“I never stopped hoping you’d wake up. I thought a lot about the future, about how short life is and…” He squeezes my hands, his claws digging into my palms. “Ida, I—”
Lucy bursts into the room, out of breath. “Military patrol outside. They’re approaching the house.”
Fourteen
In the common room, Gatz tosses on his baseball cap and peeks outside from one of the dome’s glass panes. “Someone must have tipped them off.”
“Maybe they just want to talk to Ida,” says Lucy.
Five soldiers, fully armed, approach the front of the dome, checking their weapons. “This isn’t your usual friendly visit.” My heart races. “They must have been watching the house, knowing it would be a matter of time before Gatz showed up here.”
“I parked my vehicle half a mile away. Took the path through the woods,” he says.
“We’ll take my motorcycle. I’ll get you out of here.”
“I can fit your bike in my truck. It’s a mortuary van we use to travel outside H. Incognito.”
Lucy glares at us. “What about me?”
“We need your help,” I say. “You’ve got to stall them. Think you can do that?”
Her face lights up. “I’ve got charm for days.”
“We’ll message you when we’re clear. Be on the lookout and let us know what happens.”
Lucy shoves Gatz toward the back exit. “Go.” The soldiers bang against the front door.
Gatz and I stride toward the rear door, but I pull his arm down. “Duck.” Soldiers flank the outside. “Come on,” I say, crawling toward my bedroom.
The pounding continues as I shut the bedroom door. We hear Lucy at the front door. “Who is it?” she says, drawing out each syllable.
I peer through a window past a small group of trees. Twenty feet away lies the shed with my bike. “Are you ready?” I ask.
“Let’s do this.”
I start to push the window pane outward when he grabs my shoulder and pulls me toward him. “I didn’t finish what I started to say—”
I clamp my hand over his mouth. “We’ll have plenty of time later, okay? First, I’ve got to get you out of here. Safe.”
He nods and we climb out, crouching behind the fledgling trees. By now, the soldiers have entered the house, and I hope Lucy is being careful. I have no doubt she can stall them, but will she be safe? I’m counting on her.
We scramble down a small, sloping hill to the shed. Using my thumb, I press the biometric device that secures my motorcycle inside. The lock gives and we scurry inside.
Darkness surrounds us, and I feel the wall for the light switch. We hear a swishing sound once the light flickers to life.
“Mice?” Gatz asks.
I shrug. “Hope they didn't eat my engine wires.” I grab the canvas covering the bike, pulling it off. My baby still has a shine from its last polish. I run my fingers along smooth red chrome, then grab the handlebars, pop the kickstand and climb on the seat. “Hop on.” I toss him a helmet.
He settles on the seat behind me and wraps his hefty arms around my stomach, causing me to tingle up and down my spine. Was he about to say what I think he was going to say? No. I push it out of my head. For once, Vance has been quiet.
My bike’s a one kicker, a finely-tuned machine that usually starts on the first try. But now that it's been sitting for nearly two years, I have no idea what’ll happen.
“Don't worry,” he says. “I took care of your bike. Regular oil changes, and I had my buddy take a spin once in a while. But the last time was two months ago.”
“You did? Nice job. You may have saved our asses.” After slipping on my helmet, I kick-start the engine. The throttle jumps to life, engine purring. I rev the engine once, twice. Good to go. I squeeze the clutch, shift into first, and gun the bike through the unlocked door.
We careen out of the shed and down a hilly incline, moving fast. Ahead, a grassy field separates us from the wooded forest. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the soldiers’ surprised reactions. They sprint to their air cruisers in pursuit.
They’ll notify Hunter and Tyren. Not only will I be in trouble for helping Gatz, I disobeyed a direct order to report to base. But I don't care. Gatz won’t be captured on my watch. I'll get him safe; it’s the least I can do.
We crash through Lucy's garden, knocking over wire cages holding tomato plants, flinging up mounds of soil.
“What are they doing?” I yell.
“They're on our tail. Hurry.”
A foot away from us, a bullet ricochets, sending a torrent of grass and dirt flying. Why would they shoot at us? Tyren will be furious when he finds out.
