by Aaron Pogue
Then she stopped for a moment, listening. He was out there—over the ridge and down below—and she could hear him moving right to left. She'd lost him. For a moment she just lay still, forcing herself to take even, measured breaths. She closed her eyes and listened, trying to pinpoint where he was, but he was moving slower now. Quieter.
He'd noticed that she was still. Both of them had been making quite a ruckus before, and he'd been following the noise she made. Now that she'd gotten quiet, he was waiting. She felt cold dread settle on her. Waiting for the others. Once they joined him, she'd be dead.
So she got an arm under her, gritted her teeth against the effort, and then shoved herself to her feet and started running again. She aimed for harder ground, open ground, trying to make as little noise as possible, but she was careful to crash through a bit of brush right at the first to draw him on after her. She liked the idea of the Gun Club being split up.
It worked, too. The noise of his pursuit picked up again, and she was a hundred yards downhill and moving fast along the rocky path of a different mountain stream when she heard him crest the ridge. She got to a short waterfall, maybe a five foot drop, and she leaped down without thought of her turned ankle. It gave under her, and she stifled a moan. She caught herself short of falling, but stayed crouched below the line of the stone, then risked a quick peek back up the hill.
She had a good idea where to find him, and he was easy to see. Silhouetted against the thin light of the stars, he stood all alone on the ridge and looked both ways, searching for her. She stooped and grabbed a brick-sized rock from the bed at her feet, and heaved it off into the trees as hard she could. It flew twenty feet and went crashing off to the north. She waited just long enough to see him dart downhill toward the noise. Then she jumped across the stream, landing carefully this time on her good foot, and started down the hill in the opposite direction.
She made it ten paces before she stopped, thinking. She moved up close to the trunk of a tree and peered back west, toward the ridge, but there was still no sign of the others. She had a good lead on them, and they had no way to find her. Running through this forest was a good way to get herself hurt, but if she moved carefully, if she pressed her advantage...
Jim. She frowned, thinking. The way he was running, he wasn't going to find her. But he wasn't about to admit that to the others, and chances were good they were back at the bunker, waiting for him to give them directions. If they hadn't crested the ridge yet, they weren't hot on her trail. With him clear on Hathor, though....
She smiled to herself. Then she sank down on her heels, favoring the injured ankle, and began scanning the tops of the trees. It took her more than a minute to find the network node that she was looking for, and the whole time she tracked Jim through the woods by the sounds he made.
He'd given up on her false trail, but he was nowhere close to finding her yet. By the sound of it, he was stumbling around blind. He really wasn't too far away now, a little bit downhill, but he'd given her no reason to worry he might find her. She hefted the shotgun in her left hand, then took a step away from the tree.
Below her, the sounds from Jim stopped. She froze, then fell back a step into the darkness around the tree, but if he'd seen her it was too late. She waited, her heart pounding in her ears, eyes searching the trees downhill for some sign of him.
Then she heard it. At first a little rustle in the bushes twenty or thirty yards away. Her eyes sought for it, and she saw signs of his passage. Brush bent back, a sapling shook with the violence of his passing, and she remembered with a smile the devastation he'd left back at the head of the path by the road. He wasn't a careful woodsman.
He was moving downhill now, too. Fast, in a line straight away from her. Her smile widened at a particularly loud crash followed by a splash as he landed in a stream somewhere downhill, and she turned and got back to her own plan.
Ten yards through the open, back across the stream, and then she had to scrabble up the same little ledge she'd jumped down earlier. She threw her shotgun up ahead, then kicked her way up behind it. Just at the top of the ledge, growing on the edge of the stream, stood a poplar forty feet tall. A third of the way up she could clearly see the recorder. By the thin light of the moon, she could even see the faint contrast of the black band running around it.
She grabbed the shotgun, raised it to her shoulder, and aimed at a spot on the ground maybe twenty feet ahead of her. Far enough to avoid any real risk of ricochet, but flat enough she could feel pretty confident it would stop the shot. She put her finger on the trigger.
