NanoSwarm: Extermination Day Book Two

by William Turnage

  Pacho was getting angry. He held Arrington’s wallet out in front of him.

  “Let’s see what we have here.”

  He pulled out a couple of hundred dollars, put the money in his pocket, then pulled out a picture of Arrington’s wife.

  “Oooo, mami! Check this puta out.”

  Pacho passed the picture to his homeys, who predictably hooted and whistled.

  “You should send her over here. I’ll give her the Pacho special, bend that puta over. She deserves a taste of a real man.”

  Arrington’s shoulders tightened and his jaw locked. Jeff put his hand on his arm to calm him.

  Pacho smiled.

  “That’s right, do what your man tells you like a good little perra.”

  Arrington stared coldly before saying, “You can take the money, the credit cards, whatever. But I want my picture back.”

  Pacho moved in front of Arrington, pursed his lips, and spat in his face.

  That was all Arrington could take. He head-butted Pacho, shattering his nose into a bloody mess and knocking him back off his feet. Then he reached into his jacket, under his arm, pulled out his pistol, and aimed it at Pacho as he lay on the ground. Before he could get his arm fully extended, five or six of the gangers pulled out handguns. Jeff felt the cold barrel of a pistol jammed firmly into his cheek. They were surrounded.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw Mattie and some of his friends take off running.

  Pacho rose to his feet, spitting blood onto the concrete, and said, “You’re going to pay for that, motherfucker.”

  He pulled Arrington’s gun out of his hand and kneed him in the balls, causing the bodyguard to double forward in pain. Pacho elbowed him in the back of the head, sprawling him out on the concrete. A kick to the back of his knees and a boot to the back, and Jeff was right beside him.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Arrington whispered.

  A gun touched the back of Jeff’s head. How ironic, he thought. To go so far to try to save the world, only to be killed by gangster thugs under a dirty highway overpass.

  Chapter 9

  4:30 p.m., July 25, 2002

  Logan Heights, San Diego

  Run, Mattie! Run!

  Mathew David Tedrow heard the familiar voice yelling in his ear. Well, not his ear exactly. More like somewhere deep in his brain. He kicked his board into his hand and instantly his legs jerked into action.

  Faster, Mattie! Faster!

  As he sped out of Chicano Park, something clicked within Mattie’s brain—his magical switch, he called it—and within seconds he was running faster than any human on the planet.

  Ten years ago he and his mother lived in the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas. Mattie’s father, David Koresh, had been the leader of the group. But the FBI and ATF had attacked them, calling his father a crazy cult leader. They said he’d been abusing children and stockpiling weapons for some type of attack on the government. Mattie was only five at the time, so he didn’t remember everything, just that his father was very loud and strong, and people in the compound treated him like some sort of messiah.

  Mattie thought back to the last time he saw his father. He told Mattie he needed to take care of his mother and presented him with his favorite toy, a stuffed Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle doll. Raphael. At the time, Mattie thought it was just a toy. But he later learned it was much more than that. David Koresh died that day, burned in flames as government tanks ignited tear gas in their compound. He remembered watching everything on TV that night.

  Mattie also remembered the men that saved him and his mother, and most of the other Davidians. The real hero was a member of the Davidians named Charlie. Mattie could still see his face as he rode off into the sunset on a white stallion.

  Of course, none of that mattered now. They’d found him and Raphael.

  Mattie glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone else was following him. He was still running full speed and barely breathing faster than if he’d been sitting down. He could run like this for hours. He threw his skateboard down and hopped on. He figured those two men, whoever they were, were getting properly introduced to the barrio by Pacho and his crew right about now. But Mattie knew that even if these two were silenced, others would follow.

  Raphael had been telling him about this day, and he was ready. He needed to find his mom and they both needed to leave. He would miss his stepfather and his friends, but if he stayed, they would all be in danger.

