Doomsday Exam [BUREAU 13 Book Two] (10 page)

"Its called doing a Picnic,” I said.

"Yes sir! We're on a do-or-die to level 17, section 3, of the Holding Facility, and the mission has been rated more important than any, or all of us. Correct?"

It was correct, just rather tactless to say it so bluntly.

"By the way,” Raul asked, glancing around. “Where's Sir Reginald?"

Steven kept a straight face. “Dead. We were guarding the hospital when a big hairy thing ate him."

"So we strike in his name!” Katrina Sommers said grimly, the busty blonde shaking her wand like a Hottentot with a halberd, or something like that.

She prefers Katrina,
Jessica sent.

Fair enough.

"We can't kill them,” Mindy reminded. “That's why the boojums are here."

The Russian mage frowned. “
Da
. Sorry, comrade ninja."

"But we sure can kick the shit out of them!” Saunders declared brandishing a Thompson.

Ah, youth. But I did like his enthusiasm. “How to get there is the first problem,” I commented, going to a wall map of the city. “We have three choices; magic portal, psionic teleport or drive."

"Couldn't we just phone it in?’ Mindy asked hopefully.

Cradling his machine gun, Sanders gave her a strange look. Guess he wasn't used to humor under fire. Sometimes that was all that kept us sane in this insane job.

"Sorry,” I said. “The number is unlisted."

"Damn,” she frowned. “Then go we must."

"Check,” I said and turned, “Raul?"

Our mage was already busy waving his hands about, fingers leaving colored streamers behind. “Portals are impossible. The Facility is still sealed against intruders."

"Jess, can you and Connie jump the lot of us?” I asked.

Quickly, my wife looked over the assorted tonnage of troops and armored van. “Not without a dose of MCD,” she said grimly.

Connie nodded agreement.

Forget that. MCD was a dangerous mind-amplifying drug. Temporarily, a telepath would have her powers fantastically increased. However, there was a very high risk factor of permanent burnout, idiocy, or worse, total brain death.

"No way,” I snapped, shaking off the image of my wife a drooling vegetable. “We'll drive, and reserve our heavy hitters for when we're inside the jail."

"Why?” Saunders asked curiously.

Resting the stock of his M60 on a hip, George answered, “Because, for various reasons, there are lots of things that haven't come out yet."

Connie went pale, but stood firm. Good woman.

Pivoting on a heel, I started for the van. “Let's go."

Gathering our stacks of armaments, the crew jammed into the RV and wiggled for position. Seats were limited and the rest of us stood holding onto conveniently placed ceiling straps. It was an idea I had gotten riding the Brooklyn subway at rush hour. Since time was of the essence, George took the wheel. When it came to combat driving, Mr. Renault could make a person believe that the speed of light was merely a suggestion and not actually a law of physics.

Giving us a brave smile, Mrs. Cunningham cycled open the shutters and we bounced awkwardly over the windowsill. Immediately, George hit the nitrous oxide injector and our fourteen tons of Bureau property literally flew out of the building. Landing with a bone jarring crash, we tore strips out of the lawn and jounced onto the debris filled street. Behind us, the steel shutters rumbled closed.

Swerving around a blast crater, George took a corner on two wheels, and then really hit the gas. A hat flew off my head and I hadn't been wearing one. Whew!

Zigzagging past Sing-Sing Boulevard, Connie gasped as she saw a ten-meter tall lizard waddling down the center of the street on its plump hind legs. As the beast spotted us, the enlarged dorsal fins began to pulse with a greenish light.

"Brace yourselves!” George warned, shifting gears.

In a roar, the van lurched forward with renewed velocity and slammed directly into the big reptile. It went airborne and tumbling away, a stream of glowing vapor spewed from its open mouth, setting fire to a tree and melting a fireplug. On the dashboard, a Geiger counter began to wildly click.

"Excuse me,” Raul grunted from somewhere within the pile of bodies on the floor. “But is my stomach bothering your elbow?"

"Sorry,” I said and struggled to my feet, then helped the bruised wizard to stand in the rocking RV.

Going to the rear window, Steve stared at the receding lizard as it waddling away. “Hey,” he said in wonder. “Was ... wasn't that—"

"Get used to it, rookie,” Mindy snapped. She hadn't moved an inch during the collision. “You're in the Bureau now."

