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Hopefully, she wasn’t going to die in the dark caves as a tree squirrel. For one thing, she’d hate to validate the Squirrel King’s claim that she was his nemesis.
Her throat was scratchy, her whole body ached, and she felt weirdly off-balance, but she’d done it. Por supuesto, now I shift when everything’s over? Question is, will I be able to do so again? The battery’s gone, so I need to get out now before they start up again with the torture or whatever they did to stop me from shifting.
Zita picked up the longest plant stem she could find and loped to the wall with the window. Her fluffy tail bounced as her small form easily scaled the rough stone. When she reached the narrow stone shelf, she squeezed herself as close to the wire mesh as she dared.
She paused for a moment at the wire, listening. When she didn’t hear any buzzing, she flung the flower stalk as forcefully as she could at it and backed up.
The chicken wire didn’t react.
Inching forward, she flicked her tail against the mesh.
Nothing happened.
Zita crawled forward and peered out.
While her angle was all wrong to see anything, the sounds of the guards moving things around told her that her actions might go unnoticed.
She chewed on the wire, though the metallic taste made her want to spit.
Once she’d gnawed enough of a hole in a corner to squeeze through, she poked her head out and checked again.
No one cried out at her appearance, so she slipped out of the opening and began climbing to the guard area. Fortunately, the unevenness of the rocky surface made it an easy climb, as her actions felt slower and clumsier than usual. She could blame only some of that on her exhaustion.
“Did you hear something?” a guard asked in Brazilian Portuguese. He sounded young.
Zita froze on the wall above the Russian’s cell, praying she’d chosen the right blend of gray-black to blend into the rock.
The other person scoffed and replied in the same language, though his accent marked his origins from a different region. “No. You’re just freaked because of the bodies have to stay here until we get permission to bury them.”
Well, that explains why Freelance’s cell was empty except for bloodstains, but this place still smells like several people died in a portable toilet in summer, she thought.
“It’s not that. Not just that. The upcoming mission isn’t right. I mean, I know we’ve all been promised a big payday at the end of everything, but going after a peace conference filled with holy men?”
Zita’s ears twitched, but it was the only part of her she allowed to move.
The other guard heaved a loud sigh before replying, weariness thick in his voice. “Listen, boy, don’t think too hard about it. You’re not even going on that mission. Follow orders and do your duty here; don’t question them, especially if they’re not even yours. That idiot captain and those men disobeyed and acted on their own. They paid the consequences. If they’d succeeded, they’d have suffered a lot more before dying.”
Since neither of them appeared to be paying attention to her, Zita kept climbing up the wall of the chasm until she reached the level the guards were at. She surveyed the cave.
A man was on either side of the stone bridge, though one was drifting back toward the door now they were done talking. They’d added a camp lantern since her capture, but it didn’t make the room brighter anywhere other than in its immediate vicinity. Unfortunately, her side of the bridge held the more grizzled guard, the elevator, and a pile of corpses, with very few other places to hide. The elevator cage and its associated mechanical parts were possibilities, but she’d risk discovery or injury if they used the elevator or grabbed the cattle prod leaning against it. A tiny toolbox sat beside the crank for the elevator.
Assuming my cell was the only one Hera sealed with rock, at least I can raid the toolbox for something to use as lockpicks if I can’t grab some keys. Given that I don’t know when the next patrol is due to check in, I need to get out of sight fast, though.
As she was creeping along the darkest patches of the wall, she picked up the sound of rapid footsteps. She darted behind the bodies, doing her best not to look at them or breathe too deeply. Her stomach roiled.
Clad in close-fitting modern body armor, an older man strode into the room. His long, balanced strides were those of someone who was used to walking long distances. Although he had to be at least sixty, he was lean with ropy muscles and his eyes flicked around the room with the cool assessment of a career cop... or criminal. However, something about the set of his mouth and the gauntness of his face beneath his white buzz cut suggested some kind of recent illness or injury.
“General Achilles! Sir!” Both guards leapt to attention.
Behind him, Stick sidled into the room, pushing a large black shield on wheels. He still wore his sling, but his body language held none of the pain he’d displayed earlier. He’d also changed into the same outfit as the other guards, complete with a handgun and oversized knife.
“Report! Has the bounty hunter been sighted again? Have all other prisoners been checked? Zeus and Hera were particularly concerned about Arca and Koschei. I wouldn’t be here in person if most of our repeaters weren’t down.” His English had a decided South African accent. Achilles scanned the guard area.
Said Russian chose this time to hurl an insult at them.
“I see he’s still here and feisty. Has the shapeshifter been verified?” The general lifted his eyebrows.