Then she heard the clatter of stones on the ground, behind and below her. One incautious step in the creekbed, or she never would have known. Jim spoke, loud and clear, maybe twenty feet away. "Don't," he said. "Drop it."
She lowered the gun and turned. She let the defeat show in her face, in her slumped shoulders. She met his eyes and tried to look as pathetic as possible. "That was clever," she said. "How'd you do it."
He had a rifle to his shoulder, and he was watching her down its sights. He shrugged his other shoulder. "Pushed a rock downhill."
She nodded slowly. "Impressive."
He didn't react. "Drop the gun."
She turned back, careful to keep her movements slow, but cast a glance up toward the ridge. There was still no sign of the others. She took a step toward him, up to the top of the ledge. The barrel of the gun moved with her. It never trembled.
"I'll shoot you," he said.
"You don't have to." She pitched her voice low. Then she sank down to sit on the top of the ledge, her legs dangling over the side like she was just here to chat. "You really shouldn't. You know what they do to people who kill federal agents?"
His lip curled in a fair impression of Avery's sneer, but it didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were afraid. The gun was rock steady, though.
"You know what they do to people who go against the Gun Club?" He held her eyes for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I guess you do."
She rested the gun in her lap, and she saw some of the tension go out of his shoulders. She breathed a little easier at that. She stayed still for a moment, listening for any sign of the others, but she couldn't hear a thing.
She cocked her head, still holding Jim's eyes. Perfectly casual. "What do they want with Eddie?"
"Eddie's one of us," Jim said. "That's all."
She smiled and scooted forward. His eyes widened in alarm, but she waited until he settled down again before she moved forward the rest of the way, dropping lightly down in front of him. The gun stayed on her, center mass, and his shoulders tensed again until he saw she was carrying the shotgun lightly, almost forgotten, resting against her legs. He took a step back to keep a clear view of her.
"Stay still," he said with a hint of a stammer. "Drop the gun."
"I've been watching you," she said. His eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't see a hint of doubt. She had to fight a victorious smile. Instead she nodded. "We're Ghost Targets, Jimmy. Did you really think a few tricks with the recorders would stop us?"
He groaned, unconsciously, and she saw his eyes start to roll in fear. She took another step closer, faster than he was retreating, and put on a comforting tone. "I know what they're up to, Jim. And I know you're not really one of them." He started to argue, but she shut him up with a friendly smile. "This is all going to be over by dawn. Over for good. The Gun Club is going down, but you don't have to go down with them."
He groaned more earnestly now, frustrated and helpless, and rolled his shoulders. The gun dipped, still trained on her but no longer focused. She had him, but it was a delicate business. She strained her ears for some sign of the others, fought a desperate urge to turn and look for them, and instead she took another step closer.
"No," he barked, louder than necessary, and he raised the gun again and jabbed it toward her. Unsteady now, but just as dangerous. "Drop the gun. I told you."
"Okay," she said, still calming. "Fine. Look."
She made a big show of it, stooping to set it before her, and she sneaked a peek back to her left as she did so. She couldn't see anyone, but she didn't get a good look. She straightened back up, ears straining, and spread both hands.
"You've got nothing to fear from me," she said. "They're the dangerous ones. Help me out here—"
"No." He shook his head, definite. "No. Everything's changing. We'll...no."
She sighed and took a step closer. He kept backing away, but she'd narrowed the distance between them to four paces. Not close enough for a lunge, but she was getting there. She extended a hand, soothing. "They're crazy, Jim. You see that." He shook his head, but Katie didn't give him time to answer. "They're dangerous."
"They're doing what has to be done," Jim said. "You can't possibly understand, but it's important."
Katie sighed and cast her eyes down. "I know it feels that way sometimes, but there are answers." She took another step closer and this time he let her. She met his eyes. "There's a better way."