The dark mage was shocked for a moment, then set his jaw. That's the ticket, buddy. It always surprised newcomers to discover that a lot of monster movies were actually footage of Bureau 13 battles. I personally had two hit movies and a TV mini-series to my credit. But novels were what I really wanted. You know, something with class and dignity.

As we barreled across a destroyed lawn, a mummy stepped out of some bushes and spread its bandaged arms wide as if to catch our speeding van.

"It's Billy-Bob!” Raul shouted in warning.

Savagely twisting the steering wheel, George violently careened off the corner of a house, sending out a spray of ceramic tiles. Rebounding off a garage, the van slammed into the ruin of a tank, and then rolled over a sleek sports car. But somehow we managed to avoid the shambling monster.

"Wow, that guy must be ultra powerful,” Ken remarked in awe.

"Billy-Bob? Nah, you could kill him with a sharp stick,” Mindy corrected, sitting calmly in her seat.

"Then why the elaborate evasion?"

"The wrappings are evil,” Jessica explained. “But not the man inside. That's just some poor truck driver from South Carolina. He ran over the mummy, killing the man wearing the wrappings, so the bandages seized him and took off on a five state rampage of death and destruction."

As we crashed through a dinner, Ken frowned. “So if we killed Billy-Bob,” he said slowly. “Then the wrappings would just take over somebody else?"

"Correct."

"Why not destroy the wrappings?” Connie asked.

Cadets! “Gotta take them off the victim first, which we can't do without slaying Billy-Bob. That was why he was in detention, to protect the innocent man inside the killing bandages."

"Ah."

The students were finally starting to understand that not everybody in the Holding Facility was a monster. Some were victims. We even had a few demonic refugees seeking political asylum. It's a crazy world.

Launching a rocket from the roof pod, George blew apart a drooling somuloid and shot through an alleyway. In passing, we saw a pair of people waging a private firefight amidst the madness and chaos of the larger battle. One person was a tall muscular man with a bushy moustache and thick sideburns. He was dressed in a garish green checker jacket and was holding the biggest damn pistol I had ever seen in my life. His opponent was a slim man with slick blonde hair, a flapping lab coat and a robotic arm.

"Freeze, you bozo!” the guy with the moustache bellowed, firing his gigantic pistol a fast three times.

The scientist-type in the lab coat ducked out of the way. “Eat photons, Delphia!” he screeched insanely, and out lanced a crimson energy beam from the hand of his mechanical arm. The scintillating power ray nicked the jacket of moustache guy and out tumbled a frosty can of beer.

A split second later, we turned another corner and they were gone.

"Who the heck were they?” Katrina asked, not sure if she was shocked or amused.

"Long story,” I sighed. “Tell you later."

Nearing the Facility, the houses changed from damaged to burning shells, then flattened timbers trampled in the bloody mud. We were in open country now, but there was nobody moving about. An eerie stillness ruled the landscape.

Then with a loud thump, something heavy landed on the roof of our van and started clawing at the windows, gray talons chipping the armored plexiglass. Since George was busy, I flipped a switch on the dashboard. In a dull boom, the outer section of the roof blew off the chassis taking a very surprised harpy along with the luggage rack and air conditioner. By the time she hit the ground, we were long gone. Schmuck. Leaping on a roof was the second oldest trick in the book.

Amid the wreckage on the ground, carnage was rampart, bodies and bloody bits of corpses scattered about everywhere. It was impossible not to run over the grisly goblets of flesh. The only cheering fact was that a lot of the blood was yellow, or green, instead of red, and many of the body parts could never be mistaken for human remains. The Bureau guards had taken their toll, such as it was. Problem was, if each of the monster parts didn't somehow travel to rejoin the rest of the original body, then they would just start to grow a whole new boojum. The tanks and planes had only bought us time, nothing more. And not much of that either, but it would have to be enough.

Slowing our speed, George carefully maneuvered through the crumbled ruins of the once mighty warehouses. Often he had to go backwards to be able to move ahead again, but we always progressed. Going past the destroyed building, we could see that the insides were oddly empty. Obviously, whatever force powering the defensives was long dissipated.

"Excuse me, but the response code is not working,” George announced with deceptive calm, one hand typing madly on a miniature keyboard.