  Mattie zoomed through the streets on his skateboard, swerving in and out of cars, until he reached his destination, an old abandoned home on one of the back streets in the neighborhood. He hopped off his board and jumped over the chain-link fence protecting the front yard. The grass was thick and overgrown almost up to his waist. Several vagrants called the place home, and crackheads and heroin addicts used the space to pump their bodies full of chemicals. But Mattie knew they wouldn’t mess with him.

  He rounded the house to the backyard, jogged over to a small palm tree, and opened his backpack. Inside, smiling at him, was Raphael, as always wearing his red mask and black belt. Mattie kept him clean so his bright green fur and yellow chest were soft and shiny.

  You’re doing well, Mattie. Get your bag, then we can head to the airport. I’ve already ordered tickets for us.

  Mattie pulled out a small hand shovel he’d hidden by the tree and started digging. A foot or so down he uncovered a metal box that contained about a hundred dollars, a change of clothes, and some snack bars. He’d managed to save the money from working odd jobs and cutting grass around the neighborhood. There were also a few keepsakes in the box, pictures of his mother, and one old picture of his father. He grabbed everything, threw it all into his backpack, and turned to walk back to the street.

  Before he could take a step, he found a woman blocking his path.

  How did she sneak up on him like that?

  She was pale and raven haired with piercing blue eyes and dressed in a skintight black outfit—beautiful in a cold way, but he could tell this was no normal woman. Everything about her felt like death. This woman was a killer.

  He stepped away from her and turned to run to the other side of the house. But before he could get very far, a muscular black man came around the corner and blocked his path.

  “That’s far enough, son,” the man said in a deep booming voice as he stepped closer. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?” Mattie asked, fear creeping into his voice. “Who are you?”

  “You need to come with us,” the man said, holding his hands to his side, palms facing out toward Mattie, inching ever closer. “I’m Petty Officer Latrell Banks, but everybody calls me Tiny, and this is Agent Milena Mijatovic. There’s been a little misunderstanding we need to clear up.”

  “My mother told me not to go anywhere with strangers. I need to ask her about this.”

  Mattie stepped back as both Tiny and Milena closed in on him. Of the two, he felt a greater fear toward the woman. She showed no emotion and just stared at him, unblinking.

  “We were just at your house, son. Your mom is with us now, with Lieutenant Evangelista,” Tiny said.

  A Hispanic man with short dark hair and a thick goatee walked around the corner of the old house with his mom. Her arms were handcuffed behind her back, and the man shoved her forward roughly. Her right eye was swollen shut and turning black.

  As soon as she saw Mattie, she screamed, “Run, Mattie!”

  Anger boiled in him at the abuse his mother had taken. He looked at Tiny, who was trying to fake a welcoming smile, his arms still outstretched, then at Milena, who walked forward expressionless, unhesitating. Then he glanced at Evangelista, who held his mother as she twisted and jerked, trying to escape.

  Time slowed.

  Mattie’s mind began its calculations. Billions of data points, billions of possibilities and their outcomes spun through his head like a tornado.

  He sprang into action, moving first to the large black man
, the closer and easier target. Before Tiny could even blink, Mattie was on him, between his outstretched arms, punching him firmly in the jaw. The uppercut sent Tiny’s chin jerking to the sky and flipped him backwards, off his feet. His jaw broke as several teeth shot out from his mouth and a small bloody piece of his tongue went flying upward. Tiny landed in the high grass, instantly unconscious, blood dripping from the side of his mouth.

  The couple of seconds he took to dispatch Tiny gave Milena her chance to pounce. She jammed her knee into his back and smashed his face into the grass.

  Immediately Mattie could feel the surging of enhanced senses—his muscles tensing, his brain calculating and processing faster than he knew to be normal. He could smell the grass. He could hear the worms below him digging through the soil. He saw a tiny ladybug making her way across a long blade of grass. His hands pressed into the ground, and he sprang up into a pushup position and kicked his knees to his chest. Milena’s weight on his back was just a feather as he bucked like a wild unbroken stallion.

