by Julie Hyzy
Kenna called out for Jason to wait a split second after he bolted toward them. None of those in the disturbing tableau had reacted to their appearance.
Jason hit the barrier, as hard as she had.
“Shit,” he shouted when he stood back up. He banged his fists against the invisible wall. He kicked.
“Jason.”
A man possessed, he strode up and down the perimeter of their barricade, his face twisted in frustration.
“Only sound,” Kenna said unnecessarily. “God, how do we get in?”
Tate came behind Patrick again. He grabbed Patrick’s head, pointing his attention toward Celia, who now stood next to Mallory. “Watch,” the blond man said.
Patrick shook him off, working his head out of Tate’s fingers, pulling his chin to his chest.
“I said watch.” He held Patrick’s head in a vise grip, the index and middle fingers of both hands wrapped around the front of the man’s face, pulling Patrick’s eyes open.
“I have an idea,” Kenna said, turning away.
Jason hit the wall again.
“I think we were close,” she said, working fast.
“Oh, God,” Jason said, his voice a low moan.
Kenna looked, then wished she hadn’t.
Celia pulled Ryan off his mother and held the squirming toddler tightly around the waist. Bent as far as he could, Ryan reached out with chubby arms, his face red with exertion, screaming, “Mommy,” but Celia didn’t budge.
Celia addressed Patrick. “Don’t try to convince yourself this isn’t your family,” she said in measured tones. “We have them in the VR chamber. They’re strapped in exactly the way you are right now, experiencing all of this.”
Ryan writhed so violently, Celia nearly lost her grip on the little boy. Grimacing, she clasped tighter and Ryan whoofed into silence.
“Look at what I have here,” she said. “A perfect little specimen for practicing new techniques.”
Ryan’s cries almost drowned out Celia. Little fingers reached up, ineffectually prying at Celia’s hands. His face contorted in pain as he squirmed and stretched. “Mommy!”
Celia lowered Ryan so that his feet touched the ground, but she maintained a tight grip on his hair, preventing him from running to his mother. Reduced to a gentle sobbing, he nonetheless held out fat arms and cried.
“Before I do,” Celia said, “is there anything you’d like to tell me about the dissidents’ plans?”
“He’s just a baby,” Patrick said. “He doesn’t understand that any of this…”
“Shit,” Jason said, “he’s getting immersed.”
Kenna twisted the dial at the top of the control. The high-pitched keening began again, and just as she decided it was as loud and as shrill as it could be, she shouted to Jason. “Be ready.”
Her voice dissolved in the piercing signal.
Jason nodded.
“Hurry,” he mouthed.
Kenna reached for Jason’s hand, placing it on her shoulder. She had no idea how this technology worked, but she thought a connection would help. She felt his muscles tense.
Just as the resonance reached a crescendo, Mellow Mary announced: “Warning. You are entering a scenario with inoperative safety protocols. Virtu-Tech cannot be responsible for personal injury. If you continue, you do so at your own risk. Please acknowledge.”
“Fine,” Jason shouted to the disembodied voice. “Just let us in!”
Waiting for a moment longer to be sure the resonance was strong, Kenna pressed Vanessa’s code numbers quickly yet firmly—there would be no mistake. The instant she hit the final key, the shrill blast silenced, leaving Kenna with its echo pinballing her ears.
They were in.
FIFTY-FIVE
Mallory’s eyes went wide with panic and relief. She tilted her head toward Ryan as if to beg Kenna to free him first. Kenna forced herself to ignore them. Mallory and Ryan were virtuals—at least she prayed they were.
Tate’s head snapped up, his sweaty red face practically glowing against the yellow-blond of his hair. He launched himself at Kenna, closing the gap in three strides.
Jason charged from Kenna’s left, tackling Tate. As the two men went down, Tate’s control box clattered across the floor. Kenna bolted for it. Celia lunged, swinging at Kenna’s head.
Ducking, Kenna shouldered her out of the way, focusing solely on grabbing the metal box. The gadget had settled near the back of Mallory’s neck, where Ryan had wrapped himself around her, hugging her around the shoulders.
