Undone

by Rachel Caine

  It was now pitch-dark, only thin flickers of light coming through the trees. The moon had moved on without me, but it was far from morning. The air was frigid on my exposed skin.

  I kicked feebly, and the one dragging me dropped my foot in surprise. The impact of my heels on the ground sent a searing burn through my side, and I jackknifed into a fetal position in response. I couldn't scream, although I wished to. I could only pant for breath.

  I heard a blowing sound, followed by a strange, fast clacking of teeth.

  An enormous paw touched my stomach. Even in the dim light, I could see the talons.

  The black bear was a shadow in the dark, save for a small glitter of its eyes in the moonlight and a brush of lighter fur around its muzzle.

  It was frightened of me, I could see that, and I lay very still. Black bears were not aggressive in the main, and preferred eating plants to people, but that did not mean it wouldn't kill me.

  It made that blowing and clacking sound again, and I saw the white flash of teeth this time. It was followed by a long, low moan that lingered like a ghost on the air.

  I forced myself not to move as the muzzle dipped and sniffed my face. The bear snorted, shook its huge head, and padded off.

  I had been rejected, apparently, as not worth the trouble. After the relief--and, strangely, a touch of annoyance--the trembling set deep into my bones. I had forgotten that humans were food. And now so was I. There was something about it that terrified me on levels I had not known existed within me. The Djinn didn't--

  I was not a Djinn. I was human, and I was wounded. Predators would be drawn to the blood.

  I squirmed around and pressed a hand to my stab wound. Still bleeding. I gritted my teeth, ripped cloth from my shirt, folded it, and jammed it into the open lips of the cut.

  I might have cried out. I heard the black bear, not yet so distant, make that long, low moan of fear again. Once the sickening pain and shock passed away, I climbed to my hands and knees and then to my feet.

  Backtrack, I told myself. C.T. had deliberately led me astray.

  My eyes had adjusted well to the darkness, and I could follow the drag marks, and then the stumbling signs of my progress. Blood smeared on a rock. Dragging footsteps.

  It seemed to take forever to return to the road, where my poor, dead Victory lay with its flattened tire. It had leaked gasoline into the dirt from the shattered tank. I limped past it, past the last resting place of my four opponents, and just over the next rise, I found the black jeep that C.T. had so convincingly spoken about.

  Keys were in the ignition.

  I ransacked the contents of the back of the small truck and found a red cross-marked case filled with useful items. I rebandaged my stab wound, shaking antibiotic powder on it as I did, although I knew full well the bacteria would be inside my system by now. I swallowed painkillers and guzzled a bottle of water I found rolling in the back, then picked up one of the extra weapons. It was small, heavy, and clearly meant to destroy--some sort of machine pistol, with a fully loaded clip. The mechanism seemed simple, as most deadly things were.

  I tossed it on the front seat next to me, started the jeep, and followed the trail deeper into the forest.

  Chapter 14

  THE RANCH--IF that was where I was--seemed endless, and empty. There was little to mark this place as having human residents--no fences, no grazing animals other than deer that bounded away from the road at the sound of the approaching engine. I saw no lights, no structures, no other vehicles.

  For all I knew, The Ranch went on for many miles in all directions. Any route I chose, if I left the road, would be utterly random.

  But the road had to lead somewhere.

  Luis is probably dead, my remorseless Djinn ghost said. What will you do then? You should walk away now, and save yourself the pain and trouble.

  I glanced at the machine pistol on the seat beside me, and for the first time, answered her directly. "I will not walk away. I will kill them all," I said. "And I will take the children home."

  Fine words, fine intentions, but when I topped the last rise and saw the valley, I realized that I could not possibly have enough ammunition to solve the problem that lay before me.

  It was a well-lit compound, and by my estimation it covered an area the size of a small town. Tall iron towers ringed the perimeter, and there were two walls, inner and outer, with empty space between them.

  It looked like nothing so much as a prison.

  Within the walls were square, neatly ordered buildings. Some appeared the size of small houses, and others were as large as schools or city halls. Part of the compound--the town--was a parking lot full of vehicles. Trucks, cars, all-terrain vehicles, large vans.

