Angel City (52 page)

“Fuck!”

Katherine steadied, squeezed the trigger twice. Blew open the first goon's head. The second goon fell on top of her, raising a knife to slice open her throat. She jammed the barrel into the goon's left eye, fired. The goon flew back, black blood and brains splattering a tree; and when the goon hit the ground, Katherine put one more round into its shattered skull.

“Don't ever touch me, you fucking pigs.”

Hands pulled at her again. Katherine spun around with the Glock—she had dead aim on Officer Jannsen.

“Jesus.”

“That's my girl, Kat.”

“Where are the rest of them?”

“They fell back to the house. How's Max?”

Katherine opened her cloak. He was dangling in her arms.

“Max? Max?”

Officer Jannsen checked his pulse and eyes. They were open, but had lost focus. His skin had gone white.

“He's going into severe shock. You need to stabilize him.”

“How?”

“In the safe room there's a med kit under your bed. You'll find a silver box with injectors. There's a red one, give it to Max. It'll bring him around. Come on.”

An explosion of gunfire and squeals ripped through the air, and a voice called from ahead. “
Chef!
It's now or never!”

“Let's go, Kat.”

Katherine got up, held Max with both her arms, followed Officer Jannsen through a patch of trees and onto the driveway. The house was like a funeral pyre. Seven Swiss Guards lay nearby with their throats slashed open. Ahead, three more guards were firing across the back garden.

“On your left!” Officer Jannsen shouted.

One of the guards called back: “We're on our last clips! Make it fast!”

Officer Jannsen looked at Katherine.

“Do not stop until the two of you are in the safe room. Give him the shot, keep him warm. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Officer Jannsen ejected the clip from her Brügger & Thomet and reloaded.

“Run, when I say.”

Officer Jannsen limped up the driveway, took a firing position with the guards.

“Hold your fire for the next charge.”

The three machine guns ripped apart the air; Katherine heard squeals and howls.

“Now, Kat!”

Katherine charged from the trees down the driveway. Between the burning house and Control, she saw the garden . . . It was filled with dead goons. And now, hundreds more charged from the trees . . . all of them with knives. Katherine kept running, made Control, ran down one level, through a hall, made the stairs down to the safe room. Two Swiss Guards were posted at the top of the stairs, their weapons targeted at the entrance.

“Hurry, Madame Taylor, get in.”

“You, too, get in.”

She heard steps shuffling down the hall, looked back, saw Officer Jannsen limping toward her. The bandage had fallen from her thigh and her wound was draining blood.

“Anne, your leg.”

“I'm right behind you, Kat, move!”

Katherine rushed down the stairs, squeezed through the guards. At the bottom of the steps the door to the safe room was open. She rushed in as gunfire broke out at the top of the steps. Squeals and howls echoed down the stairwell into the safe room. She rushed into the room, opened her cloak, and lay Max on the bed. Behind her, the hydraulics kicked in and the steel door began to close.

“No, wait! Anne! Anne!”

She rushed to the door.

Goons were mobbing the top of the stairs, crushing one another to get through. Their eyes flaring, their knives dripping blood, black drool dripping from their mouths. Officer Jannsen was running down the stairs, blocking the guards' line of fire. One goon broke from the mob and flew down the stairs. Katherine raised her Glock, fired two body shots. It dropped and the guards finished it off. Officer Jannsen squeezed by the guards.

“Hold your fire till they charge,” she ordered.

She opened a panel on the back of the closing door, pressed in a numerical code.

“What are you doing?”

“Overriding the release codes so you aren't fooled into opening the door. You and Max can hold out here for two months if need be.”

“No. You have to get in here, all of you.”

“There's not enough oxygen. There's only enough for you and Max.”

“Anne, wait! Don't leave us!”

Officer Jannsen pulled back her arm as the massive door began to seal.

“I love you, Kat.”

Katherine heard the goons charge down the stairs. There was a blaze of gunfire, then the guns stopped, then screams and howls and the gnashing of teeth . . . then the vault's hydraulic bolts slammed into their sockets. Quiet.

IV

K
ATHERINE TOUCHED THE DOOR, THINKING IT WOULD OPEN ANY
second and all would be well. She pressed her ear against the door; there was nothing. Then she remembered the door was solid steel, a meter thick. There would be no sound from the other side of the door. But there was a sound in the safe room, a quiet gasping sound. She turned around, saw Max on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

She went to him, dropped the gun on the bed. And though he still had a hold on his rubber hammer, there was a terrible, lost look in his eyes. She saw herself in the belfry of Lausanne Cathedral with the same look in her eyes. It wasn't shock, she realized; Max was slipping into the madness of seeing unknowable things.

“Honey?”

He didn't respond, he didn't blink.

Katherine bent down, pulled the medical kit from under the bed. She dug through it, found a small silver box containing auto-injectors. The top of the box had a list of what colored injector did what. She grabbed the red one, flipped the cap, and pressed it into Max's thigh. She hit the release. Max didn't even jump when the needle punched his skin. She dropped the injector on the floor, leaned over Max's face. She almost touched his face, saw blood on her hands, saw blood on Max's clothes from her holding him. She wiped her hands on her cloak, she combed Max's hair.