I pull hard on the gas, and we fly at breakneck speed toward the refuge of the forest. More bullets shred the grass behind us, just missing us. Then we're inside, among tall trees, out of view.
I know these wooded paths well; they were once a sanctuary. A place I could escape.
We glide through the forest undisturbed. The air cruisers can’t navigate the dense brush and narrow paths.
I slow down so we can hear each other over the hum of the motorcycle’s engine.
“Where do you think they'll try to cut us off?” asks Gatz.
“At the main road. Where the forest ends.”
“So what do we do?”
“Can you handle more all-terrain travel?”
He laughs in my ear as he squeezes me tighter. “With you, I can handle anything.”
I hook left, and we exit the forest and veer into a barren field. Unkempt, straggly prairie grass tickles our shins as we rocket through the deserted fields.
Massive solar energy towers lace our path toward the city. Just as I gaze up, worried about air cover, I spy the first drone.
“Shit!” Have they seen us? I can't be sure, so I swerve to the left down a small ravine and cut the engine.
We jump off, lay the bike down, and crouch underneath overhanging old-growth trees. The minutes tick by as several flying drones scan the area.
“Think they saw us?” Gatz whispers.
My words come out in waves of anxiety. “Hey, next time you want to visit, drop me a note first.”
He smirks. “Will do.”
Finally, the drones give up and fly north toward the waiting air cruisers. We rise, brushing dust and dirt from our bodies.
Back on the bike, we tread slowly down a dirt service road. Before long, we reach a densely populated street with rows of high-rise towers packed with residents. Fortunately, the helmet disguises Gatz’s wolfish features, and we traverse the busy street undetected.
Pedestrians, electric cars, bicycles, and a few other motorbikes jostle along the street in all directions. Weaving another mile, we reach a river crossing and approach a drawbridge when traffic grinds to a halt.
“Something's happening up ahead,” says Gatz.
I crane my neck for a view. A small crowd of people have amassed on the bridge. Horns blare and frustrated people exit their vehicles.
In the distance, I hear angry shouting. I inch the bike closer, squeezing past stopped cars and receiving dirty looks.
A dozen men and a few women run toward a crowd assembled in the middle of the bridge. A few of the men wear masks and raise their fists. We can't pass because the group's numbers grow as more curious bystanders arrive on the scene.
Gatz leans forward, to one side. The crowd forms a circle. Enraged shouts fill the air.
"What the hell is going on?" I ask.
"Someone's in trouble." He climbs off the bike, eyes wide. "Stay here. I'll check it out."
Ignoring him, I jump off and engage the kickstand. After a few feet, he peers back and shakes his head.
Men in the mob jump up and crash down again as if they're kicking something on the ground. The crowd is like an angry mosh pit—bodies hurling against each other, shouting, fists raised.
I grab Gatz's arm to avoid a collision with a man rushing up from behind. We end up jostling another man who stares
into Gatz’s visor and recognizes him. "Get out of my way, you goddamn hybrid freak,” he yells.
Ahead in the crowd, a man wearing a ski mask and brandishing a switchblade points at us and shouts, "A hybrid! Let's get him!" Other men turn in our direction and advance. Several carry billy clubs.
Gatz bends down, reaches under his pants leg, pulls out a pistol, and waves it in front of him. He's not aiming at them, just displaying it, when he shouts, "Get out of here. Leave now."
The men edge away, others flee the scene. The masked, knife-wielding man swears at Gatz and runs off with his fellow attackers.
Once the crowd disperses, we observe a body lying on the road surrounded by debris, including broken boards and glass. We race over and discover a badly beaten woman.
“That’s a soldier’s uniform,” I say.
Gatz gently rolls her onto her back. She's bleeding profusely, blood pooling on the ground around her middle. Stab wound.
"How could anyone do this?” My voice is high-pitched.
Crouching next to the body, Gatz peers up at me. "Ida, can you help her?”
I'm about to kneel down and inspect her injuries when ski-mask man and three others return. This time, he has a gun of his own. Sprinting toward us, he aims at Gatz who pulls his pistol out again in defense. "Run," he growls at me.
