James walks up to me and places a hand on my shoulder. His eyes look both proud and sad at the same time. “Great job getting in, Marci.”
I nod and give him a faint smile.
“All right, here’s the deal. There’s little chance we’ll undo both locks exactly at the same time. We’ll be lucky if we can do it at all. But if we manage, I’m certain the alarm will go off.” James’s words spill out one after another. “We won’t have time for anything else besides setting the charges on the cryo freezers. Blare, are they ready?”
“Yes,” she answers.
“Good. As soon as the explosives are in place, we run out of this damn building. Marci, you’ll go last. Oso and I will go first.” James takes a moment to look everyone in the eye, then says, “Try not to get shot.”
“I’ll go upstairs and stand guard by the door,” Oso says. “Just in case.” He leaves without waiting for an answer.
I swallow. James is making me go last to protect me, and I’m reminded again that, to him, I’m just a child who needs to be safeguarded. Still, what sense does it make to protect me above everyone else? He’s far more important than me. I’m just a foot soldier. He’s the commander-in-chief.
James extends a hand toward the first lock. I approach it as if it was a deadly insect.
“Take your sweet time. We have all night,” Blare says sarcastically.
James gives her cold, scolding eyes and puts a finger to his lips. “Shhh, she’s our only hope of rescuing this mission.”
Rheema steps quietly to one side and gives me two thumbs-up. Her eyes tell me she trusts I can do this. I hope I don’t disappoint her.
Kneeling by the lock on the left, James encourages me to get by the one on the right. I take a knee in front of the door. As I take deep breaths and examine the set of small lock-picking tools, Blare’s expletives—it’s like she has freakin’ Tourette’s syndrome or something—become a faint buzz.
Inhale.
Ketchup stain on my shirt.
Exhale.
I pick two of the tools and insert them one by one into the keyhole. My lungs expand and collapse, moving more rapidly than I intend them to. One of the small tools slips from my grip and makes a clinking sound as it hits the concrete floor.
“Relax, Marci. If you can’t open it, it’s okay. Just give it your best shot,” James says as he slowly works on his lock with steady hands.
I pick up the tool and try to ignore Blare who has started pacing up and down like a caged lioness … or maybe a hyena. Wiping my hands on my black cargo pants, I twist my neck from side to side. I can do this, if only to shut Blare up.
Putting the tools back inside the lock, I set to work, letting instincts and memories steer me. I move the pick in my right hand up and down. Eyes closed, I listen to the small clicks to guide me. Sweat drips down my forehead and becomes lodged in one eyebrow. I ignore it even as it begins to itch and makes me want to scream.
“How’s it going?” James asks. “I think I’m almost done.”
“I—I’m doing okay.”
But it’s a lie. Panic is welling up and I’m starting to feel as if I’ll drown in it. On the outside, this lock looks like the one in Dad’s desk. But on the inside, I can’t make heads nor tails out of its mechanism. My chest feels tight, and I’m afraid I might start sobbing like the kid everyone figures me for.
Squeezing my eyes shut in an effort to quell my rising despair, I try to clear my mind of all thoughts. It may be a terrible idea at this moment, but something tells me that’s what I need to do. Far away, I can hear an annoying yap, yap, yap. I think it’s Blare running her motor mouth. I dismiss her, shove her deep down in the not-at-all-important mental drop box. Every fear and every doubt that enters my mind gets stuffed into nowhere-land with Blare.
A sudden peace sweeps through me and, without preamble, the lock’s complex mechanism materializes in front of my eyes like a 3D image. The clear-as-daylight picture in my mind should freak me out. Yet the image of the small, interlocking disks and bars that can only be arranged in the right order by a special key seems like the most natural thing.
I should be panicking, losing my mind. This isn’t right. This isn’t me. I never asked to change, to be able to do inhuman things. But instead, it feels right. It’s just what we need right now to avoid failure. It’s what may save us all. So I take a deep breath and accept it.
