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Without a word, James nods to Blare and then takes the stairs two at a time, pulling a gun from inside his jacket, rushing to help Oso. I know it must kill him to have to move that slow to hide his powers from Blare.
She wastes no time, rushes past the metal door and is soon standing in front of a vast array of strange-looking equipment. I don’t know what I was expecting, but inside looks like some sort of spaceship, full of stainless-steel cylinders that must be used for embryo vitrification. There is a sharp chemical smell in the air and not a speck of dust anywhere, in spite of the fact that the place is under construction.
Blare’s hands move at a staggering pace, sticking plastic explosives to the sides, tops, and bottoms of cryo freezers, cabinets, microscopes, tables. Everywhere. As she sets each charge, she punches a button and seconds start ticking down on clock displays. They all read the same. Two minutes.
She’s done before I have time to get over the shock of having actually unlocked the door. She takes the stairs, pulling out a weapon of her own, a huge automatic gun that looks like it could blow anyone’s head into oblivion. Rheema follows, armed with not one, but two guns.
I stand there dumbfounded for a second too long, feeling defenseless without my own weapon. Maybe this is why James wanted me to go last. I snap out of it and rush upstairs, trying to ignore the repeated gunfire and the scent of spent ammunition clogging the air.
When I reach the top, I crouch and peek around the door. Rheema, Blare and James are standing with their backs against the opposite wall, clutching their weapons, muzzles pointing toward the ceiling. James is further up, where the hall intersects with our only exit. He takes a quick peek around the corner, aims and shoots. A bullet whizzes by and strikes the back wall, sending pieces of drywall in all directions. James pulls back.
I search for Oso, and I’m relieved when I see him kneeling at the other side of the intersecting hall. He sticks a hand out and shoots around the corner without looking.
“Rheema, what’s the quickest way out?” James asks, after sending another bullet down the hall.
Three consecutive loud cracks make me flinch, as more drywall erupts and sprinkles the dark carpet with fine, white dust.
Rheema closes her eyes, thinking hard. “Second right, then a left,” she says. “There’s a fire exit.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of the guards. At my signal, run for it.”
“James!” Blare calls out in a panicked tone. But it’s too late, he’s already turned the corner, disappearing from view amid a battery of gunshots.
“You crazy bastard,” Oso says.
Blare moves up and looks around the corner. A bullet hisses by her head, and she pulls back, looking impossibly paler than she already is. She curses under her breath.
“He’s gone,” she says, perplexed. She has no idea how fast James can move.
“I can’t just sit here and wait,” Oso says, and with that he rushes into the hall, too.
Gunshots redouble, and suddenly I’m thought-jumping at a staggering speed. I shut my eyes.
Oso.
Pink sucks.
James.
Okay. They’ll be okay.
Rheema nudges me with one elbow. My eyes spring open and meet her dark brown gaze.
“They’ll be okay,” she says, as if she’s read my thoughts.
“Now!” Aydan’s voice echoes faintly through my earpiece, almost imperceptible in the din of gunfire.
We sprint into action. Blare goes first, walking cautiously with her huge gun at the ready. Rheema does the same, both guns pointed to the floor. The hall is empty, walls punctured with a spray of bullets.
“Keep going,” Rheema says when we get to the first corridor that intersects with ours.
The fight continues ahead of us, but the crack of exploding bullets is further away. James and Oso are flushing the guards out of the building.
“Shit,” Blare exclaims at the sight of a puddle of blood on the floor and splatters on the wall. “Is James shot?”
My stomach clenches. I wish that is Eklyptor blood.
Please. Please.
“James and Oso are fine,” Aydan says through the earphone.
We all breathe a sigh of relief.
“Is that where we need to turn?” Blare asks as the next intersecting hallway comes into view.
“Yes,” Rheema says.
“C’mon, I think it’s clear.”
“It is. Go, go, go,” Aydan says.
Abandoning all stealth, we run into the passage, then take a left. Ahead, the exit sign flashes red in time with each shriek from the alarm. Blare pushes the door open and we break into the crisp, clear night. We look in all directions, trying to regain our bearings.
“Go right, around the back,” Aydan instructs.
“Screw that,” Blare snaps, sprinting left, the glint of her silver gun moving up and down as her arms pump.
