Powerless (7 page)

“We stay alive first, General. We protect what’s ours then we go after him.”

Chen looked up from her BC5 screen. “They haven’t got to the fourth transport room yet.”

“And they won’t. Armise—” I froze as I turned towards Armise and saw the black transport chip in his hands held tightly between two fingers. My stomach sank and my heart began to pound. I shook my head back and forth in denial. I knew exactly what his intentions were and there was no one I cared less about at the moment than Ahriman. Armise had just told me he wouldn’t leave me, and I couldn’t believe that in the midst of all this chaos he would abandon me for a vendetta.

“No,” I started, but Armise caught my eyes for only a split second then he closed his fist around the chip and activated it, disappearing in a flash of matter dispersal.

That mark on my back felt like a branding of fire with his departure, but I wouldn’t shut down like Neveed. Failure had never been an option, and it still wasn’t, regardless of whether or not Armise was here. Jegs and I had to protect the fourth transport room so Chen and Neveed could get out of the bunker, then I had to lead the Revolution soldiers in driving the Nationalist forces out, or kill them all in the process.

I ground my teeth and held my hand out to Jegs. “I need more clips.”

“There aren’t any in here,” she informed with a grimace.

“Fuck.” I had one clip in my pistol and two more that I’d taken off the dead soldier, but that was it. The fourth transport room was to the right of the control room and down a hallway where we would be dangerously exposed. While all of them were still implanted with chips, I no longer had that one embedded under my skin. Which meant I had to make it to the transport platform if I was going to get out. But if Armise had got a hold of a transport chip in this room then I could get my hands on one too and transport with Jegs, Neveed, and Chen without risking the trek. Even then, I couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving the Revolution soldiers here just to die. I had to be out there fighting with them. “How many more transport chips do you have in here?” I asked Chen, knowing that I could keep one as my fail-safe once they had got out. At least it would give me a chance.

She looked confused and shook her head. “We don’t keep any in here.”

I stilled. That meant Armise had been carrying that chip with him for an untold amount of time. That he had been planning his escape for longer than I wanted to consider. And he hadn’t just left my side in the midst of a fight, he had also left me with no way of my own to escape.

I grabbed Jegs and pulled her to my side, whispering in her ear, “You have to get them out now. Take Neveed and Chen to the President’s safe house in the Northern Territories. That’s where Simion will be headed.”

“No fucking way, Colonel,” Jegs gritted out in the same hushed, but adamant tone, “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

I’m always alone,
I had the urge to answer snidely, but let go of her instead and steeled myself. “Now.”

Jegs tried to stuff another pistol in my hand. “At least take this.”

I forced the gun back at her. “You’re not going anywhere with them unarmed. We need Chen alive.”

Her eyes flitted to Neveed and I had to consider she’d noticed I didn’t comment on whether Neveed’s life was worth the same level of protection. She didn’t disagree with me, though, as she pulled away. “Chen and Neveed. You’re with me.”

Chen swept her hand across her screens, making them disappear, and stood to wrap me in her tiny arms. “You can’t die. You owe me.”

I hugged her against me protectively. “Got it.”

Jegs grabbed a hold of both of their wrists—her face a blank mask of concentration—and the three disappeared from the control room.

I took a second to check over my weapons and count the bullets I had remaining. Fifty of them. Two full clips and the one in my pistol that had only one shot missing that I’d taken at Grimshaw. Then I remembered the grenades I’d also taken off the guard. I’d never used one before in active combat, but I’d been trained on them nonetheless. Their presence wasn’t comforting, though. I stared up at the screen. With the sheer number of Nationalist soldiers that had flooded our stronghold and the oppressive tightness of the bunker, there wouldn’t be much opportunity for me to use them without fucking myself over in the process.

Maybe it was my day to die.

At least if I did it would be in battle.