“Honey, it's Mommy. We're safe now. No one can find us. Max, look at me, honey. And, oh, look what silly Mommy remembered, here's Mister Gummy.”

She put the pacifier in her mouth to clean it, held it to Max's lips. He didn't take it.

“Max, it's going to be all right.”

She stood, hurried to the kitchen area, opened the refrigerator. There were bottles of Molly's apple juice in one side drawer. She took one out, poured some in a glass, walked back to Max.

“Hey, look what I found. Some of Molly's juice. And I'm going to dip in Mister Gummy and swirl him around, and here you go, honey. Taste it. You know what it is. It's from Molly . . .”

Katherine choked back tears remembering Molly, how she loved Max. How they all did.

“Come on, honey, taste it, please.”

The juice sank through Max's lips, he tasted it on his tongue, and he blinked, saw his mother.

“Mowy jooz,” he whispered.

“Yeah, there you go. Here, let me do that again, that was fun.”

She dipped the pacifier, set it to Max's lips, and he sucked at it. She stared at him, wet her thumb, and wiped the tracks of tears from his cheeks.

“It's okay now, honey. Everything's going to be—”

. . . thump . . .

The room shook a little.

She looked at the door.

. . . thump . . . thump . . .

The room shook again, then by fractions of inches, the door began to move inward.

. . . THUMP . . .

“No way, no way.”

Katherine set the glass on the floor, picked up the Glock, pulled the slide. One bullet in the firing chamber. She ejected the clip, one more bullet makes two. She replaced the clip, reset the slide. She got up, walked to the vault door. She slammed it with the palm of her hand, watched her own blood smear against cold steel. She held her hand in place, rested her forehead against the door.

“I swear, on the Holy Mother of God, you will not touch my son. Do you hear me? I will not let you do to him what you did to me or Marc Rochat, or anyone else on the fucking planet. Do you fucking hear me?”

. . . THUMP, THUMP . . .

The locking bolts began to groan and bend.

She turned around, looked at Max. He stared at the door, thinking it was a game perhaps, like Whac-A-Mole. He raised his hammer, waved it at the door.

“Borg!”

Katherine felt herself choke . . . She drew a quick breath. “Yeah, honey, it's the Borg. You show those guys they can't scare us. Let 'em have it, Max.”

. . . THUMP . . .

“Goog!”

Katherine walked to Max, sat down, and rested the gun on the bed. She looked at the door, saw black mist seeping in from under it. She picked up Max and straddled him across her lap, reached down and picked up the glass of apple juice. She pulled the pacifier from Max's lips.

“You know what, buster? You're a big boy now, and you need to learn to drink from a glass. Here you go.”

She held the glass to his mouth. He sucked at the liquid, and it rolled down his chin. He giggled, waved his hammer.

“Good try, let's have some more. C'mon, Max, show Mommy what a big boy you are.”

He drank again, this time getting it down his mouth properly.

“Good boy, Max. Such a good boy.”

He was back and with her now. She could see it in his eyes, and color was coming to his cheeks. She set the glass on the floor, wiped apple juice from his chin, combed back his black hair. The door of the vault groaned louder and began to crack apart. Max looked over his shoulder. Katherine took his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers.

“Don't worry about the silly old Borg, honey. Look at Mommy. Look into Mommy's eyes, listen to Mommy's voice.”

Max stared at her, tipped his head, hearing the words. His green eyes sparkled.

“Maman,”
he said.

She bounced him on her lap.

“That's right, honey, you look at Mommy. Keep looking into Mommy's eyes, listen to Mommy's voice. Everything is fine, honey. We're together, you and me. Everything is going to be all right. Just keep looking at me.”

She saw a smile cross his face.

He waved his hammer and giggled again.

“That's right, honey. You get those bad guys, you scare them all away.”

“Goog!”

“Mommy loves you, Mommy loves you so very much.
Je t'aime, mon fils. Je t'aime.
”

He touched his mother's face.

She pulled him to her breasts.

She picked up the Glock, slipped her finger through the trigger guard, pressed the muzzle to her son's head.

“Big, brave Max.”

TO BE CONTINUED IN

The Way of Sorrows

PART THREE OF

The Angelus Trilogy

David Rosenthal; editor, counselor, friend,

Georgina Capel, high priestess of the sacred order of literary agents,

Gilles Thomas,
le cataphile mystérieux
who led me on “unauthorized tours” of
les carrières
beneath Paris,

Locomotora, for the use of their name and song “Older Than Dreams,” as well as their persons as characters in the story,

Karoliina Vilenius, Richard “Krinkle” Kreuzkamp & Leo Mates, who also became part of the story,

Burton C. Bell, for the use of his name and music project,
Ascension of the Watchers
; also for use of his lyrics from “Like Falling Snow,”

Immanu El, for the use of their name and lyrics from “Under Your Wings I'll Hide,”

My cats, Zorro and Zeus, for keeping me laughing,

And Afnan, for everything.

Jon Steele was born in the American Northwest. He's worked as a keyboard player in a rock band, postman, liquor store clerk, radio disc jockey, and TV news cameraman. His autobiography,
War Junkie
, published in 2003, is regarded as a cult classic of war reporting.
The Watchers
was his first novel, published in 2012 as part one of The Angelus Trilogy.