Left leads toward the front, where Oso and James are fighting the guards. Blare seems determined to get in the middle of things. Rheema shrugs and follows Blare. I know it’s stupid, unarmed as I am, but I’m right behind them.
When Blare reaches the building’s south edge, she skids to a stop, digging her feet into the supple ground of a large flower bed. Rheema and I stop just in time, inches shy of crashing into each other.
“James and Oso are still inside, but the guards left the building and—wait!” Aydan stops mid-sentence, a note of extra urgency in his voice. “Xave reports reinforcements speeding down Rachor Road. He says he’ll try to stop them.”
“No!” I yell in a rush of panic. Xave can’t hear me and no one in the crew will tell him not to. We all have our parts to play now. We had our chance to leave IgNiTe. From here on out, we’re one hundred percent in. Still, what can Xave do by himself against a group of Eklyptors?
Blare looks at her watch and says, “Boom!”
A huge explosion erupts in the back of the building, rattling the ground and walls and shattering windows with its shockwaves. The sound of debris raining down on the parking lot and top of the building makes me wrap my arms around my head. My skin crawls as I imagine a brick splitting my skull in two.
“Aydan, where are the guards? How many are there?” Blare asks.
“Four ... I think. They’re right outside the front entrance, staying close to the wall.”
“Link us to James.”
The line crackles. James’s voice erupts from the earpiece. “Blare, Rheema, on the count of three come out shooting. Marci, stay back until we’ve taken care of them.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He simply starts counting. “One ... two ... three!”
Blare runs out toward the parking lot in a diagonal line. Rheema waits for a beat, then turns the corner and darts out, parallel with the building. Sparks fly from Blare’s gun with each crack. I see her roll on the black top, making herself a moving target. She never stops shooting. New rapid fire joins in, sounding like some sort of machine gun. I can’t see Rheema, but I can picture her pulling two triggers at blazing-fast speed.
The night explodes into what sounds like a Fourth of July celebration at Lake Union. Everyone is shooting. Bullets whiz by me and I press tight and low against the wall. I hope Rheema is okay.
Crouching here listening to the battle without doing anything to help my friends makes me nauseous, more than the fear of getting shot. I have to do something. I can’t just sit here, hiding like a coward. Even if that’s what James ordered. I’m not a coward.
But how can I help? They didn’t give me a gun. They didn’t trust ... Wait, I shouldn’t need a gun. I can move things with my mind. I just manipulated the intricate mechanism of a lock and allowed Blare to blow evil spawns into oblivion. As the idea finally clicks, every trace of fear slides off me like a silk garment. I walk out of my hiding place, eyes piercing my surroundings, looking for anything that can be used as a weapon.
A quick reconnaissance reveals Blare squatting behind Rheema’s car, her back pressed against the back bumper. I spot Rheema lying flat on the ground, hiding behind a row of bushes. Cross-shooting continues all around. No one notices me walking at a casual pace, taking in the building, the manicured front lawn, the direction of the oncoming enemy fire.
The cowards are staying well hidden, probably trying to prolong the confrontation until reinforcements arrive.
One of the guards peeks from behind a massive tree trunk. He takes several shots toward Rheema’s car and in the process spots me. As I take another step, his eyes grow wide, surprised either by my nonchalant approach or by the fact that his head is now droning like mine is. He recovers quickly, adjusts his aim and finds me in his sight. Before I have time to consider exactly what to do, the guard falls limp to the ground, a bullet in his temple.
A shudder runs down my spine. I’ve never seen anyone get shot before. I’m about to get sick when I remember the man was a monster, an usurper cruel enough to condemn a human life to permanent torture. This is survival of the fittest and the fittest don’t get sick to their stomach.
The barrage of gunfire intensifies by the building’s entrance. Someone ... James ... runs out. He moves fast—though not as fast as he’s capable of—spinning to the left and right as he shoots at the enemy. It must be infuriating not to be able to use the full range of his powers.
Suddenly, I realize I can’t be out here, intending to move things with my mind, when James wants to keep what we are hidden from Blare and Oso. I freeze.
“Get down, you idiot,” Blare screams. “You’re going to get blown to pieces.”
I remain motionless, my resolve dwindling to the size of a pea.
