Doc popped out of the end of the chute, propelled by the momentum of his ride, and landed on his butt on the sandy ground. Driven by the thought of Exo popping out next, he quickly got to his feet, taking in his surroundings as he did so.
He was somewhere outside the redoubt, looking up at one of the rounded hills that stood on each side of it. The sun was down, and gray twilight was settling over the rumbling land.
Nowhere did he see an abandoned weapon or something that could be used as one. The only thing he had to fight with was the razor blade in his pocket.
As for hiding places, there was nothing within a hundred yards. His best bet was to run for the hills bracketing the redoubt, though he knew, even as he started running in that direction, that he could never get there in time. He could never outrun a bullet from his own LeMat .44 revolver, which Exo would certainly be carrying when he emerged from the chute.
But running was still the only strategy that made any kind of sense to Doc, so he threw himself into it with every bit of energy he had. Legs churning furiously, he charged across the sand toward the nearest hill, listening all the while for sounds of Exo behind him.
He finally heard them when he’d gotten a third of the way to his destination: the sounds of running footsteps and a high-pitched voice. “Dr. H.! Wait for me! I need to show you something!”
For an instant, Doc wondered if maybe he’d been wrong about Exo’s intent. Was it possible Exo didn’t want to kill him? Would Doc have been better off staying back at the exit of the chute to meet him instead of running away?
His answer came in the form of a blaster and a .44 slug whizzing past his right ear.
“Come on!” Exo hollered. “I just want to talk, my friend!”
Just as he said it, Doc heard the crack of a second shot and another whizzing slug—this time sailing past his left ear. And a thought flitted through his mind—what if the third shot was the charm?
* * *
JAK WAITED UNTIL the worst of the quake had tapered off, then eased around the welding unit, taking care not to step on the body of the shifter on the floor behind it. “How kill everyone?” he shouted. “Equipment haywire, but will wrecking destroy Shift and kill everyone?”
Union laughed and twirled the crowbar. “Fuck no!” Turning, she jammed the end of the crowbar in the crack between two nondescript panels in the wall. “Wrecking the equipment is just for kicks! It has nothing to do with destroying the Shift!” With that, she pried the panels apart, pulling one loose from the wall.
One mighty heave, and the loose panel came free and went flying to the floor. In the rectangular space exposed by its absence, Jak glimpsed something glinting in the flashing light of the malfunctioning mat-trans controls around it.
“Now, this…” Union reached in and wrapped her hand around whatever was stored there. “This is that big danger I told you about earlier. The big surprise. The one that everything else was just a warm-up for.”
Jak watched, spellbound, as she pulled out the object and held it up for him to see. From where he was standing, it looked like a silver cone, six inches long, studded with circuitry and multicolored crystals.
He knew he should attack at that instant, put her down hard and snatch whatever it was from her grasp—but he waited. He felt compelled to know more, to hear her tell it, as if that might somehow explain what she’d put him through. As if that might somehow make it all make sense.
“What that?” Another strong quake knocked him around but didn’t knock him over. “Why big danger?”
“I’ll tell you this much.” She grinned as she turned the object around in her hand. “This won’t kill everyone living in the Shift, but it will summon something that can.”
Jak frowned. “What talking ’bout?”
“You’ll see.” Union slid the cone into the hip pocket of her jumpsuit. “Briefly, at least. You won’t live longer than that, I’m afraid.”
He got the feeling that she was about to make a move, and he steeled himself to do the same. “Don’t do it,” he said. “Why kill innocents with guilty?”
“Everyone’s guilty if they’re part of this sick society.”
“Not children,” Jak said. “Not babies.”
She shrugged. “Collateral damage happens. Tough shit.”
“Just kill everyone? You, too?”
“I guess so.”
“No!” Jak felt an irrational wave of emotion rise within him. “Carrie, Taryn, Dulcet, Rhonda not deserve to die! I want them live.”
“They’re already dead! Long dead!”
“Still alive in you!” Jak said. “Good still inside!”
“Gullible moron.” Union laughed cruelly, then stopped. A change came over her face, as the wickedness seemed to drain out of her features. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, her look softened. In the beat of a heart, she went from dark and secretive to bright and revealing. Her voice, when she spoke, was familiar—upbeat and sweet. “Jak, wait. You’re right! You’re so right about us!”
And her braid was brown.
“Dulcet.” Was it possible? Had Jak gotten through to her? “Good hearing voice.” He’d never stopped believing she and the others were still in there, no matter what Union had told him.
“Oh, Jak! We’ve missed you!” Suddenly, her expression changed again, becoming less open, more timid. “It’s true! We have!” Her braid was white now—Carrie.
The ground shook as Jak took a step toward her, searching her eyes. He thought he saw Carrie looking back at him, thought he felt her familiar presence.
Then her face shifted again, becoming rougher, more sardonic. Her braid turned auburn. “You pasty son of a bitch!” It was Rhonda. “I knew you were too pigheaded to give up on us!”
She changed one more time, then, turning frigid and distant with a jet-black braid.
“Taryn,” Jak said.
“Yes.” She nodded once. “And no.”
Then, in that one instant when he’d dropped his guard the tiniest bit, she suddenly lashed up the crowbar and hurled it at his head.
Jak had been half expecting something and leaped to one side, but the crowbar still struck his left shoulder. It threw him just enough off balance that the latest quake brought him down.
Even as he hit the floor, Union charged past him. Twisting, he saw her dive headfirst into the pit in the middle of the chamber and disappear. Her black boots were the last trace he saw of her.
It was then, as he scrambled to his feet, that he heard another familiar voice over the rumbling of the quake and the crackling of the ruined lab.
“Holy shit!” It was Hammersmith, glaring in the doorway. “What did you motherfuckers do to my lab?”