He held her gaze. He took a big deep breath, then let it out, and his whole body seemed to relax with the motion. The gun fell, finally pointing away from her, almost forgotten in his right hand.
She smiled kindly and took another step closer. "This is better," she said, remembering Avery's threat on his wife. "Think of Amy."
She meant it to close the deal, but it was the wrong thing to say. He blinked with a sudden clarity and then raised his eyes to her face. He looked alarmed. "No."
"Jim," she said, warning, but he shook his head violently and raised the gun again.
"It's for them." She saw the fury in his eyes, the sudden determination. She saw her chance slip away.
So she moved. Fast. She closed with him in two quick steps. He wasn't ready for that. She bumped the gun aside with her shoulder, then hit him with an uppercut to the jaw. That staggered him. She turned and chopped at the gun with both hands, knocking it out and away.
She smashed her left knee to his abs, and he grunted. She slammed her left elbow down into his collarbone, and he yelped. Then she danced back, over to the right, and raised her fists in defense. He coughed, and then he surprised her.
He didn't pursue, didn't press his strength and size. Instead he ran, crossing in front of her, back toward the bunker. She almost let him go.
She couldn't. She drew her handgun in one smooth motion.
"Jim," she said, and there was enough authority in her voice to stop him cold. She saw the shudder shake his whole frame. "I can't let you go."
He turned slowly, eyes wide with fear. She could see the bruise forming on his jaw, see the pain contorting his face, but he stared her down.
"It will be a better world," he said.
She shook her head. "It won't. It'll just be you dead, along with the rest of 'em."
He shivered again. He took a slow step backward, away from her. "Hathor—"
She fired a shot over his left shoulder and knew her time was up. They would come to check on that. She held his eyes.
"Don't make me kill you, Jim. There's no reason."
He sniffed and she saw there were tears in his eyes. He took another step back and she saw what he was thinking.
"Don't," she said again, but she could see it in his eyes.
"Hathor, connect me—"
She fired the gun again, cutting him off again, but he shook his head. His gaze was steady on hers now. "I have to," he said.
"Don't."
"Hathor," and he barely waited for the boom of her third shot to die down before shouting loud and clear, "Hathor, connect me to Avery."
She trained her gun dead on his heart and shook her head sadly. "Don't make me do this, Jim."
He looked away. "She's here!" he screamed, loud as he could. "She's right here."
Then he leaped back, away from her, as she'd known he would. He landed right by the shotgun she'd dropped earlier. She didn't have time to sigh. He hadn't needed to die.
She put one bullet through his collarbone and down into his ribcage, while he was kneeling, and as he brought the tip of the shotgun up toward her she put the second straight through his heart. Then she crossed to him with two quick steps, kicked him over backward, and grabbed the gun.
She looked down at the headset on his ear, the connection indicator glowing green, and she fired the shotgun off into the trees. The light went out.
She stared at him for a moment. She sighed. He hadn't needed to die.
They'd be coming now. She'd killed the recorders, but if they had been watching they already knew. Even if they hadn't, they would have heard the firefight. She glanced back up toward the ridge, then turned downhill and ran.
She was able to follow the creekbed for most of a mile before it plunged over a cliff too tall for her to risk. She found a trail she could follow off to the right, though. She'd lost track of her direction, only going downhill, but she knew the highway had to be to the south. She moved blindly through thick woods, straight away from the creek she'd left, until she found enough of a break in the canopy to see the moon.
Not too bad, she decided. Her skin felt flush and her mind numb. Her ears still rang from the thunder of the gunshots, and she knew the rest was the aftereffect of taking a life. It would get worse. And she'd have to endure it out here, in the wilderness, hunted and alone.
She stumbled and knew it was more a mental misstep than a physical one. She'd killed before, and it always burned her up. Right now, she didn't have time. She thought about Jim diving for the shotgun, about him raising it even after her first shot hit him. He wasn't all bad, but he'd been ready to kill her.
She knew better than to think that would make it all better, but she only had two ways to get herself out of this and that thought served them both. She started moving again, mechanical and slow, and chased her reason.