Since I hoped but couldn’t be sure that Simion and the President had vacated the bunker, my first mission had to be ensuring that the fourth transport room stayed functional as long as possible. I opened the control room door and listened—my heartbeat thudding once before I was on the move again—then I emerged into the hallway with my gun first. The corridor was empty, the sounds of fighting still coming from all directions. I moved to my right, staying against the wall and sweeping my weapon around me.

As I turned the corner towards the transport room I came across a line of Revolution soldiers stationed at the door. Immediately they trained their guns on me and I held up my hands.

The soldiers must have recognised me because they parted and one in the back waved me inside.

“Make sure no one else gets through that door,” I said to the soldier. “I need to confirm that the President has been moved.”

I slid my pistol into the back on my pants and went for the control panel. I heard shots coming closer to our area, the distinctive pops of sonic weapons, and surmised the Nationalists were heading back to make sure this method of escape had been obliterated too. My fingers flew over the keyboard, but my login was denied, sending me into a fury as we wasted precious seconds.

“Fuck. Private!” I called to the soldier.

He backed into the room without a word.

“Please tell me you have clearance to the mainframe,” I said, waving my hand over the control panel and the only place I would be able to access transport records.

He studied me for a moment, hesitating. “I can’t—”

“Fucking now!” I bellowed.

He jumped and entered his credentials.

“Make sure no one gets through that door,” I ordered and set to work.

I pulled up the log of the most recent transports, scanned through the screens then scrolled down the list until I saw the President’s code name and Simion’s. To my relief, it showed they had left the bunker minutes earlier.

My head whipped up as a soldier at the door dropped to the floor with a loud thunk and the firefight fell directly upon us.

“Incoming!” someone screamed.

I barely had time to duck behind the control panel before there was a bright flash and the screeching of metal and stone as the reverb imploded.

The implosion ripped through me in shock waves, sending spears of shrapnel into my flesh, steel and concrete against bone. I hissed and was propelled into the wall with crushing force. My ribs snapped. My ears rang and my eyes fought to stay open as I surveyed the damage. The control panel was shredded, leaving none of us the capability of flashing out of this clusterfuck.

Armise was gone.

Into Singapore, going after Ahriman alone.

The transporters were down, perhaps permanently.

The leadership of the Revolution was scattered, if any of them were still alive.

I dragged dust into my lungs with every breath. I inhaled a gurgled breath, choked on the blood, spat it back out. The room collapsed around me even as Grimshaw’s soldiers continued to advance.

I reached for my pocket, tearing it open and finding a grenade. I gripped it tightly with shaking fingers.

And pulled the pin.

Chapter Four

I woke up screaming for Armise.

The minutes, days, hours after the explosion were a protracted nightmare of imperceptible time. I was unable to discern where I was, who was around me. Why my skin felt like it had been pulled taut and stitched with a fiery needle into a new form that didn’t fit my skeleton. I was deconstructed. A pulverized waste of bones, grinding against my internal organs, tearing at my muscles. The agony came from within, it burned from the outside, and it didn’t matter that I had been engineered to withstand the most violently traumatic of injuries. I was being driven insane with the racking torment that bled my body and mind of all will to survive.

I heard a voice say, “This should help.”

But I didn’t believe it.

* * * *

“He’s not here, Grayson,” Simion’s tired voice came to me.

I fought through the muddled and muddied thickness of my pain-fuelled delusions and tried to ascertain if this voice was real. If it was Simion next to me.

I blinked, having to think about the movement rather than it being automatic.

The room was fluctuating, ethereal, as if I were peering through a sheer white curtain whipping wildly in the crash of an electrical storm.

I was in the athlete quarters of the Olympic grounds, the bed dipping with the weight of Armise’s sleeping form next to me. I could hear the crackle pop of charged lightning striking the ground. I could smell the ozone and damp wetness of a rain that would never reach the dirt.

I was afraid. Because tomorrow I would die.

“You’re almost there,” the voice came again.

But that voice didn’t belong to Simion.

The sliding affectation of his shifting accent was conspicuously absent.

I opened my mouth to speak, knife strikes of pain radiating from my neck and jaw.

