The Pacific Ocean filled the view. The sky was overcast. Beads of drizzle had formed on the floor-to-ceiling glass. Storm clouds cast rolling shadows on the water below. It was beautiful.
Ian had appeared at the top of a white staircase. He could barely walk, even with the splint. Every movement sent a stabbing pain up his leg. He didn’t know where he was going. He moved down a central corridor. Everything was white. The ceilings were high. Black touchscreens were built into the walls at regular intervals. Each displayed the same symbol: three circles connected in the center by three lines.
Ian went flat against a door when an armed guard passed ahead. The man had a scarred ear. He was dressed in dark gray fatigues and carried an automatic rifle and a sidearm.
“Shit.” They were looking for him.
It was a high-tech compound—part mansion, part research lab—that stretched along a gentle slope above a cliff. From there, it was straight down to the crashing waves.
Ian hobbled down the hall, grimacing with each step, and poked his head around a corner and into a wide open foyer. Three halls met in the space. A circular skylight rattled with the gentle rain. Through the long windows that flanked the double doors, Ian could see trees in the distance. They were giants. He must still be in northern California.
A guard walked past the window. He was trapped.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Digby called to him from the very end of the hall. Deadbolt was with him. They would reach him in seconds.
Ian couldn’t outrun them, not with a broken ankle. He thought now would be a good time to sneeze again, but his nose was still choked with mucus. He sniffed and nothing budged.
The man with the scarred ear appeared from the hall to Ian’s left. He brought friends. Two more guards appeared from the right. Ian was trapped. He looked up and saw a small black camera in the ceiling.
The soldiers made a circle. Deadbolt strode forward and drew his sword.
“No.” Digby stopped him with one hand. “I’m not sure we can recover the matrix if he’s dead. Just castrate him.”
Ian’s eyes got wide.
“Gross!”
Wink. The little girl stood behind Digby in the long white hall at the back. She still wore the Totoro hoodie, but now she had mirrored sunglasses and an oven mitt on her right hand. It was studded LED lights. The ends of her jeans were stuffed into her brand new, sparkle-stitched, pink cowboy boots. She looked like a tiny pop star.
Digby spoke like he was tempting a deer from the woods. “Oh heeey there, Baby GaGa. Where’d you come from? We were just talking about you. How you doin’?”
She looked at him sideways like he had antlers growing out of his eyes. “Dude . . . don’t be such a cunt.”
Ian shut his eyes and smiled. He couldn’t help it. He’d missed her, the little annoyance.
Digby wasn’t fazed. “I really don’t think you should be talking like that. What would your mommy say?”
“I don’t have one, dickwad.”
That did it. “How did you find us, bitch? We checked this jerk for transmitters.”
“Please.” She made a very Wink face. “Like I’m gonna tell you.”
“Ya know . . .” Digby sighed. “I’m thinking it might be easier to just kill you after all.” He pulled a gun.
“You’re not gonna kill me,” she scoffed.
“No? Why not?” Digby thought for a moment, as if he was missing something. “I want to.”
Her watch beeped. “Because you have bigger problems.”
The guard out front crashed through the doors and fell amid splintered wood and glass.
Everyone turned. Walking through the shattered doorway was the biggest person any of them had ever seen, easily eight feet tall and covered from head to toe in thick, segmented body armor. It was a human tank.
Ian got goosebumps. “Wow.” It was impressive.
The tank’s armor was painted in mottled gray camouflage. It looked heavy, but the tank strode across the wide foyer like he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Metal bars over his knuckles protected his fists, and a high, stiff collar—like those used in bomb disposal—protected his neck. His faceplate was decorated with a white skull and colorful flowers, like for the Day of the Dead.
“Bet you can’t catch me!” Wink turned down the hall and ran.
“Get her!” Digby turned to the tank. “The rest of you, shoot him.”
The soldier with the scarred ear took off after Wink. The others formed a firing line. Their weapons erupted. As the barrage hit, the giant raised his forearms, which were topped with broad armor plates.
Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat.
It was loud and Ian winced. He could feel the staccato of the gunfire on his skin as it bounced off the walls. He could smell the gunpowder.
The steady stream of bullets didn’t pierce the tank’s armor, but the sheer number and force knocked him right and left in tiny jabs. He stumbled back, arms held high.
Digby stepped to a touch screen in the wall. He hit three buttons and the screen turned red. It was counting down in gentle tones as a red circle disappeared in slices. “The whole compound goes in fifteen minutes. I’ll extract the Oric. Finish this.”
Deadbolt nodded silently.
Digby grabbed Ian by the hair.
“Ow!”
He dragged him, limping, back to the stairs. “You’re little friend is costing me my evil lair. Not cool, dude. Not fucking cool.”
Wink ran into a storage closet. Plastic buckets and boxes of tissue formed a ladder to a narrow window at the top, just big enough for a child, and she scrambled up and out.
The soldier with the scarred ear ran after her. He stepped on the makeshift ladder. The buckets held but the boxes collapsed under his weight. “Shit!” He saw the little girl making for the tree line. He exploded from the closet in a shower of toilet paper rolls and ran for a side door.
By the time he got out and across the lawn, he was too angry to notice the man in the wheelchair.
The girl raised the oven mitt. A spiral flash of light.
Deadbolt grew impatient. They were just wasting ammunition. “Enough!”
The gunfire stopped. The tank leaned over, panting.
The dark man stretched his gloved hands and sparks arced between his fists. He craned his neck and walked toward the giant.
The soldiers stepped back as the man with the scarred ear approached from down the hall. He dragged the child with him.
They turned to the show, smiling. This was gonna be good. The tank was swinging wildly at the dark man, who stayed just out of reach. He was toying with his prey like a cat.
The soldiers laughed at another wide miss. They didn’t see the man with the scarred ear let the girl go. They didn’t see her run toward the stairs. They didn’t see him draw the knife from his belt.
Ian hobbled as Digby pulled his hair. He tried to keep as much weight off his ankle as possible. Halfway down the stairs, he’d had enough. He jabbed the bearded man in the gut. Digby clutched his stomach and fell. He grabbed Ian’s leg on the way. The shock of pain was too much, and Ian tumbled after.
Both men rolled the bottom, bruised and hurting.
Dr. Fears swung his gun around. Ian grabbed it and the pair began to wrestle. The fat man was stronger, but Ian had the better grip.
Digby threw his free fist. It was awkward—half punch, half slap—and it connected with Ian’s ear.
“Ow!” Ian stumbled back and clutched it. His ankle hurt worse each time he put weight on it. The pain was causing his hands to shake.
Digby pointed the gun at Ian. Then stopped. “Shit.” Ian still had the Oric inside him.
Ian charged and tackled the bearded doctor. The gun slid free and the two wrestled ham-fisted on the ground. They kicked and grunted and slapped at each other with faces pulled away.
Digby’s face turn red from the strain. “You fight like a girl!”
Ian struggled just as hard. “I don’t see you busting out the karate moves, asshole.” He elbowed the man in the gut.
They struggled down the hall over and atop one another, eight-limbed and frenetic like a drunken spider. An automatic glass door hissed open at their approach and the men stood in one of the labs. It was empty. A female voice, computerized and sexy, welcomed them.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Fears, you sexy beast.”
Ian had his hands out, ready for more wrestling. He had a wide stance. It left his groin unguarded.
“Ha!” Digby had a clear shot. He kicked Ian in the balls.
Instantly a sphere of kinetic force erupted from Ian’s center mass and flew out in all directions. Lab equipment, papers, white boards, computers, desks, everything was shoved into the walls, which buckled and bowed from the spherical blast.
Ian dropped to his knees and grabbed his crotch. “Ohhhh . . .” He hadn’t been kicked in the balls since grade school. It hurt. It hurt more than he remembered. His insides felt hollow. “Oh God . . .” He rocked back and forth. He heard steps.
