‘Fine, whatever. Hold this button.’
Damien held the doors closed while Aviary fished her phone from her pocket and checked security camera footage outside the elevator. Damien was impressed, but he kept it to himself and watched over her shoulder. There were four thumbnails onscreen. He could make out six marines.
‘Look at their placement. They’re ready for us,’ Nasira whispered.
‘I can only disable their carbines’ weapon retention systems,’ Aviary said. ‘But they can still use their pistols.’ She pressed her palm.
‘What are you—’ Damien clutched his ears. The whining sound cut through him, almost taking him to the ground. He steadied himself. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Forgot about your sensitive hearing.’
Nasira unsheathed her sword. ‘I ain’t taking chances.’
Damien kept his covered. ‘These marines are cogs in the Fifth Column’s machine, just like us. And your sword could catch on their armor.’
‘Spare me your idealism.’ She sheathed it. ‘But I’m only doing it because I don’t want it getting snagged.’
Aviary took a small flashlight from her rucksack. ‘I have a plan. I hope you like it.’
Under her breath, Nasira said, ‘What is it?’
‘I open the doors to another elevator, which distracts them. Then, I open our doors,’ Aviary said with a smile, ‘and strobe the crap out of them.’ She pressed briefly on her flashlight and almost blinded Damien. ‘Sorry.’
Nasira nodded in approval. ‘You’ll need to cut—’
The elevator went dark, lit only by Aviary’s phone.
Damien had to admit, she was handy in an escape. Maybe he could’ve used her in Guatemala after all. ‘OK, now we just need—’
The doors opened.
Nasira slipped from their elevator, her obsidian sword in one hand, sheathed.
Damien followed. He counted the silhouettes of ten marines facing the other lift, more than the six he’d seen on the feed. Hearing boots on marble at last, the soldiers turned. There were five on Damien’s side, and as he closed on the first, a thought hit him.
What if Aviary’s disabler didn’t work?
Behind him, Aviary’s flashlight strobed. The marines held their ground through the frenzy of rapid flashes, their carbines aimed in all directions.
Damien cut across the first marine’s carbine with his sword, tearing it from his grasp, then brought the sheathed blade across the marine’s face. It struck him on the chin and lifted him from his feet.
Under the aggressively flashing lights, Damien could see a stop-motion performance of Nasira tearing her way through marine after marine. She slashed their weapons clear, cracked her sword across their arms and scooped their legs out from under them.
Damien closed on his second marine, taking out one of his legs with his sword. Then he slammed the hilt into the marine’s chest. The marine toppled backward, and Damien grabbed his carbine by its rail. He stepped toward the remaining cluster of three marines. Their muzzles tracked him in the strobing glare.
With his sword in one hand, and carbine in the other, like an ax, Damien slipped between a pair of marines, using both weapons to redirect their barrels into each other. Ducking, he struck out with both hands, dropping them.
The last marine he kicked in the hip, spinning her away. He swung the carbine into her shoulder. She collapsed.
A noise behind him: one of the downed marines must have recovered. Moving from the marine’s firing line, Damien swung the sword into his knee guards. The marine dropped to his knees and, sliding behind him, Damien slammed the carbine rail into the back of his helmet. The marine splayed forward.
Boots struck marble in the distance.
More marines.
‘Aviary!’ he yelled.
A new squad of marines appeared and opened fire. Damien lifted the collapsed marine to shield himself. Three marines closed on him, carbines aimed. Even through the strobing, they didn’t fire on his human shield.
There was only one way out of this—and that was without the sheath.
One of the new marines tried to pull his human shield away for a clear shot, but Damien shoved his shield into the new marine. They collapsed in a heap. The left and right marines moved in fast. Damien’s sword was free, dark and jagged. It glittered brilliantly in the strobe light.
The right marine ran into the sword. She stopped and collapsed, bleeding on the marble. Damien whipped the sword overhead, slicing the left marine, then flicked the blade forward. The front marine was on his feet again, carbine in both hands. The maquahuitl sword went smoothly through his neck, missing the spinal column. He dropped his weapon. Hanging from Damien’s sword, his carotid artery squirted blood like a garden sprinkler.
