The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (35 page)

She took a glance through the glass-paneled floor barrier. Through it, she could see the far end of the lobby where the mercs had scattered away from the smoke. Some were pointing up at her, others on their radios. The smoke was starting to rise up into the high ceiling of the lobby. Once the coast was clear, they'd come after her. And they had the advantage of the elevator. She needed to get far ahead of them. Fast. She focused back on the door to the stairwell, pumping her arms and legs as hard as they'd go. She sprinted across the polished floor like a greyhound, her boots squeaking like scared mice. She could hear their boots down below stomping along the floor. They were on the chase. She put her head down and steamed toward the door. On reaching it, she threw it open and dived into the stairwell beyond. She hurdled up the steps, her boots clacking on the surface tiles, the sound reverberating around the stairwell and in her mind. She cleared the first flight in no time, racing past a big red 2 painted on the wall next to her. She didn't hesitate in mounting the next flight toward the 3 on the wall above her. She made it up to the fourth floor and her legs began to tingle with tiredness. The thought of potentially racing up another ninety flights seemed like too much of an ordeal. Eventually, she'd have to take a break, slow down at least.

But could Dad and Dom afford her to?

Just keep going, girl,
she told herself.
Keep going till you drop!

She ripped off her gas mask and jumped up the next flight, feeling like a sprinter racing for gold. The medal at the end of this particular race was Dad and Dom. And that thought drove her. She made it up to the fifth, her breathing hot and sharp. She made it halfway across the landing when the door leading out to the fifth burst open, knocking her off her stride. She yelped; three armed mercs dived out into the stairwell. She threw up an instinctive hand and fired off a couple of tranqs. The merc out in front caught them both and went down. The next thug barged into her, throwing her across the landing; she hit the banister, taking a painful blow to the kidneys. Her breath bolted from her chest; she knew she couldn't afford to remain static or they'd take her down.

Ignoring the discomfort, she forced herself to spin away and hit the steps once more, her lower back and chest aching in equal measure. Behind her, a gun clicked, a spray of bullets swiftly following. She ducked, her eyes whirling. She caught a glimpse of a line of bullet holes in the ceiling far away. Warning shots. They didn't want her dead.

"Stop!" a merc grunted, but she was in no mood to follow orders. She lunged up to floor six where she decided to throw the stairwell door open and try to shake them off. The echo chamber of the stairwell thickened to dark office space. She took a quick look around, gasping for breath, her body a prism of pain. Ahead of her sat a gloomy reception area. She scampered past it and into the office area itself. Now, in the dark, she had to feel her way along, not wanting to trip over a chair or desk. She bent down low and melted into the shadows, scampering along like a professional thief. She delved deep into the office where she found a corner to tuck herself away, just as the door behind her flew open. She pressed herself up against the cubicle wall and held her breath, her eyes wide and hot. The overhead lights flicked on. Then a voice, "
Come out, come out, wherever you are,
" sang in a phony pleasant tone.

She peeked around the corner to see them advancing into the office, strafing left and right.

"We don't want to hurt you," that nasty voice said. "We're your friends."

Any second and they'd find her. She looked around. The cubicle she found herself in was scant. A desk, a filing cabinet, and not much else. She glanced up. The ceiling was a grid of square panels. One of them was missing, exposing some red and blue wires above; but more importantly, a hiding place. She had a quick peek on her friends once more. Their backs were turned. She seized the opportunity. Nimble as a cat, she leaped onto the desk, sucked in a deep breath, bent her knees just enough, and propelled herself up toward the ceiling. She grabbed onto the metal grid edging the missing panel and hauled herself up into the space above, pulling her body up and along at the same time, her dangling legs disappearing into the empty slot like eels vanishing into a pipe. The world around her turned hot and tight. She shifted around ninety-degrees, pushing past electrical wires, hoping to God none of them were exposed. It felt like diving into a pit of snakes, a single bite and it was curtains. Inch-by-inch, she could see back out of the missing panel. She stopped and spread herself across the metal grid, allowing it to take her weight evenly, wiring touching every part of her body. The heat trapped between the ceiling and the floor of the above level was building up by the second. It was uncomfortable, but she endured.