Wink ran to a stop. She started to smile at the sight of him but cut it short. She looked at the destroyed room. “Come on, moron.”
Ian struggled to stand. His back hurt from the tumble down the stairs. One whole side of his body throbbed from the pain in his ankle. His groin was on fire. His nose was bleeding. He was pretty sure he had a black eye.
Ian rested his hands on his knees and shook his head. He was done. He wasn’t going anywhere. He glowered at the girl.
Wink pulled a syringe. She wanted to inject him with something.
Again.
“You can’t be serious,” he huffed softly.
“It’s just a pain killer.” She was contrite. “I promise.”
He nodded. The needle went in his arm and a wave of warmth and comfort moved through him. He still felt an ache in his groin and dull stabs in his leg, but at least he could walk.
Lights flickered and sparked overhead. The fixtures were bent with the ceiling. Digby had been thrown against the wall along with absolutely everything else in the room. He was impaled on a long shard from one of the frosted glass cells. The long tip erupted from his chest. It was smeared in red. Blood dribbled to the white floor.
Digby laughed half in panic. It was a hysterical, desperate giggle.
Ian hobbled forward. The man was dying. He didn’t know what to say.
Digby swallowed hard. “That was . . . a neat trick.” He tried to smile but couldn’t force it.
Ian doubted they had kicked anything in the balls during their animal tests.
“The meltdown . . .” Dr. Fears swallowed again. “China . . .” He looked straight at Ian and finally pushed half a smile. “Was just the beginning.”
He exhaled. His eyes went lax.
Ian looked down.
“Come on.” Wink pulled at her friend with her light-studded mitt. “We still need to get what we came here for.”
Wait. That meant it wasn’t him. Or the Oric. They were after something else entirely. He shut his eyes and followed her down the hall. She’d used him. As bait. Digby tried to play her and she had played him right back. As his pain subsided, anger gurgled up from Ian’s throat.
“Goddammit! You can’t treat people like—” Lab animals. “Shit!” Ian left Wink and cut the opposite way down the hall.
The girl raised her arms! “Where are you going?”
He hit a button on a wall panel and the animal cages in the lab opened. There was an immediate dash for the door.
Wink saw the bear pass. “We don’t have time for this!” The countdown was half over. She turned in shock. “Cover your eyes!”
Ian did as he was told as the girl raised her gloved hand. It erupted in spiraling flashes and bursts and an approaching guard collapsed in seizures in the hall.
“New toy?”
“Come on!” She took off.
Ian hobbled after. At least he could move now. “You used me!”
“Dude, now is totally not the time.”
“They were gonna kill me! Like right now!”
“Whatever.” The girl scoffed. “We got here in time.”
“That’s not funny. What if you hadn’t? What if you got a flat tire or something?” Ian heard fighting upstairs. Gunshots.
“A flat tire? Seriously?” Wink stopped at a black touchscreen outside a long lounge with a high ceiling.
Ian could see the ocean. It filled the view. “It happens!”
“Dude, stop worrying about everything.” The girl pulled off the glove and glasses. She removed the flat panel below the screen and plugged in her console into the exposed machinery, just like she’d done with the ATM.
“What are you doing?”
The man with the scarred ear walked up. There was blood splatter on his hands.
Ian stepped back, but Wink wasn’t worried.
“Relax, this is my friend John.”
The man looked at his watch. “We should be gone already.”
“Almost got it.”
“Has anyone seen Xan?”
The cracks of a cascading thunderbolt resounded from the floor above. The power went out across the whole complex. Wink lost her screen. Tendrils of electricity flashed from electric sockets and light fixtures like the arcs of a Tesla coil. Everything erupted in sparks. Everyone ducked. The sound was deafening.
The ceiling gave way and the tank fell through from the top floor. He lay still under a pile of rubble. All of it was smoking. Deadbolt had unloaded everything he had in one massive blast.