“Don’t try to talk. Not yet.”

This time I could recognise that voice. I’d heard it too many times under similar circumstances not to.

I blinked again, starkly aware of just how dry my eyes were as they struggled to focus on Dr Casas’ form leaning over me, the overly bright sterility of the medical facility snapping into clarity behind him.

“Four days,” Feliu answered without me having to ask the question. “You’ve been out for four days.”

Of course he would know that would be the first question I would ask.

“I’m sorry. We had to wake you up. I was worried you wouldn’t come out of it at all.”

I began to lift my hand and was met with an overwhelming flash of sizzling heat snaking through my veins that sent every muscle in my prone form into spasms. My jaw clenched of its own accord, teeth grinding until I was sure that they would shatter under the pressure.

Then forgiving blackness.

Maybe it was better if this time Feliu couldn’t bring me back.

* * * *

The next time, consciousness came at me brightly.

“Believe it or not, you’re doing much better than Simion,” Feliu reassured me. Or rather, attempted to reassure me as much as he could with my limbs strapped to the table, feeding another useless syringe of surge into my IV.

I blinked back the tears that sprang from the starkness of the white lights and focused on Feliu’s voice.

I opened my lips just enough to draw in a shallow breath. I attempted to swallow, my throat desperate for liquid, jaw and neck muscles protesting even the smallest of movements.

“When?” was all I managed to get out.

Feliu’s blue eyes focused on mine, the lines around his lips deepening, as he swept the blond fringe from his forehead. “When can you see him or when will you be able to move more?”

“Both,” I scratched out in a raw whisper. Then, “Either.”

Feliu crossed his arms. “I don’t know.”

I stared him down and tried not to tense myself for the fight I knew was coming. “Now.”

“I don’t think so,” Feliu chuffed and began to stand.

I ripped my left hand from the loose restraints and clamped my fingers around his wrist before he even knew I was reaching for him. His features darkened, and he tried to yank his arm free but couldn’t break away. Even though I’d only been awake for a couple of minutes this time, I had been almost immediately aware that the left side of my body had received significantly less damage.

I gripped him tighter, feeling the delicate bones of his thin wrist grate under my hold. Feliu winced then visibly relaxed, but his eyes remained wide.

Apparently he hadn’t expected me to have any strength.

“Now,” I repeated, my voice rumbling instead of rasping, not nearly as weak this time around.

He gave one clipped nod.

“You’re an idiot,” Feliu ground out as I released him. He slipped each of the restraints from around my legs then the other arm, the pain ramping up as he worked on the right side of my body. I refused to close my eyes, to breathe any deeper—as if I could have—or to show any sign of discomfort even though I was internally screaming. He allowed the material to abrade against my skin as it retracted, swiping a singeing path over exposed wounds. And damn it if the doctor wasn’t doing that on purpose.

If it hadn’t been impossible for me to get more than a word or two out I would have made a biting remark about his obviously callous and rather childish response. I didn’t give a shit if he was trying to make a point. I wasn’t going to get better lying here.

I needed to know why Simion was injured and here with me.

The doctor acted as if I should have known, but I couldn’t remember anything between pitching that grenade and the first blurry moments of waking up in the medical facility.

Feliu cleared his throat as he looked down at me. “We couldn’t put you in any clothes. Your wounds are too serious.”

As if I cared.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and began to move.

I didn’t have even one foot on the floor before I was falling back into the bed and fighting off a wave of nausea, violent flashes of light and colour shooting across the blackness of my eyelids. It was as if I was being torn apart from the inside. Muscles and tendons tearing from the bone, loose. Skin taut yet sliding in places it should have been connected. I’d experienced overly sensitive nerves before and I’d experienced the sensation of being aware of every nerve as if they existed as tangible pieces of my body. But this was different. I wasn’t feeling every nerve fire individually, because it was as if they were all one. One harrowing, ragged spear that lit my entire being into the blue blush of superheated flame.