Jolting upright, I go for the gun but, before I get a hold of it, there is a whoosh, and I fly away from the car and land in the middle of the street with a bone-shuddering thud. My lungs empty themselves at the impact. I wince in pain but force myself into action.
In one fluid motion, I bring my knees toward my face then kick-up to a standing position. Just as I get back on my feet, She-Bird tackles me to the ground. I land on my back once more and lose what little oxygen I’d managed to take in. The scout straddles me. Her hawk-like face is twisted in fury. She balls her hand into a large fist and pulls it back. I throw my arms over my face and manage to block the blow.
“Thought I’d let you get away, you little shit?” She-Bird tries another jab. I block it, too. She growls in frustration and tries to get my arms away from their protective position.
Pulling hard, she grunts between pointed teeth. “Whitehouse pays extra for Fenders and doesn’t care if they’re bruised up or not. Not as long as they’re alive.”
Her tall wings blotch the sky above, shining, translucent. It’s a beautifully cruel sight.
With the high-pitched cry of an eagle, She-Bird digs her sharp claws into one of my wrists and pries the arm away from my face. Through the opening, she uses her quick, avian reflexes to sneak in a powerful blow. I growl between clenched teeth, feeling as if a boulder has smashed against my cheekbone.
But there is not time to wallow, not when the punch has unbalanced her, and countless karate sparring matches taught me the required moves to escape this sort of situation.
The technique comes to me as second nature. In a brisk, strong move, I thrust my knees into She-Bird’s butt. The unexpected thump unbalances her further. She lurches forward. Her hands move to brace the fall and land right above my head. I follow up by sweeping her arms from under her and pushing her sideways with all I’ve got.
To my surprise, all I’ve got is too much. She-Bird is lighter than I thought, surely a trait required by all flying creatures. We tumble over and over and, when we stop, the scout ends up on top of me again.
Shit!
With a jerk, she pulls out her gun and aims it at my forehead. I freeze.
“You sure are more trouble than I thought you’d be,” she says between sharp breaths. “Maybe too much trouble to take you in alive.” Her face twists grotesquely as she seems to ponder what to do with me. Her orange eyes pierce mine, hatred burning in their depths.
I see the instant she makes up her mind to kill me. A cold shock bursts in the middle of my chest with the knowledge that I’m about to die. I close my eyes and, for a moment, regret my decision to fight for the girl. The regret only last for an instant, though. Confronted with the choice again, I’d do the same thing. Any other decision would be one I couldn’t live with.
The shot explodes with a deafening bang that sends a jolt through my body. I jerk, startled by the loud crack and a wet splatter on my face. My eyes blink open. She-Bird wavers over me, her forehead blown open, brain matter dangling from a jagged hole. She tips forward and crashes on top of me.
I lie still for a moment, uncomprehending. All of a sudden, She-Bird’s dead weight turns into a suffocating force. Desperately, I push her off me and sit up, swiping at my face over and over. My heart thumps in my ears. I spit blood and wipe my tongue on my sleeve, vomit rising to my throat.
I don’t know how long I sit there—wild and horrified by the fact that I’m wearing someone’s death all over my face—before I realize I’m still alive. Eventually, I come to and look around, wondering how come my brains are not the ones splattered all over the pavement.
A pair of blue eyes looks down at me from behind the barrel of my own weapon. The girl I planned to rescue stands in front of me, legs shoulder-width apart, gun gripped tightly between trembling hands. The SUV sits behind her, the driver side door thrown open. Two parallel streaks run down each side of the girl’s face as tears spill freely down her face.
Her mouth trembles. She looks scared out of her mind and doesn’t seem willing to aim the gun in any other direction but the bull’s-eye between my eyebrows.
In a shaky voice, she asks, “What … what the hell are you?”
Chapter 3 (#u7b009af6-bd19-5a8d-847b-8a5a429c2be8)
I snake the SUV between abandoned cars and debris, expecting to run into an impassable section of road sooner or later. Still, I don’t dare take the viable roads Eklyptors cleared for their purposes, not while carrying strictly human cargo.
“What’s your name?” I ask the girl.
“Hannah,” she says from her crouched position at the foot of the passenger seat.
I can’t afford to let her sit where an Eklyptor might spot her. If they see two people but sense only one, they’ll give chase. Our chances are precarious enough riding on these roads. My hope is that the Igniter battle She-Bird mentioned will keep the skies and streets clear for now.
“I’m Marci,” I say.
“Where are you taking me?” Hannah’s question is full of suspicion, as if I didn’t just save her life and she decided to repay the favor.
“To safety.”
“Why had they let you go?” She’s surely having second thoughts about putting herself in my charge. Her eyes are wide and scared. She looks as frightened and paranoid as a mouse. But who can blame her? Only God knows what she’s been through, what she’s had to do to survive. Very likely it’s the paranoia that’s kept her alive this long.
It’s a heck of a good question, anyway, one I cannot answer. I got her in the car with a promise to tell her everything, but now that we’re on our way, I don’t have to tell her jack. The situation is too complicated to explain. I can’t tell her I’m a Symbiot. Not when I’m hoping James will take her with him. There are very few Symbiots among James’s ranks, and their identities are revealed on a need-to-know basis. I know only three others: James, Aydan and Rheema. If there are more within the ranks, they’re hidden from me as well. I doubt IgNiTe, the group of human rebels who openly defy Eklyptors, would appreciate the news. Everyone is doing their best to keep their spirits up; there is no point in giving them more to worry about.
“Well, um … I’m a spy.” I can’t think of anything else to tell her. Besides, it’s not a lie.
She shakes her head, looking as if I just told her I’m a hungry werewolf with rabid thoughts of taking a chunk out of her.
“I’m with IgNiTe,” I add, hoping this will ease her fears.
“IgNiTe?!” she exclaims. From the excited ring of her voice, it seems I have quickly risen from werebeast status to saint. “Are you serious?!”
Man, I feel like a celebrity. I nod and keep driving north. The further away from downtown we go, the clearer the streets become and the slower my heart beats. Scouts keep closer to headquarters. Their numbers are limited, and Elliot likes to keep them close. He won’t be happy to learn that two of them are dead. It’s not like he can easily replace them—not when it takes years to morph and grow additional appendages.
Hannah seems content for a few minutes, then the questions begin again.
“But how does that work if … if you’re human?”
Smart girl. Surely another reason she’s still alive. She should make a nice addition to James’s ranks. This fight can use every person we can get, especially if they’re intelligent.
“Uh, some of them like to keep humans around, like pets.” My stomach twists. The simple idea of being a traitorous, Eklyptor pet makes me want to retch.
Hannah’s nose wrinkles with a disgusted grimace. “That has to be horrible. How can you stand it?”
I shrug.
“And what if they decide to turn you?”
“It’s a risk, but these are desperate times.”
She puts a hand over her mouth. “I couldn’t do it. I would just …” She muffles her words and shakes her head, looking horrified.
“It isn’t easy. I assure you.”
We don’t speak for a few blocks. I’ve managed to take us completely out of downtown, and I’m well on my way to my rendezvous spot with James.
Hannah hugs her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees, looking pensive. “Will IgNiTe take me?”
“If you’re willing to fight. If you’re not, they’ll find a safe place for you. One of the underground human communities.”
“They really exist?!” she asks as if I just told her Sasquatch is real, and she can’t wait to meet him. “We heard rumors, but we never saw them.”
“We?” I ask, then immediately regret it.
She stares down and pulls at her jacket as if it’s out of place, which it isn’t. You’d think I would have learned by now. I’ve lost enough people in this fight to understand the touchy subjects.