The dark man stood over the new hole, silver emblem shining on his chest, and inspected his kill. His hands were smoking. He saw the others and jumped down from the high ceiling. He stood on top of the rubble like a victor.
Wink’s friend John pulled a handgun and emptied the clip as he ran forward. Deadbolt was hit. His body twisted and he rolled off the mound and onto the floor. The handgun clicked empty as the dark man got up on his arms and shook his head.
His padded suit was bulletproof.
John hadn’t stopped. He flew forward and kicked the dark man, who tumbled back into a long, minimally furnished parlor. He stood before floor-to-ceiling windows, still spotted in raindrops. The cliff dropped off below. The killer drew his katana. The two men circled each other. It seemed as though they’d met before.
Deadbolt had the only weapon. He was fast. Well trained. Deadly. The men spun and danced and traded blows between swipes of the long blade, each seemingly closer to slicing the man John in half.
Another thrust and John pinned Deadbolt’s forearm between his own and dislocated his elbow, forcing him to drop his weapon. When the dark man countered with his free hand, the soldier blocked, struck, and flipped the killer over his back, ripping his helmet free as he landed on the floor next to his blade. The helmet rolled away.
Deadbolt lay on his elbows, panting. He turned his face to his attacker and everyone saw his face. Ian exhaled and stepped back.
He was bald. A black tattoo filled his scalp from front to back. It was the same swirling Asian dragon as on his chest. His head looked as though too little skin was stretched over his skull. His lips were pulled back in a permanent sneer that revealed his retreating gums. His eyes were lean and red and seemed to rest too deep in their sockets. The rims of his ears and the end of his nose had been burned down and healed over as nubs of scar tissue. The interior of his nose was visible. He had no eyebrows. It was as if the man’s soul had been sucked from his body. Betty Six was right. He was a walking nightmare.
John’s reaction was stronger than Ian’s. It was physical. His face was aghast, as if it was all his fault. His arms dropped involuntarily.
With the clean lunge of a practiced fencer, the dark man exploited the momentary edge. He lifted the sword and ran the soldier through one hand and into his heart. There was no parry. The man with the scarred ear slid backward off the blade and fell dead to the floor.
Deadbolt stood. He turned to Ian with his permanent, impenetrable sneer and hollow, sunken eyes. The skin of his scalp almost seemed like a hood, something he had pulled over his face to hide the monster underneath. He walked toward them as he wiped his black blade clean on the sleeve of his jacket.
Ian staggered back. Wink was frozen. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She’d done the math. This wasn’t how it was going to turn out. Xana was supposed to charge in, cause confusion. Wink would lure one man away, knock him out with the glove. John would take him and bring the surprise attack from the rear. For the first time during the life-and-death melee, the little genius was genuinely scared.
She stepped behind Ian.
The killer’s voice rasped through his open nose. “First . . . I’m going to gut your little friend in front of you. Then, after you’ve feasted on her screams, I’m going to—”
SMACK!
A bowling ball-sized chunk of concrete impacted Deadbolt’s breastplate with such power and speed that Ian could feel the mass of air it moved in front of it. It punched the dark man ten meters through the air, straight through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The killer’s sword flew free as he hit the glass. It shattered and he disappeared wide-eyed over the cliff.
Ian turned. The tank had swung its arms and pitched a block of rubble like it was a softball. It was a strike. Right in the chest.
The tank collapsed to his knees. His chest plate was still smoldering. Ian had just gotten a tickle of Deadbolt’s power and had been knocked for a loop. The tank had taken the full blast at near-point blank range.
Wink ran forward and picked up the sword.
The power returned momentarily. The screen in the hall flickered to life and then died. The countdown was still running. They had only moments.
“We need to get out of here!”
Wink made for the interface. “But we didn’t get what we—”
“NOW!” Ian lifted her and made for the door.
The tank stumbled after.
Moments later, the entire compound exploded.