The Dragon’s Mark (14 page)

They saw Annja at the same time she saw them.

Time to go, she thought to herself.

She turned, ready to make a dash for the stairs and the freedom they represented, only to find herself looking down the barrel of a very ugly handgun.

“I don’t think so, Ms. Creed,” the man with the goatee said, shoving the gun closer to her. “You’re coming with me.”

No way, she thought. The minute she gave in to them she was signing her own death warrant. Better to go down fighting than to be led like a lamb to the slaughter.

Besides, the gunman had already made a fatal mistake.

He’d underestimated her.

Annja was already in motion by the time the “No!” came rolling off her lips. She used her shout to distract him; all she needed was a few seconds. Her left hand came up in an arc, the outer edge crashing into the gunman’s arm just above the wrist, sending the gun away from her face. In the same motion her hand locked on to his wrist, pulling him forward and down.

The gun went off, the sound deafening so close to her ear, but she was already out of the line of fire thanks to her deflection strike. The bullet bounced off the concrete beneath her feet, disappearing somewhere into the crowd. Annja was still in motion, pivoting on the balls of her feet and using the swing of her hips to bring her right arm around vicious arc that ended against the side of his head.

No sooner had she connected with that blow than she delivered another, a hammer strike to the face with her left hand as she completed the circle she’d started with the first blow.

Her assailant staggered, but did not go down.

The crowd around her was screaming, a result of the gunfire and the violence that had suddenly broken out in their midst, but even that was drowned out as a northbound train roared into the station on the tracks next to her.

About time! she thought.

If she could get on that train before they did, she had a chance of getting away.

The gunman was shaking his head, trying to clear it, as he brought his arm back up, searching for a target.

Annja didn’t give him any time to find one.

Her right foot came up in a scissor kick, delivering a thunderous blow to the exact same place she’d already struck him twice.

Apparently the third time was the charm, for he dropped to the ground, the gun spinning out of his hand across the platform.

Annja turned, intent on going after it, but was prevented from doing so when several bullets cracked off the floor near her feet.

As she dove to the side, desperately trying to get out of the line of fire, she saw the other two gunmen standing at the top of the stairs, firing down at her.

She hit the ground and rolled for cover behind a nearby column. Several other people were already huddled there and Annja knew that if she didn’t get out soon it wouldn’t be long before some innocent bystander was caught in the cross fire and seriously injured or killed. For all she knew, it could have happened already. Those bullets had to end up somewhere and she could just imagine them finding a home in some commuters’ unprotected flesh.

The train across the platform had discharged its passengers out the opposite side and now the doors on her side swished open. She could hear the conductor’s voice indicating what the next stop would be and giving the all-clear announcement, but a fresh barrage of gunfire designed to keep everyone in place and under cover, trembling with fear, prevented anyone from heading for the open doors.

Annja knew she didn’t have the same choice. She had to get on that train, had to take the battle out of the station to keep any more innocents from getting hurt.

Another volley of gunfire echoed around the station. Expecting a hail of bullets, Annja was shocked when none came her way.

She chanced a look around the pillar she was using as cover and was astounded to see a second group of men shooting at the first set from the cover of the magazine stand at the other end of the platform.

Who the heck are they? she wondered.

It didn’t matter. While they kept the first group distracted, Annja saw her chance.

She surged to her feet and raced for the doors of the subway car even as the bell sounded and they began to close.

A fresh volley of gunfire, from both grounds, filled the air with lead but Annja was committed. There was no turning back.

She was halfway across the platform when she realized it was going to be tight. The doors were closing and even if she got her hand in the door it wouldn’t do her any good; they wouldn’t just pop back open like an elevator’s doors did. It would take some time and she’d be stuck there with one arm in the door and the rest of her standing exposed against the unyielding surface of the train car outside, for too long.

It would be like shooting ducks in a barrel for anyone with an ounce of experience with a firearm. And from what she had seen so far, they probably had a better than even chance of hitting a nonmoving target.

All this went through Annja’s mind in a split second, and in that time she realized she really only had one course of action left available to her if she wanted to get out of this alive.

With a final burst of speed and a huge downward thrust of her long athletic legs, Annja launched herself like a missile at the closing doors of the subway car.

Annja shot through the opening just as the doors closed behind her. She tucked herself into a ball to cushion the impact she knew she was about to experience.

She careered into a metal pole, bounced off that and then slammed to a stop against the closed doors on the other side of the train.

She felt the car lurch into motion beneath her as she climbed cautiously to her feet. Several passengers were staring at her openmouthed and she was sure she looked quite the spectacle after a stunt like that, but Annja didn’t care. She’d survived; that was all that mattered.

No sooner had she risen to her feet, however, than she was throwing herself back down to the floor as the windows in the subway doors shattered under a hail of gunfire. Safety glass went flying, and through the opening Annja could see her two pursuers racing toward her, guns extended. Behind them she could also see her first assailant, the bald man, back on his feet and closing the distance as well.

What do they think they’re going to do, jump on the moving train? she wondered.

