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JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I’d seen it all.
Aubrey’s arm ached, the pain making it difficult to think.
Oh, c’mon, it’s not as bad as last time. I’m not blind and covered in electrical burns. Just a minor run-in with the Soul-less, that’s all.
She sat cross-legged on the dirty floor, leaning against the wall, arms dangling across her knees, limp. Her scarred arm throbbed from fingertips to shoulder.
It had been quite an impact, accompanied by an explosive surge of energy, knocking her down with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs.
She studied her disfigured arm objectively, as if it belonged to someone else. She flexed her hand to ease the cramping, welcoming the tingling sensation in her fingertips. She took it as a sign the numbness would only be temporary. Stiff and sore, but I’ll recover. I’m a survivor, remember?
And speaking of survivors . . .
Her gaze went from her hand to where the Soul-less lay a few meters away, unconscious but very much alive. Aubrey’s prod, blackened and charred, was embedded in the creature’s eye socket.
The energy discharge had flattened Aubrey, and also fused her prod inside the Tracker’s skull. The creature was bleeding freely from multiple wounds, but it was still alive.
Aubrey fought against memory for a moment. When the other Runners found them, things had gone a little crazy.
She didn’t want to recall the loathing on Don’s face as he’d held the Soul-less up by its matted hair, his long knife poised to slash the stretched skin of its throat. Only Garr’s intervention prevented him from completing the action.
Now Don stood over the Soul-less, keeping a vigilant watch. He held his knife drawn and ready, as if he was hoping the Tracker would do something worthy of a quick and bloody death. Daring it, even, to give him an excuse. Aubrey marveled at his self-restraint.
Just when I thought I’d seen it all.
“How are you feeling, Aubrey?” Sheila’s voice sounded odd, muffled by the cloth she held over her broken nose. The bleeding had slowed considerably, but her eyes were already darkening with bruises from the child’s surprisingly effective punch.
Aubrey shifted on the floor, wincing as the movement reawakened the pain in her elbow. “I’ll be okay. You?”
“He packs quite a wallop for a little guy.” Sheila winked, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Serves me right for not prodding him in the first place. He’s doing great, by the way. Still sleeping it off. I double-checked with the scanner, and his Implant was definitely deactivated by the prod. Doc can remove it once we’re back at our Hub.”
She stole a glance at the unconscious Tracker, shaking her head in wonder. “You saved the kid’s life, Aubrey, not to mention your own.”
“Maybe all of our lives,” Garr said from the other side of the half-wall. His movements were stiff, and he held one arm awkwardly against his chest. Sheila had confirmed his arm was broken when the Soul-less tossed him aside.
“What about that?” Aubrey pointed with her chin at the unconscious Tracker. “Can Doc Simon fix whatever’s wrong with . . . her?”
It was Jane who answered, sitting on the ground behind Garr, the unconscious child cradled in her arms.
“Dream on, Country Girl.” Her cold words dripped with hostility. “Whatever she was, before the Hoarders did their dirty work, doesn’t exist anymore. It’s a killing machine, nothing more.”
“It didn’t blow itself up.” Aubrey ignored Jane’s comment as she studied the Soul-less. Shut it, Snake Lady. You’re not helping here. “That’s what they’re supposed to do, isn’t it, when they can’t capture you outright?”
Garr stared at her for a long moment before nodding.
It was Don who challenged him, looking up from the Tracker’s motionless body for the first time. “How can you be sure it still won’t, Garr? What if—the first thing it does when it wakes up—is pick up where it left off, and blow itself up?”
Garr eyed the Soul-less, lying motionless between them, although not with the same aura of hostility. “We’ve never had an opportunity like this before. I wonder what Doc could discover, given the chance?”
Don jumped to his feet, trembling with rage, towering over the tight-knit group. “Have you lost your mind, Garr? Let me remind you, we’re on foot now. We don’t dare use the truck, and nobody knows how many Trackers are still out there.”