Celia kicked, sending Kenna sprawling hard atop of Mallory and knocking little Ryan off his mother. Even as Kenna reached for the dropped control, even though she knew he had to be a virtual, she reacted instinctively to see if the kid was all right.
Celia took advantage, throwing herself full-bodied onto Kenna’s back, knocking the wind out of both of them.
Tate wrangled his arms around Jason’s back, grimacing as he fought off relentless body punches. Tate wheezed with effort as he struggled onto his stomach, all the while fighting to get a hand into his pocket.
Jason kept at him, grunting, landing hit after hit like slamming meat with a two-by-four. With his teeth clenched against the onslaught, Tate’s face was a specter of determination. He winced, his eyes squeezing tight with the fury of each punch, but he worked effort-whitened fingers into his pants pocket.
Bracing a knee to the ground, Tate managed enough leverage to push Jason off his back. Diving out of the range of Jason’s tireless fists, he turned long enough for Kenna to see the triumph in his eyes. He’d drawn the vial of acid from his pocket.
Jason lunged. The two men rolled. Tate elbowed Jason in the gut, knocking him back, but giving Tate the precious split second he needed to uncap the vial. When Jason shot forward again, Tate whipped the bottle’s contents at his face.
Panting, struggling to her feet, Kenna inputted the code into her controller again, shouting to be heard over the din. “Program!”
Celia’s fingernails tore at Kenna’s arms, leaving long streaks of red. “Give it to me.”
“Change parameters,” Kenna shouted.
Celia pinned her facedown, slamming her head against the floor. Without letting go of the control box, Kenna reached her free hand behind her head to jam fingers into Celia’s eyes. She twisted away, but not off. Kenna couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
Panting, she ordered the program to change. “Get her off me,” she said.
No response. She must have jammed one of the keypad buttons when they fell to the ground. There would be no way to gain control until she inputted the code again.
Celia’s arms reached upward along hers, straining to grab hold of the remote, her breath hot against Kenna’s left ear. Though a small woman, she packed a lot of muscle.
Pulling the remote under her chest, Kenna jammed the device between her breasts. Arms tight against her body, chin down, she closed herself off from the assault. Celia remained on top of her, legs straddling her hips, sharp fingernails working their way toward the control.
“I will…have it,” she panted, digging deeper.
Kenna snapped her head back, striking Celia’s cheek. Celia swore but held tight.
“Jason,” Kenna shouted, her voice breathless and weak. “Jason!”
Celia snaked her fingers around the control. Kenna stiffened herself, digging her own fingers into the backs of Celia’s hands, trying to draw blood.
Sparkles danced before Kenna’s eyes, and she knew that at any moment, she’d lose consciousness. “Jason!”
Without warning, the paralyzing pressure lifted. Kenna sucked in a deep breath as she twisted to see Jason throw Celia across the room. His face was covered with blackened burns.
It hurt to breathe, but Kenna clambered to her feet, gripping the remote in her left hand. She began punching
the code in with her right.
Shaking his head as though to clear it, Tate rose. He body-slammed Kenna from the left, taking her down hard. She heard rather than felt her bare arms skimming the floor, shredding her skin.
With only one more number to complete the code, she struggled to make the final entry. Drawing her knees up, she cocooned herself, protecting the device from Tate’s next onslaught.
Her finger hit the button.
Nine.
“Program,” she shouted. “Change parameters.”
She thought she heard an acknowledging chirp. Clenching her teeth, she pulled her knees up again, curling her body against Tate’s attack. He dragged her onto her back, where she was able to see that Jason, blood dripping from his head, burn marks spreading across his face, had the upper hand with Celia. He’d pinned her arms to the ground and was about to place his knee across her legs when he turned—for the briefest moment—to check on Kenna.
It was one moment too long. Celia rammed a knee into Jason’s throat, sending him stumbling backward, hands grasping at his neck. Had she been able to leverage her weight behind the blow, she would have killed him. As it was, his eyes widened in panic as horrific high-pitched attempts to breathe screeched from his throat.