No sooner had she thought it than the lead gunman threw himself against the door and hung on, letting the train carry him with it. With the glass in the windows gone, he was able to stick his arm inside the train and point his gun at her.

You have got to be kidding me! Annja thought, even as she hurled herself down the center aisle and away from the door.

Gunfire followed her and several passengers went down in a shower of blood.

With so many passengers watching, Annja didn’t dare draw her sword, so she scrambled forward on hands and knees, trying to reach the door to the next car, while around her the other passengers huddled in terror.

The gunplay stopped, as her pursuer turned his attention to getting inside the subway car before the motion of the train or some hanging piece of equipment swept him off the outside. She could hear him swearing and hollering at the person closest to him to help him haul open the doors, but Annja didn’t stick around to see the results of his efforts. Instead, she rose to her feet, hauled back the lever to open the door and stepped onto the narrow platform connecting her car to the next.

While in that no-man’s-land between cars, Annja summoned her sword from the otherwhere. Its presence made her feel almost instantly better; she always felt as if she could take on any challenge with the sword by her side and this time was no different.

She stepped across to the next car, hauled open that door and disappeared inside.

As one, the passengers in the next car turned to see what all the commotion was about and more than a handful started screaming the moment she stepped into the car, sword in hand.

“Stay down!” she shouted at them and they did, cowering in their seats. Annja had been concerned that a stray bullet might injure them, but then she realized they weren’t afraid of being shot at all. They were afraid of her!

Come on, now, she thought, it’s just a broadsword. I’d be far more afraid of the dudes with guns.

She kept moving forward, rushing for the other end of the car as fast as she could and counting on the passengers to get out of her way.

To a one, they all did.

Must be the sword, Annja thought with a smile.

She guessed she was seven, maybe eight, cars from the end of the train. She made it through six of those cars before her pursuers caught up to her, which was pretty damn good, all things considered.

It just wasn’t good enough.

“Hold it right there!” a man’s voice shouted, and Annja didn’t need to look to know who it was. The sound of the slide on the gun was extraloud in the current silence of the subway car.

Slowly, so as to not be mistaken for making any heroic moves, Annja turned to face her assailant.

Three of them stood there—the bald man, the guy with the goatee and one of the newcomers. The fourth man wasn’t there, but Annja didn’t bother to ask where he was.

“Put down the sword and kick it over here,” the bald man said.

Knowing she’d reached the end of the line, Annja did as she was told. She bent down and put the sword on the floor. Then, before she could change her mind, she kicked it along the length of the car toward him. She wasn’t sure what would happen next.

When she looked up again, over their shoulders, Annja saw an astounding sight. The second group of gunmen she’d seen at the subway station was cautiously making their way toward the group ahead of them. Annja had no idea who they were or what they wanted; all she knew was that their guns were pointed at the other shooters, rather than at her, and that was good enough for now.

The gunmen hadn’t noticed them yet.

Pointing behind them, Annja said to them, “I see you invited a few more guests to the party.”

Maybe it was the way she said it. Maybe it was the half smile of satisfaction on her face. Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick. The gunmen turned as one to look behind them.

With the speed of thought, Annja made her sword vanish back into the otherwhere. Then she turned to escape.

The sound of gunfire filled the car, the crack of the shots and the buzz of the bullets echoing in the narrow confines of the car. Annja instinctively ducked into a crouch to present a smaller target, but she needn’t have worried. The two groups were blazing away at each other and weren’t paying attention to her.

She ran for the last car.

On the other side of the door a few scattered passengers were watching the gunplay behind them as if it were a spectator sport and Annja grimaced.

Only in New York.

Crossing the car, she came to the final door on the train. Looking through its window, she could see a small platform on the other side and, just beyond it, the tunnel itself.

If she could get off the train…

The door, of course, was locked, to prevent people from doing the very thing she was about to do. Not that that was going to be a hindrance to her.

While everyone’s attention was on the gun battle going on in the car behind her, Annja called her sword into being and shoved it right through the lock.

There was a tearing, grinding sound and then the door popped open.

Rather than trying to haul her sword back out of the splintered steel of the door, Annja simply let it go, willing it back into the otherwhere as she did so. The sword vanished, leaving a gaping hole in the lock.

Annja stepped out onto the tiny platform at the end of the train. A small metal railing that came up to her midthigh was all that kept her from falling off the back of the train. The wind whipped all around her and the tunnel was filled with the roar of the moving train and the squeal of its brakes as the conductor tried to slow it down and bring it to a stop as a result of all the shooting. There was a ladder bolted to the subway car on her left, but since it led to the roof of the train she ignored it. With the ceiling of the tunnel so low, climbing up there was practically suicide, which meant she didn’t have many options available to her. She could either go back the way she had come or she could get off the train.

A quick glance back into the car showed her pursuers passing through the door at the other end. They would figure out where she had gone in just a few seconds, and if they caught her on the platform it was all over.

Knowing that if she gave it any real thought she’d chicken out, Annja backed up a few steps until she was against the door, then took a running start and launched herself over the rail and off the train.