He pointed at the Soul-less with his knife. “And I’m not carrying this thing like a fallen comrade-at-arms.”
Jane chimed in, equally combatant. “We shouldn’t leave it alive, either. It’ll come after us again once it recovers. Plus, now it knows what we look like.”
“It didn’t blow itself up.” Aubrey leaned away from the wall, still cross-legged on the ground, thinking hard. “It was . . . I think it was scared, just before I prodded it.”
Don laughed without any trace of humor. “You prodded it. That’s why it didn’t blow up. Simple,”
He glared at the body lying at his feet, his baritone voice echoing in the confined space. “Trackers are suicidal killing machines. It’s not like it grew a conscience, or had a change of heart—if it even has one. When it wakes up, we’ve got no way of knowing it won’t decide to detonate anyway.”
Jane crossed the floor to stand beside Don, cradling the unconscious boy in a protective embrace. “Do you want to risk it detonating in our Hub while Doc’s trying to figure out what makes it tick?”
She glowered at the Colonel. “I’m with Don on this one. We’re not bringing it back with us.”
Whatever Garr might have said was eclipsed by the sound of racing footsteps—approaching at full speed. The Runners froze, and there was a collective sigh of relief as Amos came into view.
“They’re gone!” He skidded to a breathless halt, bracing himself with both hands on the half-wall. “The Trackers—they all self-detonated topside. The way is free and clear.”
“All of them?” Garr sounded doubtful. A frown darkened his face. “Are you sure?”
Amos ducked his head, still catching his breath. “I know what I saw. Not ten minutes ago, explosions started going off within roughly a three-block radius. And now, nothing.”
He looked up, grinning. “So yeah, I think all. We’ve got a window of opportunity. We need to take it while we can.”
The Runners exchanged looks around the circle, and the decision was made. Sheila collected their rucksacks. Aubrey climbed awkwardly to her feet, brushing dust off her clothes, wincing at the stiffness in her arm.
Don stood over the unconscious body of the Soul-less, unmoving and unmoved.
“We’re not taking it with us.” His knife shifted slightly as he tightened his grip. The long blade glinted in the meager light. “A suicide mission is a suicide mission. That’s all these things know. I don’t care if it was ‘scared’ or not.”
His last comment, laced with sarcasm, was aimed in Aubrey’s direction.
“Why not use the truck?” Amos stepped between them. “There’s nothing left of the Trackers but burned-out holes. We’ve got transportation, but the longer we wait . . .”
Garr made his decision, stepping around the half-wall to confront Don.
“We’re going,” he said evenly, the only person capable of standing eye-to-eye with Don. “And we’re taking it with us. That’s final.”
Aubrey watched as they stared each other down, aware of the fragility of the moment. Thankfully, the discipline forged in years past held. She exhaled, relieved. Garr’s still the Colonel, with or without the uniform.
Don stepped over the Soul-less, scooping the boy from Jane’s arms.
“Carry it yourself, then.” He scowled at Garr, not waiting for his response. He and Jane strode angrily away, swallowed up within seconds by the darkness.
Amos crouched beside the Soul-less, beckoning to Aubrey as he lifted it up by the shoulders. Its head lolled to one side, the prod embedded in its eye socket, looking ridiculous.
Aubrey fought a sudden bout of nausea, flinching from the thought of touching the Tracker’s pallid flesh.
Amos could have been reading her mind. “You can do this, Aubrey. I know you can.”
Sure, you can, Aubs, she told herself. You’re alive, and the Soul-less is out cold. All you have to do is help Amos carry it to the truck. Piece of cake. I can do this.
She couldn’t repress a shudder when her fingers touched the Tracker’s legs. She didn’t care whether Amos noticed her revulsion or not.
The weight was less than she expected. Together, they hefted the Soul-less, carrying it to the foot of the stairwell. Aubrey braced herself for the climb.
Just when I thought I’d seen it all.