“Jason,” Kenna shouted.
He fell to the ground, body convulsing.
Inches from Kenna, Tate’s nose dripped blood from a bubbling gash over his right eye. Teeth bared like a dog, he growled as he wrestled for the control.
Kenna opened her mouth to shout for a weapon, but as Tate snatched the box away, he cracked an elbow into her jaw, silencing her command and gasping out one of his own.
The man’s weight lifted off her as the program complied with the command.
Kenna scrambled on all fours, making her way to Jason, whose breathing was still too shallow, too fast. An inhuman whistle. On his side now, with both hands gripping his throat, blue tinge crept up his face. Red rimmed his irises as mortal absorption sucked him into its death grip.
She reached into Jason’s shirt and dug for his emergency signal medallion. She resisted turning at the scuffling behind her. There was no room for error, she thought as her fingers gripped the silver metallic chain. She had to find it before—
Fingers dug into her shoulder, spun her around, and then backhanded her.
Kenna fell to the ground, then twisted onto her hands and knees. She looked up.
Celia stood above her, so close her tiny frame eclipsed the rest of the room. She smiled in triumph. “Did you really believe you could stop our plans?” Behind Kenna, Jason wheezed. “Clearly, you suffer delusions of grandeur.”
Like a sinister ringmaster introducing the center ring attraction, Celia stepped aside, gesturing to direct Kenna’s attention to the creature behind her.
Frozen to the spot, Kenna breathed, “My god.”
The werewolf was bigger this time, its hairy limbs extending from torn clothes—half the size it’d been when she fought it the first time. She had no weapon. She had no backup. Jason couldn’t help her now.
Jason.
His uneven keening pierced through her fear, propelling her into action. Without shifting her concentration, she whipped her right hand behind her, feeling Jason’s face, moving her fingers down his chest till she could grasp his signal medallion.
Jason grabbed her arm, thrust it away, his voice a weak gasp. “No.”
Standing on his two hind legs, the werewolf opened its extended muzzle. Saliva dripped from its yellow fangs. A growl came from deep within its belly as it started toward her, blond claws reaching.
Celia whipped her arm out in front of it, stopping the beast in its tracks.
The werewolf’s head snapped to stare at Celia, its blue eyes blazing with anticipation. “Let me get rid of her now.”
Holy crap, Kenna thought when she heard it speak.
“We need information on all the others first,” Celia said.
Kenna grabbed for the medallion again. Jason clutched her arm.
His hold was strong, but it was a grip of desperation, rather than one of true strength. He was dying—they both knew it.
“You’ve got to live,” she whispered, as her thumb jammed the medallion’s button.
Jason disappeared.
FIFTY-SIX
The moment he was gone, Kenna stood. “I’ll give you whatever you want.” When her voice boomed, she hoped they wouldn’t realize it was hysteria talking. All she could hope to do now was let bravado carry her through. She pointed to Patrick. “If you let him go.”
Celia arched a brow. “Just Danaher?” she asked in feigned confusion. “What about the rest of the happy little family?”
“They’re virtuals, and you know it,” Kenna said, hoping to God she was right. She needed the control box, but Celia had tucked it away. Tate the werewolf had the other. Where he held it, she couldn’t begin to guess.
“Are you sure about that?” Turning toward the Tate-wolf, Celia pointed toward Ryan.
Lightning fast, the wolf snatched the back of the little boy’s striped shirt. He screamed. Elevating the kicking youngster, the Tate-wolf held him above his nose. The monster’s mouth widened, his black-rimmed lips thick with drool.
Patrick turned his head away.
Celia grabbed Patrick’s chin. “You will watch,” she ordered. “See what you did. Your family is about to die, and it’s all your fault.” Spinning, she addressed the Tate-wolf. “Do it slowly. One piece at a time. Prolong it. I want Daddy to hear his little boy scream.”
The Tate-wolf nodded. He swung Ryan by his shirt like a magician inducing a hypnotic trance with a pocket watch. “Danaher,” Tate crooned. The beast’s blue eyes focused on Mallory, and it licked its chops.
