored sweatshirt with a sports team emblem on the front,” Sanders said. “No photo recognition for her on file. They’re cross-referencing with Interpol now.”
“Let’s narrow it down a bit. Which team emblem is on her sweatshirt?” Gibbons asked.
We listened as Sanders and two other people conversed in the background.
“Port Duckton is what the shirt appears to say,” Sanders said.
I looked at Gibbons. “Duckton?”
He shook his head. “Someone’s having a lark. At least, that’s certainly not an English Premier team.”
“Well, real or not, it’s something to go on,” I said. “Any idea where she’s at now?”
“We have a recent image taken at Church Street and St. Mary’s,” Sanders said.
“That’s not far from here,” Gibbons said. “It’s near the Central Market. We can make it on foot.”
“Wait, that was almost an hour ago. We also have an image from about twenty minutes ago near Llwynfedw Gardens and—” Sanders said.
“Ma’am, look here,” said someone at Sanders’ end of the connection. “And there…”
“Oh, no,” Sanders said.
“What is it?” I demanded.
“We’ve plotted her locations on a map by timeline. Unlike before, it now appears she’s steadily making her way north through the city,” Sanders said. “I’d bet she’s heading in the direction of the warehouses and Commander Yarborough’s team.”
I looked at Gibbons, who was shaking his head. “She’s far north of us now,” he said.
“Dammit,” I said. “Sanders, can you get anyone to pick us up? Helicopter maybe?”
“Hill and I are on our way from Cardiff Bay,” she said. “Hang tight.”
“Well, skip the red lights, okay?”
I hated waiting, but especially now that we had a specific target, it felt nearly intolerable.
“Our mark is on foot,” Gibbons pointed out. “We’ll intercept her yet.”
Despite my misgivings, I admired his confidence.
Still, in the past we’d usually been one step behind our adversary. It would sure be nice to reverse that trend.
* * *
Officer Gibbons helped things along by guiding us to a central roadway that he referred to as the A469. As we walked alongside the street, Hill and Sanders picked us up on the way north.
The roadway was less congested than it had been earlier. Apparently, the authorities had placed the city under martial law and established a curfew until further notice.
That’s when I realized how out of control things were.
“Mr. Bringer, I can’t thank you enough for pitching in until we had solid leads,” Hill said.
“My pleasure. It kept me busy,” I said. “You’ve got a good man here in Gibbons. He did stellar work in the field with me today.”
“Well done, Gibbons,” Hill said.
“Thank you, sir,” replied Gibbons. “And just so you know, we just passed Llwynfedw Gardens on the right. The tactical team is just a kilometer or so ahead.”
“Good,” I said.
I could hardly wait to get onsite and prepare for the hopeful arrival of our visitor. The only problem was I didn’t know how much more havoc she might wreak before arriving to us.
“Are we sure this lady is the one?” I asked.
“The video evidence is compelling,” Sanders said. “There weren’t any other people who appeared near multiple incidents as she did.”
Aside from the continued heavy chatter on the radio, an unsettling silence fell among us.
Hill’s mobile phone’s ringing made me lurch in my seat.
“Hill,” he said. “What? We’re almost there. Contain, if possible.”
A sour feeling formed in the pit of my stomach.
“Commander Yarborough just reported in,” Hill said. “There’s activity around the warehouses. It seems that more chaotic events are stirring in the vicinity and some team members have been forced to
intervene.”
Officer Anson was at the wheel and he increased our vehicle’s speed, passing the police SUV in front of us.
My previous years of field experience in combat zones kicked in.
“Your forces are being split up and lured away,” I warned. “It must be an attempt to weaken your perimeter.”
“Yes, well, there’s not much to be done about it,” Hill said. “We don’t exactly have any surplus of force to supplement them right at the moment.”
“Yes, but what if that was the idea all along?” Sanders asked.
“This is something we simply never anticipated at this scale before, and we don’t have boundless resources to draw upon,” Hill said, sounding quite defensive.
“ACC Hill, listen, we’re not trying to be critical,” I said. “It’s frustrating for everyone involved.”
I knew things were getting bad when I was the one trying to play peacemaker.
“Unfortunately, Bringer and I have experience with this sort of circumstance,” Sanders added.
My adrenaline spiked to the point that I considered getting out and sprinting.
I bailed out of the vehicle before Anson came to a complete stop.
Chapter 13
I’d no sooner stepped from the SUV when gunfire erupted all around us. Multiple rounds penetrated the body of our vehicle as everyone scattered for cover.
I looked up. One of the tactical team members ahead of us was the source of the gunfire.
“Hey, we’re friendlies!” I yelled.
More rounds rained upon us as I rushed forward, throwing up a shield before me.
As the guy paused to reload, I grabbed him with my talent and propelled him onto the ground.
More shots rang out from nearby and I heard numerous rounds impact turf, followed by a nearby gasp. I turned to see one of the officers who had accompanied us fall to the ground, clutching at his chest.
Following the probable trajectory of the incoming fire, I spotted another tactical team member along a section of concrete wall, his assault rifle pointed toward us.
Once again, I reached out with my abilities, propelling him back against the wall with a thud. He slammed into the wall hard and fell unconscious onto the ground.
We were late. Our mystery target had already arrived.
“Pull everyone back! Now!” I ordered.
“What the devil—” Hill shouted.
I turned and headed back toward our group.
“Don’t you get it? The team’s been compromised by that woman,” I said. “You’ve got to get everyone the hell out of here now.”
“What about those in the warehouse?” Hill demanded. “We can’t very well let them just walk away.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “We’re just going to have to take that chance. I can’t fight our target if I’m busy fighting all of your people, too.”
“He’s right, sir,” Gibbons spoke up. “We should pull back.”