I stay by his side.
Ski-mask grins. "I won't hesitate to blow you away, mutant."
"Hey, man. We don't want trouble.” Gatz grips the gun, claw poised against the trigger, his long arms steady as he aims. "We're on our way, passing through. We'll take the soldier to a hospital. So move aside, and we'll both walk away today."
Ski-mask addresses his friends without breaking his gaze on Gatz. "What do you think, guys? Should we back off and let them pass?"
The others laugh and shake their heads. I grab a long wooden board lying on the road. One man takes a billy club from his hip, then things happen fast.
In one quick motion, I lunge at the leader, swinging the board and managing to knock the gun from his hand. But he's bigger. Recovering quickly, he dodges my next blow and sidesteps, grabbing one of my arms and twisting it so I drop the board. As I struggle in his grip, he laughs. "Look at the mayor. He has a woman fight for him."
Gatz confiscates the attacker's gun. He shoves both weapons in the waistband of his pants.
I'm frozen. My heart pounds as I try to budge my legs, but they feel like 200-pound pieces of iron.
No, Ida. Let’s play with him.
Vance is in control, and he’s not letting me fight back. Ski-man holds me from behind in a full-nelson grip. He pushes my head down, and I’m trapped.
I thrash my torso, managing to lift my chin in time to see Gatz lurching forward. Shoulders broad and square, he looms tall. With teeth bared, he roars ferociously and reveals his sharp claws.
The cocky leader shrinks back and releases his hold with a shove. "Let's get out of here," he yells to his sidekicks. They race across the bridge, out of view.
On my knees, I regain feeling in my legs. Damn Vance to hell. Above me, Gatz pants, his claws still extended. Then he kneels by my side. "Holy shit, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay."
“Did he hurt you?”
I push my hands up and down my side, checking. Mostly, I’m embarrassed I couldn’t fight back. And I’ve never seen Gatz that way before, so fierce. "You were...pretty amazing."
"All this time I thought I needed a bodyguard." He scans the street after the men, then hurries to the injured soldier, placing his hand on her wrist.
"Ida,” he says with jagged breath, “I can't find a pulse."
Fifteen
"Ida, this is hell," Gatz says. "Rioters, looters, murderers prowling the streets. I guess I thought people would help each other out, not rob and kill each other." He shakes his head.
I kneel next to the beating victim. She's young—early twenties—chopped sandy blond hair, wearing black combat fatigues. Worst of all, she’s beaten so badly that she's unconscious. Blood pools on the dark pavement beneath her as I inspect her stab wound.
I yank off my gloves, toss them aside. Somehow, she’s regained consciousness; her mouth twists.
"What's your name?" Cold, clammy skin mean she's in shock.
Writhing and clutching her side, she mumbles, “Captain, I'm sorry. No—a short trip is all. Break up the crowd. Send them on their way…I’ll be careful." She regains her senses for a moment, her eyes finding mine. "Help me."
“You've got to calm down. I'm going to help you. Be still for a few minutes, okay?" I try to nudge her arms from her side so I can work on the wound, but she's not cooperating. "Gatz, I need you to hold her arms."
He leans down and pulls her arms gently away from her body, careful not to hurt her with his claws.
The soldier’s breathing comes in irregular bouts. "Men. They rushed me from behind. Separated me from my squad. Dragged me here.” She’s grown pallid from blood loss.
My stomach turns. Hunter sent goons chasing after us, and meanwhile, this shit is happening in the streets? I shove aside my simmering rage before it distracts me and focus on the deep stab wound.
The sound of a city warning siren in the distance breaks my concentration. An alert. For us?
I place my hands on the wound. Closing my eyes, I envision myself becoming very small and traveling down through my arms and into her.
Ida, what are you doing? Witch.
"Not now," I mutter, hoping Gatz doesn't hear. I focus all my concentration on the dying woman before me, trying to block Vance's voice.
I’m a thousand nanolights inside her warm body. I examine the deep impression the blade made in her side, slicing through tender organs. Working fast, the microbots repair the damage as they maneuver through the tissue, healing, carrying cells back into their places. I squeeze my eyes tight as I repair the damaged organs.
