“Xave, behind you!” I scream in warning, then raise my gun.
For an instant, surprise at the sound of my voice is the only thing that registers in his expression. Then, just as quickly, the surprise flits away and is replaced by awareness. In one fluid motion, he drops to the ground, letting his legs become two useless rags. The Eklyptor overshoots its jump and flies over Xave in an arch. I shoot, but the creature changes course in midair and my bullet goes amiss. I aim and pull the trigger again. An unsatisfying click informs me the magazine is empty.
The monster lands on the other side and begins to turn. My heart lurches toward Xave. He’s on his knees still having problems with his gun. Eyes darting around, I look for help. Blare, Aydan, and Rheema are busy, completely overwhelmed by more bouncers who seem to have sprung from the walls. There’s no one else who can help. I’m it.
With a war cry, I spring toward Xave without a second thought. As I’m about to reach him, he finally manages to get the magazine into the gun. Quick as humanly possible, he lifts the weapon and takes aim. Except, as it turns out, humanly possible isn’t good enough anymore—not in this new world of altered minds and enhanced bodies. He’s too late, and the Eklyptor is on him, clamping its jaws to his shoulder and shaking its head from side to side, intent on ripping him to pieces.
“No!” I scream, my voice devolving into an angry growl, a visceral sound that would be perfect for scaring naughty little children.
Xave cries out in pain, his legs and arms caught in the indecision of thrashing and pushing away his attacker. An instant later, I ram into the beast, expecting it to loosen its hold, but it’s like running into a wall, and all I manage to do is infuriate it. The thing shakes its head harder. Xave screams, his vocal cords ripped open by pain.
Blind with desperation, I jump on the creature’s back and hook an arm around its neck. Bristled fur pricks my hands as I clasp them in a headlock and squeeze with all my might. I throw my weight back, exerting enough force to choke a man as thick and strong as Oso. My neck and head pulse with blood. My teeth clench with vicious pressure. Every tendon, every atom in my body is engaged in one unprecedented force grip and yet, nothing. My efforts are worthless.
Not enough. Not enough.
Until, suddenly the creature gives, just a little, enough to let Xave find the strength to pull out his gun from between his chest and the beast’s. Wincing in pain, he presses the barrel to the Eklyptor’s neck and releases a deafening shot that makes my ears ring and ring.
I fall to the side, the weight of the world on my chest. I cough. Xave helps get the dead weight off me. He’s pale as death, but wears a small smile and a grateful expression.
He weakly wraps one arm around my neck. “You saved me,” he says.
I push him away, too worried to feel any relief or believe that this thin moment isn’t ready to snap. I assess his wound. It’s bleeding, soaking, draining life. He needs a doctor. Right now. His face is contorted. He gags as if ready to vomit.
I press a firm, cool hand to his forehead. “You’re going to have to be strong. We have to get outta here and stop your bleeding,” I say, my voice as firm as my hand. He needs to know how urgent this is. I need all doubts he might have about the seriousness of his wound gone from his mind.
“The others,” he says.
“They can take care of themselves. Get up. NOW!” I order.
He flinches, then takes a deep breath and stands. I drape his uninjured arm around my shoulder and turn. The view isn’t pretty. Several enemy bodies lie on the dance floor, but Blare, Aydan, and Rheema still have their hands full. Blare has lost her gun and is fighting two men by the bar to my left, keeping them at bay with what looks like a metal leg from one of the many upturned, broken tables. She’s fast with it, enough to handle both of her attackers.
Rheema is exposed in the middle of the dance floor, but still has her double guns and she’s shooting, shooting, shooting—back to back—but barely slowing the barrage of attackers trying to get her under control. Aydan is the closest to the exit and has found another gun. He’s also shooting. Compared to Xave, they’re doing great, so I urge him on, without regret. He’s my priority. All I’ve got.
I lead him along the rim of the dance floor, away from the heat of the fight, even if cutting across would be a faster way to the closest exit. After a few yards, he falters, panting, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. I give him a few seconds to rest.
“C’mon, you’re doing great. Just a little more,” I whisper in his ear, no one has noticed us, and I want to get him out of here like this, in stealth, indifferent to what may be happening to anyone else.
He nods and we’re about to continue forward when a strange breeze whirls around us. I stop, blink and look to my left.
My skin crawls with an eerie feeling. “James?” I whisper.
Then he’s standing right beside me, bloodied, clothes torn, eyes bruised. He’s been in the VIP room, fighting who knows what horrors, buying time for his team to escape.
“Guerrero,” he says, not surprised at all to see me here. “You two get out, now!”
And, in the next breath, he’s gone. Fast, though not fast enough to give his supernatural skills away. Now, he’s by Blare, helping her, luring one of her attackers away, engaging him in hand to hand combat.
They’ll be fine, now. James is with them.
I begin to move until I notice one of Rheema’s weapons fly across the room. One of her attackers has gotten within arm’s reach. With a high kick, he knocks the last gun out of her hand, grabs her by the throat and slams her down onto the floor as if she were nothing but one of her greasy mechanic’s rags.
Ignoring my budding guilt, I tell myself she will be fine and readjust Xave’s weight against my body. I only manage to move two more steps before I look back. Rheema’s still fighting, still trying to free herself from the massive weight perched on top of her. My guilt grows a little more. I’m still wavering with indecision when a barrage of shots resounds through the nightclub. An instant later, something groans, then snaps with a metallic, almost musical quality. I blink and look up as if in slow motion, already aware of what I’ll see before I even catch a glimpse of the thousands of tiny, reflective mirrors raining from above.
The glitter ball is falling. Falling straight toward the middle of the dance floor.
Falling toward Rheema.