  The lights turned night to day not only within the compound, but on every approach.

  A line that Manny had once quoted came back to me. "We're gonna need a bigger boat," I murmured. That seemed oddly funny to me at the moment, but that was probably blood loss and the onset of infection.

  It hadn't occurred to me that they would be able to detect me at the top of the hill--I'd turned the headlights off--but clearly, I had underestimated my opposition. I heard a wailing alarm rise, and saw people moving down in the compound.

  Perhaps it's not for me, I thought, and then the radio fixed to the dashboard of the jeep crackled, and a voice said, "We have an intruder on the ridge in Grid 157, repeat, Grid 157. All units, intercept."

  I put the jeep in reverse and backed down the hill, turned it around, and drove as fast as I could the way I had come. The bumps and jounces of the road woke new, special pain from my injuries, but I forced that to the background. Escape was my only viable option. I could worry about my internal bleeding later, if I survived.

  I saw a flash of lights behind me. Gaining fast.

  Another vehicle crashed out of the trees at right angles to me ahead. I swerved and brushed by it, leaving kisses of paint, and dug the wheels deep in the dirt to pull ahead.

  Cassiel?

  Luis's voice in my ear. He sounded distant and slow.

  "No time," I growled. I checked the rearview mirror. I was leading a minor parade of armed vehicles, and bullets spanged off of the metal of the jeep and splintered trees ahead of me.

  Wait . . . don't . . . it's not what you think--

  They were trying to kill me, I thought, and so far, my theory seemed quite sound. I shut him out and kept driving, rocked around a sharp turn on two precarious wheels, and less than fifty feet ahead, I saw a row of children standing in my path. It stretched from one side of the road to the other, into the trees.

  For just a fatal instant, my Djinn self said, Keep going.

  I took my foot off the gas and slammed on the brake, bringing the jeep to a shaking, shuddering halt a foot away from the children. They hadn't moved.

  I had my hand on the machine pistol, but again, there seemed little use to raising it. I wasn't going to fire, not at a line of children, and they knew it.

  C. T. Styles stepped out of the trees and walked up to the driver's side of the jeep.

  "You're really strong," he observed. "Most people never make it this far. Come on. I'll take you home."

  He'd already led me to die in the woods and be eaten by a bear. I wasn't quite so stupid as to assume he meant me well this time.

  Most people never make it this far.

  "How do you know how many people make it this far?" I asked him. "You only came here a few days ago."

  His dark, innocent eyes grew rounder. "Who told you that?"

  "Your father."

  C.T. gave me a slow, superior smile. "My dad doesn't know everything. I've been here lots of times. Mom brings me. For training."

  Training.

  I was certain to my bones that Officer Styles knew nothing about this. Perhaps this time, his wife had been unwilling, or unable, to bring the boy home from his training.

  Isabel. Had Angela also been sending Isabel here? No, impossible. Manny would have known. It was a
distance from Albuquerque; her absences would have been noticed.

  C.T. was waiting for my response. I gave him none. He finally dropped his chubby hand and stepped back.

  An armed man took his place, holding his weapon steady on me. "Ma'am," he said. "Get out of the truck and leave the gun, or I'll shoot you in the head. Try any tricks, and I'll shoot you in the head. Kill me, and my team will shoot you in the head. Do you understand?"

  I did. I let go of the weapon and got out of the jeep. My legs barely supported me, which was helpful, as the soldier kicked the bends of my knees and sent me crashing to the dirt. He yanked my hands behind me and fastened my wrists with thin plastic strips, then pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of my head again.

  "If you mess with your restraints, bullet in the head."

  "I am following your theme," I assured him.

  I was loaded into the jeep again, this time in the back, with an escort who kept his gun aimed steadily at me.

  I had no strength to escape, and, in fact, this time I did not see the advantage in doing so. Below in the camp, there might be medical treatment, rest, and the possibility of finding Isabel. Drawing power from a Warden, maybe even Luis.