Aviary stopped the strobe and Damien’s eyes adjusted to the dark again. The marine’s gaze was fixed on him. There was no fear or anger, just a blank stare of disappointment.
The marine Damien had used as a shield was moving again, scrambling for a nearby weapon. Nasira shot him in the head.
Damien withdrew his sword from the marine’s neck. The marine stood there for a moment, then collapsed.
‘You’re goddamn lucky,’ Nasira said.
He stooped, picked up a radio wire and transmitter. ‘Let’s move.’
Aviary stood in the elevator, still, staring into space. She gave no sign she’d heard him.
Damien strode over to her. ‘We need to go. Aviary? We have to move.’
She blinked and focused on him. ‘Yeah, of course.’
With Aviary moving again, she took them from the lobby and into a passageway.
‘Aviary, get us to the monorail station,’ Nasira said.
She was pale in the gloom, her fingers shaking as she used her smartwatch. ‘Um, keep going, not far.’
Nasira overtook her and led the way, taking them underground. They passed a candy store and pretzel parlor, both shuttered and dark.
‘Take a left,’ Aviary said.
Nasira reached a split in the passageway and went left. There was a distant echo of boots behind them. Damien just hoped there weren’t any marines ahead as Nasira took them to the underground monorail station. He speed-vaulted over the turnstiles—one hand on a turnstile and legs out to the side.
Nasira tucked her legs in and monkey vaulted over. Behind them, Aviary slid across the marble on her hip, under the turnstile gate. She was back on her feet and moving after them, color slowly returning to her face.
They sprinted up the disabled escalators, emerging at last onto the above-ground monorail platform.
Empty.
‘The trains won’t stop here,’ Damien said.
‘They will now, bitches,’ Aviary said.
Nasira turned slowly. ‘What did you just call us?’
‘Glitches.’ Aviary pointed down the tunnel. ‘Look.’
A four-carriage monorail train slowed as it reached their platform. Painted black and green, it advertised a gritty energy drink that Jay probably drank when it was too early for alcohol.
‘You saying you can control that with your fancy watch?’ Nasira asked.
‘I’m saying I already am.’
The train drew to a halt beside them, and automatic doors opened on all three carriages, aligning with the platform doors that kept people from falling onto the rail. The carriages were shaped like capsules, big enough to fit only a handful of passengers, and there were a few already seated inside. Nasira pushed her way through, clearing the doorway. Damien and Aviary stepped in after her.
‘Make it go,’ Nasira said. ‘Now!’
Aviary was tapping her watch. ‘I am, I am!’
Half a dozen marines hauled themselves over the turnstiles and sprinted for the train as the doors slid shut.
‘Go, go,’ Nasira said.
The marines raised their weapons.
Damien hit the floor, hauling Aviary with him. Nasira was beside them, pistol ready. Aviary pressed a finger hard i
nto the bandage on her hand. No shrill frequency.
‘Damn, it’s out of juice,’ she said.
‘What?’ Damien asked. ‘How do you charge it?’
The train moved and through the glass doors Damien watched the marines disappear. A tunnel swallowed their train. They were safe, for the moment.
‘Chill, it’s piezoelectric.’ Aviary shook her hand vigorously. ‘My arm movements recharge it kinetically.’
‘How much movement?’ Nasira asked.
‘Walking pace, thirty minutes. Running—about ten,’ Aviary said. ‘Or I can just keep shaking my hand like this.’
The other passengers inside the carriage—two young men, and a trio of women about the same age—were watching Aviary shake her hand. As far as they could see, a pair of US Marines had kidnapped a small woman with an implant in her hand, and dragged her on the monorail to escape. Damien eyed the men, their sizes and builds. Their shirts and fitted jeans.
He pointed his pistol at one of them. ‘Take your shirt off, now.’
The man looked at his shirt, a white button-down with charcoal pinstripes. ‘Are you for real?’
‘See what I mean?’ Aviary said, figuring out Damien’s play. ‘You’re taking men’s clothes again.’
One of the women—tall, and wearing enough eyeliner for both of her friends—snorted with laughter.