The older guard, the one closer to Zita, nodded and replied in his own accented English. “Yes, sir. She’s still a coyote, too. One of the men used a dog whistle and made her yelp.”
Oh, sí, don’t worry about me. Move along and don’t check my cell too close. Zita’s tail twitched, almost knocking into a smoke grenade hanging from a corpse’s belt. She grabbed her tail, absently fluffing the fur.
Achilles huffed. “At least that’s gone right. Is a cage available for the expected influx of prisoners? While the archbishop will not survive long enough to finish his speech, we must secure the grand imam and others until he is ready to use them in their home territories.”
“Yes, sir. As planned, we have the largest cell empty, with additional room as necessary with the existing hostages,” the sergeant replied.
The general nodded. “Good. We’re pulling a few men from the Lausanne mission to beef up the unit here, and they should be here within an hour. All patrols will double in size and you’ll be working four to six a shift here as well. The larger groups will hopefully make the escaped bounty hunter hesitate to kill or injure any more of our men, even if patrols need to be spread further apart, as we’ve already had one patrol go missing. Given that we only brought our meta troops here, I’d prefer not to lose anyone else needlessly.”
“What are the orders regarding the bounty hunter, sir?” the older guard asked.
The general paused, and then said, “Our patrons want him alive. If he sticks to pattern, no one will see him before he reaches the choke point at the plains entrance. Capture if possible, but if he attacks, defend yourselves. As our employers are hoping he’ll sign on with them, they’ve had us leave a job offer and a handheld radio at the plains entrance. Access to that entry point is on a need-only basis, and our patrols will avoid that area until he is secured or unless ordered by an officer.”
“Sir? He’s going to join the company after that?” The younger guard, a hulking boy who looked like he should be in high school, waved at the stack of corpses.
Zita made sure she stayed out of sight. Doing her best to not pay attention to the wall of bodies between her and the guards, she focused on what she could see through the gaps.
Achilles shook his head. His tone was mild, but held an edge. “It’s not your place to question decisions from higher up. Listen closely, because I won’t explain it again. Our very wealthy customers have us as their private army, but they want an assassin for the jobs too small for us. The bounty hunter’s perfect for that, and I should know. I trained him myself after he offed a rich tourist for his company buy-in. He’s not competition and won’t impact our payout, as he’ll be a separate private contractor. The dead disobeyed my orders and paid for it. Got it?”
The men nodded.
“Excellent. Make sure you spread it to the others as quickly as the gossip about his job offer got passed around. Now, our customers want Arca’s cage re-electrified before she gets her abilities back.” He paused as a group of three men came to the archway.
At the sight of the general, the group straightened up and gave sloppy salutes. “Sir! Patrol Group E reporting in.”
The general nodded. “As you were. Any sign of the bounty hunter?”
“No, sir.”
Achilles waved them on. “Good. The plains entrance cave is now off-limits to all patrols unless otherwise ordered by your commanding officers. Defend yourself if the escaped bounty hunter attacks, but capture alive if possible, per our patrons. Pass it along to the others and be on your way.”
The patrol saluted again and left.
Turning back to the men left in the room, the general pointed toward the doorway. “See that? No questions. That’s how it should be. Private, you’re going to haul the generator from the barracks to here, so you’re with me. You’ll need to get it ready to go while I hand out the revised orders and inspect preparations. This kid—”
“Stick, sir!” the traitor in question offered.
Achilles glared at the youth, making him wilt. “Whatever. He’s useless in a fight until his shoulder has time to heal, so he’s going to sit here behind a bulletproof shield and make any escapees stay put until we’re back. Sergeant, he’s all yours. They’re moving the last remaining booster for the walkie-talkies closer to here so you will be able to reach the portal from the plains entrance. To contact the camp outside the palace, you will still have to radio the portal and then wait for someone there to convey any messages from their location, or continue to send messengers directly there.”
The sergeant saluted. “Yes, sir.”
As soon as the others left, Stick started grumbling. “Useless? I captured Arca despite my injury. And yet, he’s the one who’s getting that dippy Lethe and a cash bonus as a reward. Probably too old to handle a hottie like that.”
“It’s your grave, kid. He’s the invulnerable leader of a private army, a sizable percentage of which is metas. You’re a newbie with a cute party trick.” The sergeant’s grizzled head tilted meaningfully.
Stick made a face at him and dragged a stool over by the cages, choosing the side with no puddle. He rolled a cage into position and wedged it against the wall. Before he settled onto his seat behind it, he propped up the shield so he could view the door from an angle.