  The forest held nothing for me now but death, and while that didn't frighten me as much as I'd expected, I did not intend to die a failure.

  It offended me that after such a long, powerful life, I should end it with a mortal whimper of defeat.

  My interior turmoil had manifested itself in tensed muscles and clenched fists, although I had not realized it until the soldier aiming at my head said, "Stop moving or bullet in the head."

  I sighed and relaxed.

  The compound was, in fact, larger than I had expected. It had taken time, money, and hard labor to raise the structures and walls. They had learned from their ancestors, I saw--clear open space all around the perimeter fence, where nothing grew, not even grass. I wondered if they used an Earth Warden to tend that barren ground.

  The towers evenly spaced around the wall held armed guards--not a surprise, given the convoy that accompanied me. As we traveled into the white glow of the lights, I studied my captor closely. He was nondescript. Medium build, medium coloring that might have owed its origins to any race or country. He wore unmarked camouflage fatigues and sturdy black boots. No jewelry, no markings of any kind, even on the uniform.

  "Get your eyes off me," he said. "Or--"

  "Bullet in the head," I finished. "You can stop repeating yourself."

  He smiled, very slightly, and with no trace of humor. "I don't think so. I think you need the reminder. I will kill you."

  "I have no doubt."

  I turned my attention outward, to where the massive metal gates were slowly opening to allow us passage. Like any good security system, it controlled the flow of traffic, so the gate behind us closed before the one ahead opened, leaving us vulnerable and exposed in the no-man's-land between.

  I wondered how I might be able to make use of that. Nothing came to mind, but I was weak, sick, in pain, and had a simmering level of anger that seemed to impair my thinking to a remarkable degree.

  The next gate creaked open. Hydraulics, I thought. I could work with hydraulics, perhaps.

  Just not at the moment.

  The guard opened his mouth as I shifted. "Bullet in the head, yes, I know," I said. "Do try to aim for the center of my skull. I would hate to be left clinging to life and force you to waste a second shot."

  He shut up.

  Inside the compound, the streets were clean and logically organized. Not a soul walked on those pristine streets, though I saw curtains and blinds twitch as we drove past houses and barracks-style buildings with a roar of engines. There was relatively little in the way of greenery, except for a park in the center of the community, with a few tall pines and grass.

  Ah. And a playground. I saw the swings, slides, and sandboxes. More proof, as if I needed it, that whatever went on in this military-style outpost, it involved children.

  Beyond the park, another building glimmered--not like the others. Pearly white, almost organic in its lines. I only saw it in glimpses, but what I saw disquieted me. There was something that raised echoes inside me, from long ago.

  Something that did not belong here.

  The jeep came to a halt in front of a nondescript concrete building. "Don't move," my guard said as he climbed out of the vehicle. He never took his eyes away from me. Wisely, he didn't come within my reach, only kept his weapon trained steadily on me while two other soldiers pulled me from the seat and--however unsteadily--upright. I did not offer resistance, or much in the way of assistance, either, since I could hardly manage to walk at the moment.

  The concrete building was a prison, and inside were individual cells, reinforced to the strength of vaults. That, I thought, was designed to prevent the use of Warden powers, but no matter how massive the door, there were always smaller fault points to be found. It was difficult keeping an Earth Warden chained. . . .

  I sensed a familiar power signature, and my head, which had been slowly drooping, rose with a snap. "Luis?"

  He was in the first vault we passed. I saw the familiar flash of his brown eyes through the narrow slot in the door as we passed. "Cassiel?" His voice sounded slow and uncertain. "You okay?"

  "No," I said.

  Knowing he was here and alive filled me with a water-sweet relief I had not expected. They locked me into a room next to Luis's cell, and it was grim indeed--plain, seamless floor, plain walls, a stainless steel toilet in the corner, a sink with a water tap. A rolled mattress in the corner.

  Nothing else. Nothing at all.

  They had not removed the restraints, which begged the baffling question of how they expected me to make use of any of the lavish facilities they'd provided, until I heard the ponderous movement of the locking mechanism rattle, and an Earth Warden stepped into the room.