  She flipped backwards, spinning in the air. Before she could land, Mattie side-kicked her in the stomach, catapulting her into the back of the old house. She flew through the rotting door as pieces of wood and plaster exploded around her. Inside, covered in dust, she heaved from the kick to her stomach, throwing up all over the floor. Then her eyes narrowed as she glared at Mattie and reached to her back.

  He jumped through the shattered back door of the house, moving with lightning speed as Milena brought her arm forward, holding a gun. He was on her before she could take aim, grabbed her arm, twisted it back, and struck the back of her elbow with his palm, breaking bones and wrenching the gun from her hand. She screamed in pain and pulled a knife out from her boot with her other hand.

  But Mattie was quick. He had the gun in his hand and swung it around, smacking Milena across the face and spinning her around again. He grabbed hold of her hand and twisted the knife from her grasp. And yet, cold fire still raged behind her eyes, and a tiny smile traced across her face as she reached into her jacket.

  Mattie wasn’t going to wait around for any more of her tricks. He grabbed her face and threw her across the room. She collided with the wall, smashing a hole in it. More plaster fell from the ceiling. She landed beside two drug addicts who barely even looked up, their minds addled in a drug-laden stupor. Milena slumped to the ground, finally unconscious.

  “That’s enough!” yelled out the man standing at the back of the broken house holding a gun to his mom’s head. Evangelista.

  “On your knees and put your hands behind your head,” Evangelista ordered. “Slowly now.”

  Mattie’s senses expanded out into the room, looking for anything he could use to his advantage. A fly buzzed lazily around his head. The crackheads lay in the corner, frantically taking another hit from the pipe they were sharing, like a pack of wild dogs fighting over a bone. Dirt and debris from the decaying, wrecked house covered the floor.

  He crouched down to one knee, putting both hands on the ground and stared at his attacker. Concentrating, he could hear Evangelista’s heighted heartbeat. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes. Evangelista blinked.

  That half second was all Mattie needed.

  He reached forward, grabbed a small rusty nail from the floor, and flicked it as hard as he could at Evangelista.

  The rusty nail flew like a bullet, hitting the man between the eyes. His head jerked back violently as the nail drove into his skull. His arm went limp, and he dropped his gun and his hold on Mattie’s mom, falling instantly unconscious to the floor.

  “Mom, Mom, are you okay?” Mattie said frantically as he jumped to his feet and rushed to her.

  “Yes, dear. Do you have any idea who these people are?”

  “I don’t know, but it may have something to do with the Davidians.”

  They shared a silent look. They’d both known this day might come. Someone from the government must’ve found out that they didn’t die in the fire in Waco all those years ago. Now they were making sure no one ever found out about the cover-up.

  His mom nodded. “You have your bag? Good. We can’t go back to the house; they’ll be waiting for us there. We need to just go now. Is Raphael ready?”

  Mattie nodded. His mother knew all about the turtle and what he was capable of. She believed him to be an angel sent by his father to watch over them.

  “Let’s get to the airport. After that we can make our way to one of the safe houses. We should go to Augusto’s first. He’ll drive us to the airport.”

  Mattie and his mom ran out of the abandoned house, jumping over another junkie sprawled out on the floor. Mattie grabbed his skateboard and tossed it into the street.

  “Jump up on my back, Mom.”

  She grabbed him tight around the neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, then Mattie hopped on the skateboard. Augusto’s place was just a block away. They sped off down the street. Before they could make it to the end of the block, a black SUV with tinted windows came screeching to a halt in front of them.

  “Hang on tight, Mom!”

  Mattie kicked at the street beside the moving board, giving them a turbo boost of speed. As they zoomed toward the SUV, several men wearing masks and dressed in black jumped out and fired automatic weapons at them. Mattie swerved from side to side, dodging their frantic fire. Then he kicked the back of his board and jumped into the air. His mother held onto his neck as tight as she could. His board flew like a rocket into the open door of the SUV, hitting one of the gunmen and smashing his face.