When my mind is settled, I become keenly aware of the fact that James is almost done picking his lock. If I hurry and catch up, the door will open without activating the alarm. I work frantically, using the picture in my mind to move the pick in the right direction. I want to tell James to slow down, to give me a few seconds to catch up to him, but I know if I speak my trance will break and I’ll lose the lock’s image.
A grinding sound distracts me for a second, but I realize it’s just my teeth. I ignore it.
“You can do it, Marci.” James’s soothing voice echoes in the depths of my spell. “Just breathe.” Precious air fills my lungs. I didn’t know I had stopped breathing.
Seconds pound like hammers inside my ears. James is a couple of steps away from finishing.
Hurry!
My heart seems to explode time and time again. My fingers feel like lead sausages, too clumsy and heavy to succeed, to get us out of here without being noticed. Suddenly, my thoughts jump ahead. They don’t just show me the motion my fingers should perform now, but the next, and next and next.
Of their own accord, my hands stop. Yet the insides of the lock continue clicking, aligning themselves in the right position. Things fall into place at a staggering speed. James is almost there. I have to hurry. I have to catch up and prevent the alarm from going off. I can’t let the Eklyptors trap us in here.
Anger builds up. I urge it to climb higher and higher. I hate this pathetic obstacle. I hate what lays behind it. This small thing in my hand is nothing. My heart beats faster. The lock clicks and clicks, turning, whirling. I’m only five steps away from James, four now, three, two …
Something sharp cuts through my throat and eardrums. I open my eyes to see my arms flailing. I’m screaming so loud my voice is hoarse, my larynx burns. A strident, intermittent noise drills inside my skull. The alarm is blaring.
James helps me to my feet. “You did it, Marci.”
I look at the door. It looks the same.
Noticing my confusion, James explains, “The bolt clicked, then the alarm went off. Here.” He shoves a piece of chocolate in my mouth. It’s bitter, not sweet at all.
I give him a nasty look. “Yuk,” I say, holding my head between shaky hands, worried that I blacked out again, and mad about not being able to prevent the alarm from going off.
James ushers me out of the way toward Rheema. She wraps an arm around me and rubs my shoulder. “Good job, girl.”
“We only have precious seconds,” James says. As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, Aydan’s voice bursts through my earpiece.
“Guards headed your way. Hurry!”
James pulls on the door. It opens with the moan of heavy metal to reveal an expansive area as big as a tennis court, full of state-of-the-art medical equipment. I press closer to Rheema, my jaw slack in awe.
Suddenly, shots erupt upstairs. James’s attention flickers toward the exit for a split second, then back to Blare. His intense gray eyes say it all. I imagine the guards rushing in, shooting at Oso, peppering his thick chest with a thousand bullets. The thought of that mellow, cheerful guy being shot makes my mouth go dry.
We’re trapped, and it’s my fault.
Chapter 42
Without a word, James nods to Blare and then takes the stairs two at a time, pulling a gun from inside his jacket, rushing to help Oso. I know it must kill him to have to move that slow to hide his powers from Blare.
She wastes no time, rushes past the metal door and is soon standing in front of a vast array of strange-looking equipment. I don’t know what I was expecting, but inside looks like some
sort of spaceship, full of stainless-steel cylinders that must be used for embryo vitrification. There is a sharp chemical smell in the air and not a speck of dust anywhere, in spite of the fact that the place is under construction.
Blare’s hands move at a staggering pace, sticking plastic explosives to the sides, tops, and bottoms of cryo freezers, cabinets, microscopes, tables. Everywhere. As she sets each charge, she punches a button and seconds start ticking down on clock displays. They all read the same. Two minutes.
She’s done before I have time to get over the shock of having actually unlocked the door. She takes the stairs, pulling out a weapon of her own, a huge automatic gun that looks like it could blow anyone’s head into oblivion. Rheema follows, armed with not one, but two guns.
I stand there dumbfounded for a second too long, feeling defenseless without my own weapon. Maybe this is why James wanted me to go last. I snap out of it and rush upstairs, trying to ignore the repeated gunfire and the scent of spent ammunition clogging the air.