Zita narrowed her eyes and calculated the time it’d take them to get to and from the barracks area she’d passed in her explorations. Because of the number of men milling around, she hadn’t ventured inside to get a headcount. Hopefully, it’ll take them a while to unhook or unplug or do whatever they have to do to move the generator, but I can’t count on it. If they’re going to double all the guards soon, I’ll need to move before they get back, but after they’re too far away to hear the fight and turn back. Of these two, the sergeant is the more direct threat, but Stick can’t be allowed to catch me on the ground. I’ll have to shift.
Since the sergeant and Stick both had their backs to her while they stared at the entryway, she waited until she thought it was safe, and then tried to shift to a gargoyle.
It failed the first several attempts.
Just before she was ready to give up and figure out how to stop them as a squirrel, she finally changed to her gargoyle form. She seized a smoke grenade off a corpse and snuck up behind Sarge.
Alerted by something, perhaps a scrape of her claws against the stone floor, Sarge started to turn.
Zita struck at the base of his skull, pulling her hit to avoid causing permanent injury or death.
He stumbled forward a step or two, but whipped out a knife and stabbed at her with it. “Arca’s loose!”
Right. Nobody but metas here, so he’s probably got the extra tough and strong package like the other dudes I fought here. Zita dodged the strike and pulled the pin from her stolen smoke grenade, hurling it toward Stick’s position.
It landed somewhere between the two men and smoke ballooned out of it as the younger man turned around, his uninjured hand going to the handgun belted at his waist.
The smoke hadn’t reached them yet, and the sergeant was close enough that his second attack would’ve disemboweled her if she’d been a second slower in dodging and not stone.
Whatever they did is making me less accurate and slower. Carajo. She jumped to the side, grabbed his knife hand, and twisted his wrist, digging in with her claws.
Coughing came from within the rapidly advancing smoke.
The sergeant grabbed the stool he’d been using with his free hand and swung it at her.
Because she wasn’t willing to let go of the weapon, it grazed her despite her attempts to dodge. The wood crunched on impact and drove her back a few steps, but she wrenched the knife out of his hands as she danced back.
Smoke swirled across the chasm, the lava below giving it an evil red tint and reducing the illumination in the already dim cave.
“I’ll get her! Drive her over the bridge to me!” Stick shouted.
Still swinging his seat, the sergeant drove forward at her.
Zita rolled out of the way of this charge, tossing his knife into the chasm, and danced toward him as smoke enveloped them both. She could still mostly make him out, and his harsh breathing helped her calculate his exact location.
He swung at where she’d been before.
After his swing, she came closer, feinted with her right leg, and then snapped up her left leg in a gancho, a front kick to his face.
He collapsed.
“Come and get me, Arca! Forget him! I took you out once and I can do it again!” Stick called out.
She launched herself into the air, careful not to go too close to the ceiling and the sharp lavacicles hanging from it. The lava smoldered below her, through the smoke, as she passed over the pit.
Somewhere closer to the exit, Stick coughed and swore.
As there was no wind this deep in the cave system, the smoke swirled in place, almost filling the guard area.
Light flashed, giving her an even better idea of where he was. He’d left his position by the door to advance toward the bridge.
I’ll have to be careful not to accidentally knock him over the edge. Hopefully, he won’t recognize the flap of my wings. She flew until she was near where the light had been and listened intently, following the sound of his breathing, the crunch of pebbles under his boots when he moved, and his occasional cough.
Zita circled closer until she could just discern a dark figure crouched down.
He had his uninjured hand on a long thin object—the cattle prod, based on the light earlier—and the other on the ground. As he inched forward, feeling the ground ahead of him with each step, he called out to her. “I hear you struggling. Not so tough now you can’t move, are you?”
Fool me once... and I won’t forget it. He thinks I was stupid enough to walk to him? Zita dove at him from above and behind, kicking his injured shoulder as she passed. She was careful not to touch the ground herself, instead pulling herself back up to hover above him.
He shrieked and lashed out with the shock stick.
The charge passed harmlessly over her stone.
She grabbed it and yanked it away with less resistance than she’d expected, flapping to stay mostly over him. Guess he doesn’t have the extra-strength package. I won’t assume he’s extra tough then, either.
As close as they were, Stick saw her, swore, and pulled his handgun with his good arm.
Zita spun the cattle prod and zapped him before he could fire.
He fell.
Swooping down, she smacked the gun away from him with the prod.
Something hit rock and shattered, dimming the cave further.
So much for the closest lantern. Zita scooped Stick up, flying toward where she remembered the cages being.
As she tossed him into one, she said, “Órale, güey, it’s a little personal.”