  They flew over the SUV, and he flipped in midair, catching his mom as soon as his feet hit the ground. He placed her down gently and sprang at the SUV. One of the men was able to turn and fire a shot off before Mattie could get to him. He felt the burning pain and nausea from the bullet piercing his stomach.

  But he didn’t stop.

  He was enraged that these men were trying to kill them. He felt his strength, speed, and stamina hit another level.

  Then the world slowed once again.

  He could see the tiny muscles in the man’s index finger flex as he pulled the trigger of his gun. Before another bullet was fired, Mattie was on him.

  This time he punched with all his strength—using more power than a hundred grown men.

  His knuckles hit the man’s gas mask and goggles, but instead of his head jerking back from the impact, Mattie’s hand broke through the mask and into the man’s nose, obliterating it.

  But his hand didn’t stop there. The momentum of his punch was too strong.

  His fist continued past the nose and into the man’s skull, bone and cartilage cracking and splintering out in slow motion. In the blink of an eye, Mattie had punched his fist through the man’s skull, splattering brain matter out the back of his head. He pulled his slime-covered hand out with a squishing sound.

  He was trembling and on the verge of throwing up, but there was no time to think about the horror of what he’d just done because the driver turned and was trying to shoot him. He moved, his body reacting without thought now, and punched through the back of the driver’s seat. His arm extended through the seat and out through the driver’s stomach. The man made a horrible retching sound as his intestines sprayed all over the seat and steering wheel. Mattie pulled his hand back, bits and pieces of spine and stomach clinging to it.

  He started to gag. He’d just killed two men in the most gruesome way he could ever imagine. He wanted to cry. Then he looked over at his mother. Her eye was swollen shut and she stared in horror. She was holding her arm where she’d been shot.

  The sadness and horror faded to anger. These men were trying to kill him and his mother. They deserved no mercy.

  “Mom, hurry; get in the car.”

  Mattie threw the men out of the SUV. He needed to get his mother to safety. He helped her into the car as she grimaced, then he hopped into the driver’s seat and stepped on the gas. As they sped off, Mattie pulled his T-shirt up and exa
mined his stomach. The bullet wound was burning and itching and caked with blood. He ran his fingers over it, and the skin felt rubbery. It had a strange blue tint to it.

  “Dear God! Were you shot?” his mom said, her voice high with panic.

  “I think I’m okay—it seems to be healing over. What about you?”

  She checked her arm.

  “It’s just a flesh wound; I’ll be fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

  He drew his T-shirt back down, and a bullet fell to the floor of the SUV. His mother leaned down to pick it up and held it out so they could both see it. The bullet had holes in it, like something had eaten part of it away. Mattie wondered if that was the bullet that had been inside of him.

  Mattie, change of plans. Those men are tracking us. Instead of the airport we need to go to the docks, the Port of San Diego. I’ve loaded the data into the GPS of this vehicle.

  “Mom, we need to go here,” Mattie said, pointing at the GPS screen in the middle of the dashboard.

  “Is Raphael talking to you?”

  Mattie nodded.

  Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the B Street Pier Cruise Terminal. Docked in front of them was a huge cruise ship, the Golden Princess.

  On the ship you’ll be posing as Francis Pinkerton and son Mark. I’ve delayed the actual Pinkertons at the airport so you can easily take their place and use their room. But you’ll need to sneak on board. There is no time to forge fake IDs. I’ll take care of everything once you get on the ship.

  Mattie parked the car. He kept looking around, expecting another SUV to pull up with gunmen blocking their way, but none came. They walked up to the cruise ship, along the dock, and ducked behind some containers. Mattie scanned the area and found where they were loading the ship with supplies. Several men were standing around huge crates, talking and not paying attention to what was going on around them. One tired-looking worker pushed a load of vegetables up a ramp into the ship. A lone security officer was snoozing at his post, sitting in a white plastic chair, his head lolling back and forth on his chest.