When I reach the top, I crouch and peek around the door. Rheema, Blare and James are standing with their backs against the opposite wall, clutching their weapons, muzzles pointing toward the ceiling. James is further up, where the hall intersects with our only exit. He takes a quick peek around the corner, aims and shoots. A bullet whizzes by and strikes the back wall, sending pieces of drywall in all directions. James pulls back.
I search for Oso, and I’m relieved when I see him kneeling at the other side of the intersecting hall. He sticks a hand out and shoots around the corner without looking.
“Rheema, what’s the quickest way out?” James asks, after sending another bullet down the hall.
Three consecutive loud cracks make me flinch, as more drywall erupts and sprinkles the dark carpet with fine, white dust.
Rheema closes her eyes, thinking hard. “Second right, then a left,” she says. “There’s a fire exit.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of the guards. At my signal, run for it.”
“James!” Blare calls out in a panicked tone. But it’s too late, he’s already turned the corner, disappearing from view amid a battery of gunshots.
“You crazy bastard,” Oso says.
Blare moves up and looks around the corner. A bullet hisses by her head, and she pulls back, looking impossibly paler than she already is. She curses under her breath.
“He’s gone,” she says, perplexed. She has no idea how fast James can move.
“I can’t just sit here and wait,” Oso says, and with that he rushes into the hall, too.
Gunshots redouble, and suddenly I’m thought-jumping at a staggering speed. I shut my eyes.
Oso.
Pink sucks.
James.
Okay. They’ll be okay.
Rheema nudges me with one elbow. My eyes spring open and meet her dark brown gaze.
“They’ll be okay,” she says, as if she’s read my thoughts.
“Now!” Aydan’s voice echoes faintly through my earpiece, almost imperceptible in the din of gunfire.
We sprint into action. Blare goes first, walking cautiously with her huge gun at the ready. Rheema does the same, both guns pointed to the floor. The hall is empty, walls punctured with a spray of bullets.
“Keep going,” Rheema says when we get to the first corridor that intersects with ours.
The fight continues ahead of us, but the crack of exploding bullets is further away. James and Oso are flushing the guards out of the building.
“Shit,” Blare exclaims at the sight of a puddle of blood on the floor and splatters on the wall. “Is James shot?”
My stomach clenches. I wish that is Eklyptor blood.
Please. Please.
“James and Oso are fine,” Aydan says through the earphone.
We all breathe a sigh of relief.
“Is that where we need to turn?” Blare asks as the next intersecting hallway comes into view.
“Yes,” Rheema says.
“C’mon, I think it’s clear.”
“It is. Go, go, go,” Aydan says.
Abandoning all stealth, we run into the passage, then take a left. Ahead, the exit sign flashes red in time with each shriek from the alarm. Blare pushes the door open and we break into the crisp, clear night. We look in all directions, trying to regain our bearings.
“Go right, around the back,” Aydan instructs.
“Screw that,” Blare snaps, sprinting left, the glint of her silver gun moving up and down as her arms pump.
Left leads toward the front, where Oso and James are fighting the guards. Blare seems determined to get in the middle of things. Rheema shrugs and follows Blare. I know it’s stupid, unarmed as I am, but I’m right behind them.
When Blare reaches the building’s south edge, she skids to a stop, digging her feet into the supple ground of a large flower bed. Rheema and I stop just in time, inches shy of crashing into each other.
“James and Oso are still inside, but the guards left the building and—wait!” Aydan stops mid-sentence, a note of extra urgency in his voice. “Xave reports reinforcements speeding down Rachor Road. He says he’ll try to stop them.”
“No!” I yell in a rush of panic. Xave can’t hear me and no one in the crew will tell him not to. We all have our parts to play now. We had our chance to leave IgNiTe. From here on out, we’re one hundred percent in. Still, what can Xave do by himself against a group of Eklyptors?
Blare looks at her watch and says, “Boom!”