After a quick search to grab his keys and watch, she hauled the sergeant into another cage. As she flew back toward the elevator, she sent up a brief prayer. Dios, let running this thing be simple and everything go smoothly so I can free all the prisoners before more guards get here.
***
“I surrender!”
Apparently, even hardened mercenaries weren’t prepared for a naked elderly man to leap out of an elevator cage screaming Russian curses and waving a chamber pot, followed by two identical women, one wielding an unplugged karaoke machine and the other swinging a microphone like half of a nunchaku. While Zita hoped that the gargoyle flying in after them added to the intimidation factor, she didn’t bet on it.
Their forward momentum stopped at the guard’s words, though, and the entire motley group gaped at the speaker.
The guard, a tall, wiry whipcord of a woman, kept her hands in the air, looked around nervously, and repeated herself. “I surrender! Please don’t kill or maim me!”
Zita considered the area. The non-meta prisoners were being held in two big cells, with a third larger empty cell nearby. A priest sat holding his rosary alone in one, while an aged Chinese woman shared the other with Wingspan’s fake girlfriend. A tiny room nearby held a cot, and the hall had a chair and a table. “Drop your weapons.”
“Already done.” The guard nodded toward the table, which held a handgun, a taser, and a large knife. A huge key sat on top of the pile beside a stone pitcher, a bag of chips, and a half-empty cup of water.
After locking the guard in the empty cell, Zita set the twins to freeing the hostages while she went back to retrieve the Atlantean. Even half-dead, he had been more weight than she’d been willing to trust to the cage elevator with the others in it as well.
By the time she got him down to the others, the prisoners were all loose and had finished the bag of chips.
The twin with the microphone abandoned her weapon to support the Atlantean.
Zita repeated herself in multiple languages. “Is this everyone but the bounty hunter?”
While they replied, she counted them silently and compared them to Wyn’s list. One injured Atlantean sans armor, an elderly priest who probably knew she’d missed Confession this week, Wingspan’s fake girlfriend, an older Chinese lady who had the disappointed-grandma face down, the singing twins, and a cranky Russian wizard in dire need of pants. The cauldron stirring itself in the kitchen she’d found earlier implied nymphs were acting as servants for their own reasons, rather than enslaved humans, reducing the number of people to rescue. That left Freelance.
Her throat had a lump in it for some reason. “Right, then, this is everyone but him. We need to get all of you back to the real world before more guards show up.”
“Take me with you,” the guard begged. “There weren’t a lot of female mercs here to start with, and now there’s even fewer. They keep sacrificing us to open portals because Zeus doesn’t believe woman warriors are natural. Plus, it doesn’t matter how much you’re paid if you can’t go anywhere to spend it or talk to anyone you know!”
Zita glanced at her. She’d gone obediently into a cell... “Fine, but you can’t take any weapons with you.”
“Thank you! I’ll help carry the injured man for you!” Once released, the guard shouldered the bulk of the Atlantean.
Now freed from his weight, the twins whispered together for a moment. “Arca? We want to speak to you. Privately.”
Stick was shouting in the distance. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but she doubted he was doing anything helpful. “I need to get everyone going before the guards come back... Fine.”
The twins drew her aside into the cubbyhole that the guard had been using as a bedroom, turning their backs on the rest of the prisoners. One wrung her hands, and then the other sang, “I can’t thank you enough. Please, take these in thanks.”
Gems tumbled out of her mouth as she sang, and she pressed them into Zita’s hands.
¡No manches! Now I know how they’re paying for all these dudes! Pues, they are going to be so pissed when they find out she’s missing. While she would’ve preferred the other woman to clean the spit off the gems before handing them over, Zita couldn’t help grinning at the thought of Hera and Zeus’s faces when they found out their payroll was no longer available. “I didn’t do this for rewards.”
The twin who hadn’t sung began, “It’s the only way we have to repay our debt to you. Once we’re free, we need to go back to running and hiding. Had they been kind—”
“We would’ve been happy to settle in one place, even without modern amenities, if we could be safe,” the singer finished her sentence.
Pressing her lips together, Zita tried to surreptitiously wipe off the gems on the grimy blanket on the cot. “Fine, then. Thank you. You know, you could apply to live in Atlantis. They don’t put a lot of value in gems, so you wouldn’t be as much at risk, and you are helping that dude.”
The other women trilled with delight and then hugged her. One slipped Zita another sparkly rock. “Thank you! That would be ideal!”
Zita glanced around and frowned. In English, she said, “Who here speaks English?”
With a heavy Brazilian accent, the priest said, “I speak it, child. For a while, I assisted Cruzador. In the United States, you call him Joe Paladin, yes? I helped find places for victims and provided counseling and the like.”