“Fine! Be my guest. I never liked you anyway,” she adds before rolling away from the car and giving James some much needed backup.
Behind a large birdbath, a second guard rears his head and starts raising his gun toward James, who’s just turned his back to shoot at a third guard. Blare’s attention is on the same Eklyptor, while Rheema is dealing with a fourth. Oso is just coming out of the building, tentatively, like any brave yet cautious soldier would. He’s no Symbiot. No super-human speed for him.
In that moment, everything comes into clear focus in slow motion. I realize that if I don’t do something, James will get shot in the back of the head. Is he fast enough to outrun a bullet? Maybe, but not one he can’t see coming.
I rush onward, desperately thinking of how to stop the monster from hurting James. My eyes jump around, trying to find something useful. On the ground, I spot a green hose, coiled next to the birdbath. I struggle with grasping a course of action. There is no time to ponder. I must act.
Time stands still as my brain goes into warp speed and my instincts kick into overdrive. Every ounce of who I am pours forward. I become hollow, long and flexible. I am the hose. I rear upward with vicious speed, like a striking cobra. I attack, sliding around the guard’s neck, twisting into a noose, then squeeze. I stretch, reaching both toward the ground and the sky. I want to touch the stars before something stops me. So I squeeze harder and harder, even against the frantic hands that struggle to pry me away, and don’t relent until a limp, heavy weight drags me down.
The echoes of gunfire ring in my ears. Someone shouts, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I come to, blinking, completely disoriented. My body feels foreign for a very strange, very scary instant. My right hand is stretched, reaching toward the prone body by the birdbath. Gunfire has ceased and the blaring alarm is the only sound disturbing the night.
I take a look around and shiver. James is looking straight at me, while the others are coming out from their hiding places, seemingly unaware of what I’ve done. My eyes search for the remaining two guards. They lay on the ground and I don’t even know how it happened.
Blurry with moisture, my eyes return to James, then to the limp body of his would-be killer. Did I just ...? I shake my head. My lungs cease. I stagger forward as my knees go limp. My thoughts wade through the thick finality that clogs the air.
Death.
At my hands.
I fall to my knees, trembling. I killed a person. I just killed a person!
No! Not a person. A monster, I try to tell myself.
But ... but it’s not true. That man was innocent. Somebody’s father. Somebody’s son. A victim who never stood a chance against his agent, and especially not against the nasty little Symbiot who wasn’t even supposed to be here. I wasn’t meant to kill anyone. Oh God, what have I become?
I wrap my arms around my waist and choke on the thick wail trying to force its way past my tight lips. I can’t fall apart. Not in front of the crew. Trying to gather myself, I think of James, only of James. I saved his life, the life of the man who’s bent on saving everyone else and might give humanity a fighting chance, a life more important than anyone else’s, more important than whatever remorse I feel, no matter how much it chokes me.
I saved him. I saved him!
“You saved me, Marci!” I’m on my feet, James shaking me. “You saved me,” he says again, all in a low murmur that only I can hear. A mixture of gratitude and conviction bend his voice. “You did right by us.” And by “us” he means much more than just him or our crew.
He means the world. The whole, wide world.
“More are coming. We need to get out of here,” he orders.
As everyone heeds his command, my feet refuse to move. James’s words echo in my ears. I repeat them to myself. I did the right thing, by James, by IgNiTe, by all of us. Righteousness overtakes me, and I begin to run, thoughts jumping, erasing all trace of guilt for the time being.
I’ve almost caught up with the group when Aydan’s voice pierces through my very confused brain. “Run faster. Reinforcements, at the gate.”
“Where’s Xave? Is he okay?” I ask in a hoarse voice. If reinforcements are here, it means he didn’t succeed at stopping them. My heart hammers and, when Aydan doesn’t respond, it hammers faster. My legs speed up and I pass Oso, Rheema and Blare. James stops to help them up.
“Aydan, is Xave okay?” I press, as I reach the wall, propel myself upward and jump to the other side. I don’t wait for anyone. I keep running toward the van, indifferent to what anyone might think about my Olympic-quality jump.
I enter the van panting. “Where’s Xave?!” I yell, as soon as I’m inside.
Aydan looks up at me and shakes his head, eyes charged with doubt. “I don’t know,” he says. “I lost communication with him.”