Eyes clenched, Patrick’s lips moved. Kenna knew he must be telling himself that nothing is real.
Kenna scanned the bare area, desperate for any means of defeating the giant wolf when she spotted a bulge in Celia’s breast pocket.
She lunged, taking the woman by surprise. Slamming an elbow into her temple and then wrenching her head backward, she threw Celia to the floor. Celia shouted, but Ryan’s screams drowned her out.
Kenna turned Celia onto her back, beating her fists into the woman’s face, invigorated as tissue gave way beneath her furious poundings. Blinded by determination, she couldn’t tell if the bubbling blood gushed from Celia’s nose or mouth. Her signal medallion necklace jangled out from her blouse; Kenna wrapped the metal chain around the woman’s neck and wrenched it tourniquet tight.
Celia blinked blood. She braced an arm on the floor in an effort to boost herself, to loosen the metal chain around her neck. On her feet now, Kenna delivered a sharp kick to the woman’s chin. She fell back, flat, swollen fingers twitching.
The Tate-wolf clawed at Mallory’s clothing as little Ryan beat at the creature’s back. Tate shook the child off, flinging him away.
He has to be a virtual. He has to be.
Still conscious, Celia rocked from side to side, fingers clawing at her neck. Her face, contorted with effort, began turning blue. Fingers slick with blood, Kenna needed three tries to retrieve the control box from Celia’s pocket.
Kenna tapped in the first numbers of the VR code as Celia managed to snag a finger under the necklace. With wide, red eyes, she wriggled two more fingers under, choke-gasping for breath. Her fingers reached her signal medallion. Seconds later, the woman’s battered form was gone.
“Damn!” Kenna shouted.
When she spun to face the Tate-wolf, she was taken aback by an unexpected appearance. Werner Trutenko stood in front of Patrick’s chair, glaring up at the yellow-furred beast.
“Stand down, Tate.”
Kenna tapped in the code. “Program,” she commanded. “Delete virtuals.”
Mallory and Ryan disappeared. Kenna whispered t
hanks under her breath.
“Get out of my way,” the Tate-wolf said to Trutenko. The wolf’s great claws whistled as they sliced through the air to carve crimson rivers into Trutenko’s chest.
Trutenko doubled over, then fell to the ground.
“How much power you got now, big man? I’ve been dying to take you down, you stupid son of a—”
“Over here,” Kenna shouted.
Hunched, the Tate-wolf twisted.
“This is for Charlie.”
As the Tate-wolf advanced on her, she shouted again. “Program: weapon, Marlin Guide Gun.”
Continuing her orders, she shouted. “Forty-five seventy.”
Confusion traced across the Tate-wolf’s deformed features. Canine-human, its blue eyes widened as the old-fashioned weapon appeared in Kenna’s hands.
Bending her knees, she pointed the barrel at the beast’s enormous body and barked her final command.
“Load with solid ammunition,” she bellowed, drawing out the words, “in sterling…fucking…silver.”
She cracked the lever forward and back, chambering the first round. Sighting the beast, she took a breath. Held it. Then squeezed the trigger. A jolt exploded into Tate’s center mass as the recoil pounded her shoulder.
He slashed the air, screaming. Yet he kept moving toward her.
Cha-chunk. Another round chambered.
She sighted, held her breath.
Tate lunged.
She fired.
The rifle’s barrel shot yellow flame.
Tate staggered back, clutching his belly. Black blood bubbled between its claws.
Cha-chunk. Another round.
She fired again.
Writhing, screeching, the Tate-wolf dropped to the ground.
Kenna strode forward and emptied the remaining rounds into Tate’s chest, gut, and head.
“Take that, you filthy son of a bitch.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
The two blue-shirted paramedics elevated Jason’s gurney with a metallic snap. One spoke into his radio. “Adult male exhibiting symptoms of shock. Likely grade-three mortal absorption.” He took a quick breath, even as they began to move out. “Vital signs weak, breathing labored. Patient is unconscious, cyanotic.”