The only other person who answered was the reality starlet who’d claimed to be dating Wingspan.
“You know Joe Paladin? The guy with the flying pony? I knew he wasn’t a myth!” Zita gave herself a shake. “Can you exorcise demons?”
The elderly man blinked. “My focus has always been on the restoration of hope and faith. Exorcism is dangerous to try without specialized training, but I can tell you the best defense against demons is an active and regular sacramental life.”
Carajo. I was hoping he could get rid of the demons. Disappointed, Zita jiggled her leg. “Thanks anyway. I need to talk to both of you. Her first, then you.”
The woman quit finger-combing her brown hair. Her self-confidence had magically reappeared once she was free of her cell, or at least a shaky semblance of it. “What? Shouldn’t you be working on getting us out of here?”
After walking over to her, Zita lowered her voice. The others didn’t need to hear this conversation. “When you get back, quit claiming to be with Wingspan. Either admit it’s a hoax or pretend to break up. It’s going to either be your fault or one of those worlds-are-too-different excuses where nobody’s to blame. We didn’t say nothing because we hoped you’d stop before there were any consequences, but that’s clearly not the case.” She gestured around them at the prison.
The other woman sniffed. “That relationship has run its course, but my fans like drama, and I enjoy giving them what they want.”
“Me vale madre. They can suck it up. You want to say you were cheating on him to make them happy, that’s fine, but nothing that reflects badly on my friend. He doesn’t need his rep trashed because you got no marketable skills,” Zita said.
The idiot scowled and then examined her own nails. Given that her hands were shaking, the bravado of her next few words was far less believable. “I’ll have to think about what the story will be, but I’ll say what I like. It’s not like he can sue me. Don’t worry, though, it’s so over.”
“Good. You gotta stop for your own safety. It’s not a big ask to not screw up others’ lives over a lie, especially given we’ve saved your life a few times.” Her fingers curling into fists, Zita looked everywhere but at the reality starlet while she wrestled her temper and tongue under control.
The priest gave her a cherubic smile and clutched his crucifix when her gaze touched on him. It would be wrong to punch the stupid, selfish pendeja. Especially in front of a priest who knows Joe Paladin. I wonder if the flying pony can talk?
“Do try to get us back soon. That horrible red-eyed man kept threatening me with all of these terrible deaths, and I’m traumatized. Plus, I’d like to get myself to the salon before I go on the interview circuit.” The starlet strolled back over to the others.
It took several desperate tries to switch to her Arca form so she could put her new gems into a pocket and get Wyn’s magic rock out.
Exhaustion tugged at her even more insistently after the shift. After she checked the watch Andy had given her, she put it away with disgust. Stupid of me. I should’ve attached that to my blanket or something. Putting it in my pocket means it only thinks a few minutes have passed.
Zita checked the one she’d taken off the guard, trying to figure out how much time remained. Exploring the tunnels and getting to the cells was five or six hours. One of my days is gone, possibly two, depending on how long I was unconscious and what time zone this watch is set for.
She gave quick instructions to the priest on how to use Wyn’s magic rock, and had all the prisoners hold hands. In the case of the barely conscious Atlantean, the guard lady and the non-gem-dropping sister propped him up between them.
“Remember, warn my friends that they’re planning to attack a peace conference of holy people in Lausanne, probably around or after breakfast. It could be in a few hours or maybe tomorrow, but definitely soon. I think they’re going for important hostages, but they mentioned that an archbishop isn’t intended to survive some speech. And no matter what they do, Zeus or Jen Stone can’t touch any meta, especially my friends. They’re obsessed with Wingspan and Muse. I’ll do what I can here, but if I don’t find a way back, tell my friends to check for me by where the hydra was, but not to cross the line.”
The priest sketched a sign of the cross. “I will tell them. You will not come with us?”
“No, I have unfinished business here,” she said. As much as she disliked having to work without her powers being reliable, she couldn’t abandon Freelance to the demons. With that in mind, she sniffed the water in the pitcher. It smelled clean and tempting, so she had a long drink. Still trying to figure out her next step, she started trying to turn back into a gargoyle, repeating her efforts with each failure.
“Joe gets a similar expression when he doesn’t know how to handle something. Have faith, and I will pray for you. It works for him,” the priest said.
“Thank you, Father.” More loudly, Zita called out, repeating herself multiple times in each language, “Everyone ready?”
When the replies all seemed positive, she nodded to the priest.
He clutched the rock and said the magic words, enunciating each syllable with care.
When the glow faded, all the prisoners were gone...
Except Koschei.