She'd dropped the shotgun because it wasn't her weapon, but he'd gone for it because it was his. She'd seen that in the way he held the rifle, too. He was a hunter, not a murderer, and he was way more comfortable with the shotgun. She counted his movements in her head. From the moment she'd first punched him he had been going for that weapon. He'd meant to kill her.
He could have done it, too. She felt her heart rate increase, and she picked up her pace. Down, to the left, then back across the slope. Always south.
She had lost him when she mentioned his wife. "We're building a better world," he'd said. "It's for them." She thought about the bunker, about the sprawling underground complex. This wasn't some little crime—corrupt land deals or dirty money. Timmy had thought it was, but he hadn't seen the things Katie saw. This was an awful lot of investment, and she could see now it wasn't a financial matter at all. It was an ideological one.
She stopped in place, and this time she wasn't frozen by her shock but by her sudden understanding. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, just at the recognition her brain was working again. Grief could come later.
"Compound" was the right word. The bunker huddled deep in the remote woods, fortified and secure against attack. She thought back to her sprint across the clearing in the full glow of the Jeep's headlights. She hadn't stopped to think about it then, but she'd spotted something before she got to the trees.
A ceiling was stretched high above the little clearing. It was a mesh of camouflage canvas secured across the guy wires, rising like a circus tent over the bunker and concealing it from above. The one gap in the whole thing was a chimney no more than a foot across, for the satellite uplink to peek through. They'd gone to a lot of trouble to lose themselves.
Katie started moving again, still south, but it was at a slow creep. She had to force each step forward, away from the menace at her back. Meanwhile, her mind raced.
Jim thought they were making a better world. She thought about Eddie back in DC lecturing her about privacy. She shook her head, still baffled at the thought. Privacy was dead—twenty years dead before Martin ever dreamed of naming his little project Hathor. Computer networks had guara
nteed it decades before that. Really, modern bookkeeping had started it a century before. She smiled to herself. Martin would probably say it had been the invention of writing.
No matter where you drew the line, privacy was long gone. Katie's hand drifted unconsciously up to her headset. As far as she was concerned, they'd gotten a fair trade for it. Information. All the information, everywhere, forever at your fingertips. Two days without it and Katie craved that access with all her heart. These people wanted to be without it forever.
But, of course, they didn't. She realized she was stopped again, one hand resting lightly on the trunk of a tree. She took the opportunity to survey her surroundings. She strained her ears, but there was no sound of pursuit. She hadn't heard any since she left Jim by the creek. She drained her other bottle of chlorinated water, then set out again. Faster, now. Toward the highway.
They didn't really want to go without. Six SpectreShields on the workbench and a whole crate in storage. They didn't want the system gone, they just wanted an extra option for themselves. She thought of Martin and Velez. She thought of the kind of people who hired Ghoster. In a world of total awareness, a little bit of privacy meant a whole lot of power. She thought of Timmy, gunned down for doing his job.
She had an idea what they were doing now. The antenna, the SpectreShields...Eddie. Jim had recognized him as soon as they got to town and he had spread the word. Two bullets in him, and even with two men supporting him they hadn't sounded terribly tender in their treatment of him. No, Eddie wasn't the leader here. He was the answer to a problem. Providence, from their perspective. Ken had his other project, but he could only do so much as a software guy.
She stopped and suddenly understood why it had been so hard to make herself move. She had to go back. She had to get Eddie—more to deprive them of his resources than out of any debt to him. They were trying to make something bigger of the SpectreShields, though—to spread them wider or broadcast them farther. She couldn't let them accomplish that.
She was about to act on that, to turn and head right back into the heart of it all by herself, when she heard ahead of her the faint hum of a car moving at highway speeds. She took a step forward and saw the flicker of its running lights through the leaves and branches, flashing past left to right. She laughed out loud, took another two steps, and saw the wide clearing of the highway almost within reach.