Going to the front seat, I took the keyboard and tried it myself. No response. Same thing with the radio.

"We'll have to ram our way in,” I decided, taking a seat and strapping on a crash harness. “Raul, polymorph a section of the metal wall into wood."

Gamely, the wizard rolled up his sleeves. “Consider it done,
kemo sabe
.” He gestured and the seamless allotropic steel of the Quonset Hut suddenly was a wide wooden door.

Smashing through the dilapidated wire fence, we zoomed confidently inward. Then the wall reverted back to metal.

Frowning in annoyance, Raul leveled his staff and it became wood again, but for a much shorter time before reverting to steel.

At warp speed we went like a Detroit cannonball across the battlefield, the tall metal wall rising before us like the angry hand of God.

"Oh, Edwardo!” George sang out, sweat dripping off his brow.

"Keep going!” I commanded, feeling my stomach knot. “Katrina, Steven, help Raul!"

Clutching their wands into a triad of unity, the three mages started chanting so fast the words were only a babble. Filling our sight, the towering Quonset Hut flickered into wood, no, metal again. Wood, metal, wood, metal, wood, metal...

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...and the van smashed through the plywood wall, exploding into the Quonset Hut! As the RV screeched to a halt in the cavernous receiving bay, a brick tumbled off our shattered windshield. In the rearview mirror, I watched the metal wall close again. Ulp. A split second either way and the Bureau would have renamed us Team Tunafish Salad.

"Out!” I barked, throwing open the door. “Standard defensive pattern ***19!” That was for the students. My people didn't need to be told such basics.

The crowd barely managed to assemble when the floor rippled and the giant mechanical arm reached straight for us. At least part of the Facility was still operational. Boldly walking towards the deadly janitor, I fished out my commission booklet and showed my badge.

"Special Federal Agent Edwardo Alvarez,” I stated nice and loud. “Independent field operative, Bureau 13."

The hand slowly halted, then briskly turned towards the rest of the group. One at a time, they each identified themselves. Thankfully, everybody had their booklet.

Programmed to be suspicious, the janitor seemed loath to accept such an invasion of agents, but finally it descended into the floor with that same strange watery effect.

"George and I are on point,” I announced, checking the clip in my Uzi 9mm machine pistol. “Sanders and Mindy cover the rear. The gypsy and Jessica in the middle. One meter spread. Silent and hard."

Raising a finger asking for a pause, George stepped into the van for a moment before joining me at the head of the mob.

"Forget something?” I asked brusquely.

"Just set the van to detonate,” he answered. “Our people will know better that to bother the vehicle, and an explosion will serve to deter any boojum."

I smiled. “Plus let us know they're coming. Good man."

Grinning like a poltroon, George stuffed a lollipop into his mouth and snapped the bolt on his M60 to start feeding the linked belt of ammo into the breech mechanism.

Glancing at my watch, I saw there was twenty minutes to go. Plenty of time. Approaching the wall, I glanced it over carefully.

"Jess,” I asked.

My wife placed fingertips to forehead. “Its clear, dear."

"Raul?"

He waved his staff. “Its clear, dear."

Everybody laughed, and grinding my teeth I made a mental note to kill him later.

Stepping forward, I pressed my eye against the viewpiece and placed a hand on the wall plate. There was a click and the wall flipped over on a center pivot, the bottom swinging away as the top lowered, serving to push us into the next cubicle whether we wanted to go or not.

Blocking the hallway was a simple iron gate, an Armorlite window spanning the wall alongside. It was impossible to see through the sheet of military plastic as it was too heavily streaked with blood. Inserting my finger into the keyhole of the gate, the mechanism took my print, paused, and then unlocked.

A short tunnel stretched past the gate ending at a huge plastic arch. As I walked through, the scanner rippled with colors to show my aura and alignment. I showed as a normal human, while Jessica was human with a touch of silver. Raul was primarily green, laced with white, a good guy mage. Connie was identical to Jess, and Steve the same as Raul. Sommers was green, with rudimentary traces of gray, neutral magic. George was human, but with a faint touch of black, the same as thing Mindy. Ah ha! I always knew those two enjoyed fighting too much. The scanner hummed for a whole minute on Patricia, then gave a golden reading, a true Healer with no offensive abilities.