‘You. Raccoon face.’ Nasira took aim at her. ‘Your jacket and top.’
The woman quickly shed her jacket. She handed it to Nasira, who snatched it off her.
‘I suppose you want my scarf too?’ she asked.
‘No, it looks like shit.’ Nasira handed the jacket to Aviary.
‘For me?’ Aviary said. ‘You shouldn’t have. Now if you had something for my hair…’
Nasira handed her a plasticuff cable tie. ‘I made it pretty for you.’
While Nasira watched the passengers, Damien unbuttoned his uniform. The train left the tunnel and slowly ascended, following the monorail track as it snaked north through Las Vegas. The city was aglow with light, burning away the last of Damien’s night vision.
‘Keep the train going,’ Nasira said. ‘Don’t stop.’
Aviary tapped her smartwatch. ‘You got it.’
Like Nasira, Damien wore a singlet and jeans underneath his uniform. While Nasira pulled her new glittering top on, Damien took the man’s pinstriped shirt and slipped his arms through. The train passed another platform and patrons caught a glimpse of three half-naked fugitives as they changed clothes.
Damien checked his phone. Three missed calls from Nasira. That would be Jay.
‘Aviary, call Nasira’s phone,’ he said.
Aviary called him on her watch. It rang once and he picked up.
‘We’re on the monorail,’ Damien said immediately.
‘Good. Stay the fuck on it,’ Jay said.
Nasira and Damien locked gazes. That didn’t sound good.
‘Why?’ Nasira asked.
‘Marines are swarming the strip on the southern—’ Jay said.
The call dropped out.
‘Jay?’ Nasira said.
Aviary cursed. ‘I’ll get him again.’
The train slowed as it reached the next stop: Bally’s/Paris station.
Nasira pulled her coiled hair and retied it into a ponytail. ‘Keep the train moving.’
Aviary tapped her smartwatch. The tiny square screen rippled with color as she accessed a variety of shortcuts she’d programmed into it. The train picked up speed again and whipped past a platform swarming with marines.
‘Change of plans,’ Nasira said. ‘Take us two more stops and we bail.’
‘What about Jay?’ Damien asked.
‘What about him?’ she snapped. ‘Give him a new RV.’
‘A recreational vehicle?’ Aviary asked.
‘No, RV means rendezvous point,’ Nasira said.
The train continued along the elevated monorail track. The shimmering lights of the replica Eiffel Tower blurred past. With two more stops to go, Damien unlaced and removed his boots, then shed his digicam pants down to his jeans. Nasira did the same.
‘Just like real spies,’ Aviary said.
Damien re-laced his combat boots. He could’ve stolen the man’s shoes, but he wanted something he could run and fight in, not something that would slip on polished marble or fall off in mid-sprint. He slung the sheathed sword over his head. Opposite him, Aviary pulled the hood on her jacket.
‘I’m the leader of the assassins now,’ Aviary said in her best deep voice.
‘What are you doing?’ Nasira asked.
‘The assassin video game, hello? You wear a hood.’
The topless man raised his hand. ‘I got that one.’
‘See, Nips got it,’ Aviary said.
The man folded his arms over his nipples.
‘You know what kind of assassin wears a hood that cuts off their peripheral vision?’ Nasira pulled Aviary’s hood down. ‘A dead assassin.’
‘But my hair’s bright red,’ she said. ‘They’ll see me a mile away.’
Nasira reached over and snatched the scarf from the woman in the middle, who now sat awkwardly in just her bra and jeans. Nasira used the scarf to make a bandana and fastened it over Aviary’s head.
‘Fixed.’ Nasira reached for her sheathed sword.
‘Leave them here,’ Damien said.
‘We can haul them,’ Nasira said. ‘Aviary, take off your ruck.’
Aviary removed the rucksack from her back. Nasira slung her sheath over Aviary’s shoulder, then gestured for Damien’s. He understood and handed it to her. With both swords sheathed on Aviary’s back, Nasira slipped her rucksack over them, concealing all but the hilt of each sword.
‘Feel OK? Can you run with that?’
Aviary shrugged. ‘I guess so.’