  She was tall, severe, with short brown hair and a pinched mouth, a sharply unpleasant expression that seemed to find me and all I stood for--whatever that might be--in utter contempt. She wore a standard olive green jumpsuit, which fastened with snaps in the front; again, curiously, there was no insignia to be seen. I had always thought humans were compelled to self-identify.

  She dropped a neatly packaged bundle to the floor and made a twirling gesture with one finger. "Turn around." I did, a full shuffling turn, coming back to face her. She rolled her eyes. "No, idiot, put your back to me."

  "Then be precise," I said.

  Once I had my back to her, she advanced with a few quick, light steps, and I felt the plastic straps holding my wrists part with a snap. She stepped away again, holding the remains of my restraints. "All right," she said. "Strip. Everything comes off."

  If this was a human effort to make me feel awkward or humiliated, it was doomed to failure. The only issue I found with stripping naked was that it was difficult to bend and stretch without waking new waves of agony from my side. Once I'd managed it--she did not offer help--the Warden walked closer again.

  "Raise your arm," she said, and bent to examine the wound in my side. "Nasty. One of our little pets do that to you?"

  "Pets," I echoed.

  "Rejects," she said. "We still find a use for them. Hold still."

  She did not say, This will hurt, because I suspected she didn't care. I braced myself against the wall with my other palm, trying desperately not to whimper at the acid wash of agony as she poked and prodded.

  At length, she seemed satisfied. "You've got an infection in there," she said. "Damage to your liver, nicked a couple of blood vessels. I'll fix the worst of it. Try not to scream."

  She put her hand over the wound, and I learned that not all Earth Wardens who could heal should. She seemed to have little knowledge of how much pain she caused, and cared even less. In the end, I couldn't stop the scream. It felt as if she had filled the wound track with boiling lava.

  Once she'd exacted the price of the scream--which, I realized, sh
e'd been waiting for--the Warden closed up the cut and stepped back to admire her handiwork. It wasn't neat: A hand-sized patch of reddened, blistered skin, and a knotted scar. "You should consider training," I said. She hadn't given me any power through the contact, hadn't so much as replenished my lost blood supplies. Her healing had, in fact, left me weaker, not stronger, and I believed that was exactly her intent. She'd left me in a position that I would not sicken and die, but I'd be too weak to present an effective threat.

  She bared her teeth at me--I would not call it a smile--and kicked the bundle toward me. "Dress," she said. "Unless you prefer to stay naked. I don't really care."

  She left, taking my clothing, and the vaultlike door closed behind her. I crouched and picked up the bundle. Unrolled, it contained a paper-thin jumpsuit of brilliant yellow, the color of reflective paint, and a plain pair of cotton underwear. No brassiere, but my body was lean enough that it wasn't an important omission. There were socks, and a pair of flimsy shoes with the word PRISONER printed on the bottoms.

  I would have manifested my own clothing, if I'd had power, but I didn't, and I was cold. The vault had a chill to it, like a cave. Or a crypt. I imagined them sealing the room and walking away, leaving me to starve alone. A Djinn would have found that frustrating and boring.

  A human would find it fatal.

  The clothing didn't warm me much, but it made me feel less vulnerable--I supposed I had overestimated how much my human body had influenced me along those lines. A human of this time, this culture, needed coverings to feel safe.

  As I unrolled the mattress, I found a folded thin blanket and a small pillow. The blanket I wrapped around me as I paced the room. I could sense Luis's presence, dim and indistinct, on the other side of the wall. If I could touch him . . .

  But they had gone to great lengths to be sure I couldn't.

  I pressed my hands to the wall, then my forehead. I could feel him there, possibly even making the same attempt at contact.

  My eardrums fluttered, and then I heard his voice, in startlingly clear stereo. Cassiel?

  "Here," I said. I didn't know if he could hear me, but I supposed he could. He had, even on the road. "Are you all right?"

  That bitch Warden keeps filling me full of drugs, he said. He sounded angry and unfocused. Can't keep myself straight. Withdrawal's going to be a bitch. You?