“All right,” Hill said. “I’ll give the order. Please try not to kill any of our people, if you can manage it.”
I gave him a nod and looked at Sanders. “You pull back, too.”
She looked none too pleased, but retreated with the group.
“And Hill, try to form a larger perimeter, if you can,” I said.
“Aye. If we can,” Hill replied.
I turned and headed toward the closest warehouse, opening my thoughts to see if I could detect anyone before they started firing at me. As a precaution, I raised a shield around me.
I continued at a slow pace, listening with both my mind and ears.
…almost in my sights.
Sights?
I halted in my tracks.
Great, probably a sniper.
I evaluated my position and anticipated possible firing positions before stepping forward.
Rather than hearing the rifle shot, I felt the round’s impact against my shield. I turned in that direction and saw the bullet suspended before me. My shield held it in place.
Another round slammed into my shield within an inch of the other, and I visually followed the line of fire back to the sniper, who was lying atop a nearby building’s sheet metal roof.
I dropped my shield and the suspended bullets fell to the ground.
Controlling my rising anger, I reached out and lifted him into the air. He twisted and shouted as I spun him around and then dropped him to the ground before me.
He hit the ground heavily and I heard the air rush from his lungs. I bent down, stripped the rifle from his grip, and punched him squarely in the face while buffering my fist with a light shield.
His head snapped backward and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
In addition to being highly effective, my new technique saved me a lot of future bruised knuckles.
I proceeded forward, raising my shield and opening my thoughts, trying to concentrate my focus before me and to the sides for maximum effectiveness. A number of voices immediately made their presence known.
…any more coming?
…have told us by now.
…long before we can leave for the port?
…much like scaring children, really.
…already tired of sitting around waiting.
It seemed as if the thoughts came from ahead of me, somewhere inside the nearest warehouse.
However, I sensed that one person—the one thinking about scaring children—was off to my left and not far from me. That was the one I was most interested in, for the moment.
As I moved in the direction of the source, I felt a strange sensation, like an itching deep inside my head.
Feeling brave enough to find me?
I stopped, startled.
It was a woman’s voice. Her thoughts were so clear in my mind that I almost thought she was actually speaking aloud to me.
I slowly moved forward, making my way past stacks of crates, shipping containers, and large freight trucks.
As if sensing her proximity, I felt drawn to a smaller nearby warehouse, and not the largest central warehouse, the former focus of the tactical operation.
The sliding main doors were ajar a couple of feet, so I peeked inside.
Getting warmer.
I stopped, the itching sensation prevalent in my head again. Once more, the woman’s voice in my head was as clear as if she stood beside me.
I hesitated and stepped inside. No interior light fixtures were turned on, but the warehouse was slightly illuminated by daylight from windows interspersed along the walls.
Opening my mind further, I concentrated on detecting thoughts.
…should be interesting.
Wait! He’s listening to me!
I paused.
Pain ripped through my head jarring my teeth.
How dare you try to get inside MY head?!
I gripped my head in both hands and pressed on my temples, as if trying to get inside to the pain and rip it out.
I concentrated and tried to construct the strongest shield that I could manage.
After a moment, the pain subsided to a tolerable degree, though I felt intense strain from trying to maintain my shield at that level.
“So, you’re stronger than I gave you credit for. So much stronger than the puppets dancing around this city,” said a woman, who now stood before me. “Still, it’s not going to help you.”
She had long, dark hair and was wearing the sweatshirt and jeans that Sanders had previously described. What surprised me was that, unlike her thoughts in my head, her voice carried a slight European accent.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Are you part of Continuance Corporation?”
“You’re very inquisitive, aren’t you?” she countered. “You don’t know me, but I know you. You’re Logan Bringer.”
“And I don’t even deserve to know yours?”
She shrugged. “Marlis, but my friends call me Lis. Not that it really matters to you much longer. Shame really. You’re sort of cute.”
“Ever v
isited Minsk, Lis?” I asked.
The edges of her mouth rose. “You do get around, don’t you? It’s no harm to say that I visited there for a short time.”
“Well, I hope the food was good where you were staying,” I said. “Because the décor left a lot to be desired from my perspective.”
She frowned.
“Say, by the way, which cell was yours? Was it the one with the Crayola pictures on the wall?” I pressed. “I sort of liked those.”
Her jaw tightened. “Screw you! You have no idea what we’ve been through.”
“Do tell.”
“What are you, some kind of shrink?”
“Why stay there, I wonder?” I asked. “Say, was that where your abilities were manifested?”
“I don’t like talking to you anymore,” she said, reaching up to massage her temples with her fingertips.
Intense pressure formed inside my head, almost like a vise pressing on my brain, but my shields held.
Concentrating on her, I put all my strength into insulating my mind.
“You’re good,” she said. “But not very observant.”
I frowned and heard someone behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, Sanders stood with a pistol pointed at my head. Her hands shook as if she couldn’t hold onto her weapon.
“Meg?” I asked.
“N-No,” she said, gritting her teeth.
A tear ran down her cheek as her pistol fired.
The shield I conjured before me was so weak that the tip of the bullet actually touched my forehead before I managed to stop it.
The mental force of the impact against my shields broke my concentration.
The assault resumed in my mind. Searing pain ripped through my brain, dropping me to my knees.
I struggled to maintain a mental barrier as Meg cried out with anguish. Her pistol fired again and again at me.
My shields felt battered, and it was all I could manage to stay conscious to hold them in place. All the while, I heard Lis’ voice screaming in my head.
I’m going to blow your brains out from inside and out! You’re going to explode soon!
I felt so violated and angry that I lashed out in all directions with my skills, careless of who I affected.
Meg’s body flew across the warehouse and rolled across the floor. I turned and Lis staggered backward, though remained on her feet.