She hit the ground hard and rolled, her arms and legs tucked in tight to avoid hitting the rails nearby. She sprang to her feet and headed down the tunnel as fast as she could run. In the back of her mind she marveled at the fact that she had just jumped off a moving train and survived, but the other half of her chalked it up to the sword’s influence on her physical abilities and left it at that. The important thing was that she had gotten away.

A bullet bounced off the wall next to her in the split second before the report of the shot reached her ears, echoing in the narrow confines of the tunnel.

The tunnel curved to the right a few feet ahead and she ran for all she was worth, praying she could get around the bend before a bullet found her flesh.

Two more bullets bounced around her, ricocheting in the dim light and then she sped past the curve and was out of range, at least for a few minutes.

Between now and the time the gunmen reach you, you have to come up with a plan. And it had better be a good one, she told herself.

The tunnel smelled of dirt and exhaust and a thousand other things she couldn’t identify. It was dimly lit by a series of bare bulbs hanging on the left-hand wall every ten feet. There was just enough light for her to see so she hurried along as fast as she could, staying to the middle of the tracks and trying to be careful where she put her feet.

From behind her came the sound of running footsteps.

At least one of her pursuers, maybe more, as still back there.

Annja pushed herself, trying to put as much distance between them and herself as she could. The tunnel branched several times and she let intuition be her guide, making a left here, a right there, until she realized that she was no longer certain she was even on the same track. At that point she slowed down to a walk to try to figure things out.

She hadn’t yet come upon another subway station, so she had no way of knowing where she was. Common sense told her to keep moving in one direction; eventually she had to hit another station and from there she could gain access to the street. So far she hadn’t seen any trains, either—maybe traffic control had shut them down temporarily.

She kept walking.

After a few more minutes the earth around her began to vibrate with a steady rhythm and she knew that the trains were up and running again. That made her more nervous than she wanted to admit; if something happened, there wasn’t anyplace she could go. She had to find a subway station and soon.

Annja was just starting to wish she’d headed in the other direction at one of the previous forks she’d encountered when a pursuer caught up to her.

He charged her out of the darkness, ramming his shoulder into her midriff and lifting her with his forward momentum. They careered across the width of the tunnel until he slammed her bodily against a nearby column supporting the roof above.

She took the impact badly, not having had time to prepare herself and thought she heard a rib crack as she was crushed between his massive shoulders and the concrete behind her. He kept the pressure on, trying to suffocate her while using his arms to pummel her sides with his massive fists.

As she hadn’t had time to grab a lungful of air, she was already fading quickly, and Annja knew that if she didn’t do something drastic she was going to be in serious trouble.

She brought her right knee up sharply, hammering it into his stomach, but it was like hitting a concrete block with a rubber mallet. She did it again and again, but had no greater luck with her subsequent blows than she’d had with the first. They just bounced off him; the man was a human tank, it seemed. All the while he kept up the punishment with his fists.

Air started to become a scarce commodity and she knew she had to make a move or she was going to pass out. Once that happened it was all over; she’d be completely at her attacker’s mercy.

Her arms were free so she considered boxing him about the ears, but with his head pressed against her side she would have only be able to get to one. She needed something a bit more powerful than that.

Her vision began to dim around the edges, a gray haze floating at the periphery of her sight and slowly moving toward the center. He must have sensed her distress, for he suddenly shifted his feet and shoved forward, driving his shoulder another inch into her solar plexus, sending a wave of dizziness washing through her.

Now or never, Annja, she told herself.

Her hands moved spiderlike over his face, searching. He twisted his head, trying to get away, but she managed to find an eye socket with one hand and rammed her thumb into it.

He let out a howl of pain that filled the air around them like the death knell of some strange beast.

The pressure on her gut relaxed as the man stumbled backward, his hands going to his face. Annja sucked in a great lungful of breath and stumbled away, fighting to clear her head, knowing that he would be on her again in seconds.

Annja straightened up, blinking back the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm her. The bald man stood a few feet away, shaking his head like a dog, trying to clear the fluids running down his face.

“I’m going to kill you for that,” he said, and charged forward.

Annja dropped into a crouch, ready for him, and as he rushed forward, she grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and went over backward, using her hands and feet to toss him up and over her head as she rolled.

He slammed to the ground, dazed, and Annja didn’t waste any time. She was already there, sword in hand, the point at his throat.

“Who sent you?” she asked, still trying to suck in enough air to calm her screaming lungs. “What do you want?”

She never heard his answer, however, for it was drowned out by the shriek of a train whistle.

She spun around, looking down the tunnel. A light flared there in the depths. As she watched, it drew closer.

A train was coming down the tracks.

Right toward them.

Annja didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait to see what her opponent was doing or how quickly the train might be coming. She knew she had only moments to get out of the danger zone or none of that was going to matter at all.

Annja ran like the devil himself was on her heels.

While moving through the tunnels she’d noticed a shallow niche in the wall every hundred yards or so. She knew these were emergency nooks designed for the transit workers to use in the event that they were accidentally caught in the tunnel with a moving train. The niches weren’t much more than hollowed out spaces in the walls, roughly half a foot deep, if that, but she figured they were enough if you kept your head about you and stayed put until the train passed.