A huge explosion erupts in the back of the building, rattling the ground and walls and shattering windows with its shockwaves. The sound of debris raining down on the parking lot and top of the building makes me wrap my arms around my head. My skin crawls as I imagine a brick splitting my skull in two.
“Aydan, where are the guards? How many are there?” Blare asks.
“Four … I think. They’re right outside the front entrance, staying close to the wall.”
“Link us to James.”
The line crackles. James’s voice erupts from the earpiece. “Blare, Rheema, on the count of three come out shooting. Marci, stay back until we’ve taken care of them.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He simply starts counting. “One … two … three!”
Blare runs out toward the parking lot in a diagonal line. Rheema waits for a beat, then turns the corner and darts out, parallel with the building. Sparks fly from Blare’s gun with each crack. I see her roll on the black top, making herself a moving target. She never stops shooting. New rapid fire joins in, sounding like some sort of machine gun. I can’t see Rheema, but I can picture her pulling two triggers at blazing-fast speed.
The night explodes into what sounds like a Fourth of July celebration at Lake Union. Everyone is shooting. Bullets whiz by me and I press tight and low against the wall. I hope Rheema is okay.
Crouching here listening to the battle without doing anything to help my friends makes me nauseous, more than the fear of getting shot. I have to do something. I can’t just sit here, hiding like a coward. Even if that’s what James ordered. I’m not a coward.
But how can I help? They didn’t give me a gun. They didn’t trust … Wait, I shouldn’t need a gun. I can move things with my mind. I just manipulated the intricate mechanism of a lock and allowed Blare to blow evil spawns into oblivion. As the idea finally clicks, every trace of fear slides off me like a silk garment. I walk out my hiding place, eyes piercing my surroundings, looking for anything that can be used as a weapon.
A quick reconnaissance reveals Blare squatting behind Rheema’s car, her back pressed against the back bumper. I spot Rheema lying flat on the ground, hiding behind a row of bushes. Cross-shooting continues all around. No one notices me walking at a casual pace, taking in the building, the manicured front lawn, the direction of the oncoming enemy fire.
The cowards are staying well hidden, probably trying to prolong the confrontation until reinforcements arrive.
One of the guards peeks from behind a mass
ive tree trunk. He takes several shots toward Rheema’s car and in the process spots me. As I take another step, his eyes grow wide, surprised either by my nonchalant approach or by the fact that his head is now droning like mine is. He recovers quickly, adjusts his aim and finds me in his sight. Before I have time to consider exactly what to do, the guard falls limp to the ground, a bullet in his temple.
A shudder runs down my spine. I’ve never seen anyone get shot before. I’m about to get sick when I remember the man was a monster, an usurper cruel enough to condemn a human life to permanent torture. This is survival of the fittest and the fittest don’t get sick to their stomach.
The barrage of gunfire intensifies by the building’s entrance. Someone … James … runs out. He moves fast—though not as fast as he’s capable of—spinning to the left and right as he shoots at the enemy. It must be infuriating not to be able to use the full range of his powers.
Suddenly, I realize I can’t be out here, intending to move things with my mind, when James wants to keep what we are hidden from Blare and Oso. I freeze.
“Get down, you idiot,” Blare screams. “You’re going to get blown to pieces.”
I remain motionless, my resolve dwindling to the size of a pea.
“Fine! Be my guest. I never liked you anyway,” she adds before rolling away from the car and giving James some much needed backup.
Behind a large birdbath, a second guard rears his head and starts raising his gun toward James, who’s just turned his back to shoot at a third guard. Blare’s attention is on the same Eklyptor, while Rheema is dealing with a fourth. Oso is just coming out of the building, tentatively, like any brave yet cautious soldier would. He’s no Symbiot. No super-human speed for him.
In that moment, everything comes into clear focus in slow motion. I realize that if I don’t do something, James will get shot in the back of the head. Is he fast enough to outrun a bullet? Maybe, but not one he can’t see coming.
Ignite the Shadows Page 24