Now I know what a TV dinner feels like,
she thought to herself without much humor.

With her breath drawn, she waited, her eyes wide and alert. Below her, the mercs continued to talk.

"Come on, we won't hurt you," she heard one say, just as he spun around the corner, aiming his gun at the very spot she'd been squatting in literally seconds before. She moved her arm forward, poking the gun out of the gap of the missing panel. She had his back in her sights. A good shot and he was down.

He then moved from her view and joined his colleague, taking her free shot with him. "She ain't here," he concluded.

"She must be here. Where did she go? Vanish into thin air?"

"Maybe..."

"Tell Nixon we saw her on the fifth but lost her."

"You tell him."

"What, you scared?"

"No."

"Then tell him, bitch."

"Aight then." He got on the radio. "Husky Flamingo, come in. Husky Flamingo, copy."

A brief spout of static broke out. Then,
"Husky Flamingo here. Report."

"Uh, we found the uh, bullfrog."

"Good work. We'll be up to get her, what floor you on?"

"Uh... thing is, boss. We, uh... lost her."

There was a small pause. Then,
"YOU FRICKIN' DOPEY ASS FAGGOTS! HOW CAN YOU LOSE A FREAKING BULLFROG? YOU BUNCH A PUSSIFIED CRAP MONKEYS AIN'T GOOD FOR NUTHIN BUT SHOVELING THE SHIT FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY SHITSTAINED UNDERPANTS!"

"Thanks, boss."

"You find her! And you bring her to me, shit-for-brains! You got it?"

"Yes, boss."

"Think you can handle that, Nancy?"

"Yes, boss."

"Yes
,
what?"

"Yes, sir Husky Flamingo, sir! Yes!"

"That's better. Freaking bunch a pussies. Christ."
The radio then went dead.

The thug puffed his cheeks. "Well, that went well."

"We better find her before he does."

"Damn straight."

"You wait here in case she turns up. I'll go check the next level."

"Aight."

Trixie watched one of the thugs leave the cubicle. There had been three, she'd already downed one back in the stairwell, and with the other leaving, she was now alone with just one, and he had no idea she was right above him. He was vulnerable, like a newborn kitten. She waited for a minute or two to give the other one enough time to leave the floor; she didn't want her and her new friend to be disturbed.

After a bit, the thug yawned and scratched his head. "Asshole, speaking to me like that," he grumbled to himself. "What the hell's a husky flamingo anyways?" He then stepped out of the cubicle and into the larger office space.

Now's my chance.

Trixie took the initiative. She shifted her legs across as best she could despite being hampered by all the wiring. When set, she dangled her feet out of the missing panel and lowered herself down. Her boots touched the surface of the desk and she ducked, the cooler office air hitting her clammy face. She took a moment to relish it. But, she had more important business to take care of. Without making a sound, she slipped down from the desk to the carpet and slid up against the cubicle wall. She poked her head around the corner. The merc's back was facing her. Like an expert predator
,
she became his shadow. She put the muzzle of her dart gun a couple of inches from the back of his neck.

"Nighty night," she whispered and pulled the trigger.

The thug only had a chance to yelp and spin to face her before his eyes rolled up into his head and his legs buckled. He hit the bland gray carpet and that was that. Trixie let out a sigh of relief. It was the first moment since they'd left for the building she'd had to take a breather. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and stared at the guy by her feet. She thought of taking his submachine gun, but it would just weigh her down. Instead, she bent down, picked up his radio, and slipped it into her belt. Any ongoing chatter might lead her to the floor where they were keeping Dad and Dom.