I haven't healed anyone since before my coma, but everything should still work like before.
The seconds tick by. The tiny nanobots have done their job, and I feel a tingling sensation in my fingertips that travels through my fingers, palms, and into my arms before resting in the center of my body.
The work is done. I open my eyes to study the woman below me, a sister soldier. Slowly, color returns to her skin. Her features soften.
My hands still rest on the wound when a jolt grips me. My body stiffens. I try to pull away, but I'm locked in place. Then I shiver, and a new sensation passes through my arms and down into my fingertips. Frigid. The color of electric blue like Vance's eyes.
As I struggle, frost forms on the woman’s stomach around my fingers. Icy tendrils start to reach across her chest. I groan because I've no control.
Next to me, Gatz's teeth start to chatter as he holds the soldier’s arms. "What's happening, Ida?"
I open my eyes as wide as possible, try to warn him. My breath forms a vapor cloud in the frigid air, as if winter suddenly descended on this spot.
Under my hands, her chest changes to blue in a wave that travels from her neck and across her face. She tenses, suffocating, and I'm powerless to stop it.
Gatz releases his grip on her and lurches toward me, arms outstretched.
"Don't touch me," I scream. I'm terrified what may happen—that I could kill him.
He halts, raises his fists to his head and his mouth twists in despair. "How can I help?"
As quickly as it started, it ends. Sensation returns to my arms and I fall back, hitting the pavement with my shoulder. The frosty air subsides.
Reeling, I crawl over to the woman.
Her wide eyes reveal a glassy, vacant stare. I don't have to feel her pulse to know she's dead.
I'm hyperventilating. Everything spins. It all happened so fast. I killed her.
Look what you did, murderer.
“Ida, what happened?” Gatz says.
Every inch of me shakes. “No.” I push him away. Touching him means I might kill him too. I clench my fists.
Vance laughs softly inside my head. “Gatz, I can’t explain right now, but it wasn’t me. Vance took over. He can control my actions somehow, ever since my coma. He—”
An armored air cruiser careens toward us and lands on the bridge. Bystanders gather as three soldiers clamber out. “What's happening here?” asks a tall man wearing a helmet that fails to mask thick eyebrows and a scowl. He steps to the dead soldier’s body and crouches down. Feeling for her pulse, he recoils, then glowers at us. “She’s freezing. What did you do to her?”
My mind spins. I need to get Gatz out of here. They're still hunting us, but it all seems trivial now that a woman has died.
The soldier, whose armor display identifies him as McCall, strides over, taps his helmet to scan us with facial recognition software. “Mayor Gatz,” he says, his voice suddenly urgent. “There’s a warrant for your arrest.”
Gatz raises his hands. “I mean no harm. I was trying to break up the riot and help the injured woman.”
McCall shifts his gaze to me. “And what's your story, Ida Sarek? You were supposed to report to HQ…We’ll deal with that later. Did this hybrid hurt the soldier?”
I swallow hard. “N-no. We uhh…” Dreadfully thirsty, I realize I'm experiencing the first signs of shock.
“Arrest the hybrid,” a voice in the crowd shouts. After jostling and shoving, a group of men emerge. One man with a crew cut pushes his way to the soldier. “Sir, I can testify about what happened. I'm a witness.”
“Fine. Proceed.”
Crew cut points at me and Gatz. “These two are together, sir. The woman soldier was doing fine, managing the crowd, trying to put down the riot, when the hybrid attacked her.”
I surge forward. “Lies. He's lying about everything. We tried to save her.” Was this the man in the ski-mask? Same height and build, and only now he shows his face.
The soldier rests his hands on his hips, scanning between us and crew cut guy. Then he turns to the small crowd. “Can anyone corroborate what this man is saying? I need to know what happened to my fellow soldier.”
A murmur sweeps through the crowd. Heads shake. A woman in her forties with long black hair steps forward, her eyes downcast. “I can vouch.”
The Rogue Spark series Box Set Page 32