Nasira nodded her approval. ‘Trying to keep a low profile, y’know.’
The passengers remained silent as the monorail train pulled into the next station: Harrah’s/The LINQ. There hadn’t been any marines at the previous two stations and Damien was pleased to find none here either. Their luck was starting to improve. But he knew if they stayed on this train any longer, it would run out.
The doors opened and Nasira was the first onto the platform, pistol in one hand. She ran down an escalator, Damien and Aviary close behind her.
‘Do you need a map?’ Aviary called out as they ran.
Nasira paused to tap her own forehead, but gave Aviary no explanation.
‘Magnetoception,’ Damien said, running beside her. ‘She knows the turns before she takes them.’
‘How does that work?’
‘No idea,’ he said. ‘Like a compass in your head, I guess.’
‘Oh, Magneto-Girl. Cool.’
‘Probably don’t call her that.’
They hit the shopping area inside The LINQ Hotel and ran past a candy store, a high-end clothing store for pets and a flashy looking sports car on display.
Nasira stopped, and Damien drew to a halt beside her. ‘What?’
She was peering through a glass balcony at the hotel lobby below. Past that was the casino, their way out. Now it was filling with marines barking orders, steering panicked patrons out onto the boulevard.
Nasira cursed. ‘A minute earlier and we could’ve made that.’
Damien rolled up his sleeves. ‘I have a plan.’
But Nasira was already running for the display car—a blood orange Mustang with gunmetal spoked wheels. Aviary was two steps behind, tapping something on her watch. The Mustang’s doors unlocked.
‘Or we can go with your completely insane plan,’ Damien said.
Nasira got behind the wheel. Aviary jumped in the front passenger seat, leaving Damien to dive quickly in the back. Aviary handed him a sheathed sword. She jammed the other one behind her ruck, both wedged in her footwell.
‘If you don’t want to die, get your seatbelt on,’ Nasira said.
Damien hurriedly complied as t
he engine rumbled.
Nasira looked over at Aviary. ‘How did you start the engine?’
‘I’m really good at touching things.’ Aviary tapped her watch. ‘Wait. That came out wr—’
Nasira floored it.
The Mustang crashed through the balcony, soared through the air and plunged into the hotel lobby. Damien’s fingers dug into the front headrest. Miraculously, the Mustang landed wheels down. Marines scattered. One rolled over the hood, spiraling in the air. Another snapped off a side mirror as he dived clear.
Marines and patrons rolled from the car’s path. Nasira took the Mustang in a wide sweep across the lobby, deeper into the casino. This level was decorated to look like the streets of Paris, the ceilings painted with vanilla skies and the pathways decorated with old-fashioned street lamps.
‘Watch out for the lamps!’ Damien cried.
Nasira tore through them like they were made of foam and plaster, and that’s when he realized they were.
‘No magnetic fields,’ Nasira said. ‘I can tell.’
She corrected their path and grazed a row of slot machines. Patrons threw themselves clear of the speeding Mustang.
‘Hey, I just cracked the car,’ Aviary said.
‘What does that mean?’ Nasira asked. ‘Can you plot us a route?’
‘Hang on, I’m working on something. There.’ Aviary tapped her watch and their hazard lights flashed. ‘So you don’t hit anyone.’
‘Why would I need that? They have plenty of time to get out of the way,’ Nasira said.
A man in a tuxedo tumbled over the Mustang with a trailing high-pitched scream.
‘Except that one,’ she said.
Nasira weaved through the winding pedestrian path. On either side they were flanked by clusters of panicked gamblers, slot machines, blackjack tables and monstrous chrome-and-glass leviathans that promised million dollar jackpots.
Damien checked their rear. Marines were cutting through the disarrayed crowd, but they were on foot and struggled to keep up. He reached for his sword, just in case.
‘Aviary, get back on to Jay,’ Nasira said. ‘Tell him to meet us at the Venetian.’
‘I’m on it, Magneto-Girl.’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.’
Something landed on the rear of the Mustang: a man, plain-clothed, eyes locked on Damien with calm determination as he clung to the trunk.
Exile Page 8