She began assessing her situation. She was on the fifth and left Dom all the way up near the roof. She was pretty sure Leviah would be high up in the nineties where he was safely out of the way of any prying eyes. She had a hunch Dad would be getting grilled by Leviah himself, so it wasn't out of the realms of possibility for both of them to be on the same floor. Would that mean Dom was with them too? Who knew? All she could do was get up to Leviah's quarters and hope for the best. The problem was getting up there in quick time. The elevator was out of commission so she had to use the stairs. That would take a while and Blacklake were probably crawling all over the building as well as any Order vamps loitering around.

Boy, this is gonna be tough.

She grabbed her forehead. As she did, a throbbing pain from her hand became apparent. She pulled it away from her forehead and stared at it. Glaring back at her red, raw, and ugly was the damage Husky Flamingo had done to her. The top section of her pinky was gone, leaving a bloody stump. She winced. She stared at the white bone in the center of it in morbid fascination. She started to get queasy.

"My God..." she gasped, before turning to the side and shooting her other hand up to her mouth.

She steadied herself and ventured another look at her finger. Blood was now oozing out of the stump. The severed nerves screamed at her. She couldn't leave it like that, she had to tend to it. She looked around, shaking her hand on the air to try and alleviate the pain. She spotted the kitchen area up ahead. She darted straight for it. On entering, she pulled a first aid kit off the wall and threw it open. She grabbed a vial of antiseptic and soaked a cotton ball with its contents.

"Okay, get ready, Trixie," she said, bracing herself. She then dabbed the cotton ball on her decapitated finger. A bolt of pain registered in her mind. She closed her eyes and went to scream, but shoved her other fist into her mouth to stifle it. Eventually, the pain subsided to a dull throb and she removed her fist, teeth marks in her flesh. She dabbed more antiseptic on the wound; this time the pain wasn't so bad.

"I'll get you, you bastard!" she sneered as she began wrapping bandage around her finger. She didn't want to wrap it too much; she may need to perform some acrobatics and the padding might hinder her. "And the severed finger won't?" she asked herself.

Thankfully, it was only the top section missing, so once it healed up, it probably wouldn't affect her acrobatic ability too much. She hoped.

When done, she held her hand up and checked out her handiwork. Her pinky was now wrapped in bandages like it was a mini-mummy. It reminded her of a Warner Bros. cartoon: Sylvester the Cat or Wily Coyote after they've done something asinine like hit themselves on the toe with a hammer instead of the bird or road runner or whatever cartoon feast they were chasing. They always ended up with overdone bandages on said injury. But, it usually came with a neat bow, something her effort was missing. She stared at it in disappointment. "God, it looks horrible," she muttered to herself with deep chagrin, just as a dull throb pulsed out of the wound beneath.

She shook her head. "Just deal with it, Trixie, and get going," she said to herself in a more determined voice. She pushed the first aid kit to the side and took a moment to check both her dart guns. She was fully stocked on holy water and packed a healthy supply of tranqs. She was down to just two smoke bombs
,
though. Getting out of the elevator and lobby ate into her supply, but it was necessary. She also had those sonic boom thingys, but without any experience using them in the field, she didn't want to risk them unless she had to. A last resort.

She had a look around. The kitchenette was low on weapons; butter knives just wouldn't cut it.

She opened up the fridge to find a half-eaten chicken mayo sandwich. "Yuck!" she said, slamming the door shut. She'd just have to get by with what she had. She stepped back out into the office floor. Emblazoned on the opposite wall, a giant logo of what could only be an eye entrapped within a triangle stared at her. The word ISIS had been stenciled next to it in bold, block capitals. She recognized the name. ISIS was recently all over the news. A corrupt bank/investment company caught laundering cash for the Mexican drug cartels. And the result: a slap on the wrist and a hefty--but payable--fine. No doubt ISIS were just one of a myriad of similar corporations whose HQs were centered in the building.

Trixie sighed. This was it; the I-Sore, the building she stood in was the financial hub of the Western world. This was where it all went down. This was where the control lay. The Blood Order were ahead in the stakes because of financial instruments and war. The other orders were too slow on the uptake. Leviah was the leader of the pack all right.