Freaks Under Fire (15 page)

Seth’s jaw sagged. “Huh?”

“Less memorable than Hummers, at least.” She vividly recalled peering through the upper story window of Father’s home at a convoy of the vehicles… and the devastating event that had heralded their arrival at the house.

Pivoting on her heel, she strode to the window that looked out onto the scraggly strip of garden bordering the driveway leading to the reception area. A simple matter of adjusting her visual sensors to allow for the drapes and…. There it was. 2014 model. Black with tinted windows. One driver and two passengers—all human. All armed.

Turning back to Seth she said, “We have to go.”

He goggled at her. “Now?”

“Now. Please don’t forget your asthma medication.”

“Who?—”

“Feds. A posse of Caine’s surviving cronies. Members of some as yet unidentified interested party.” She shrugged. “Whoever they are, they’re here and, as the saying goes, loaded for bear. Call me presumptuous, but I’m guessing you’d rather not stick around to determine who they are, and what they want.”

Seth blanched. “No, but—”

“Better to discover those very pertinent facts from a distance, on your own terms, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“They’ve pulled in out front of Reception. I don’t make a habit of hazarding guesses but I believe they’ll take the softly, softly approach.”

Seth shook his head, then pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously trying to focus his thoughts. “Which is?”

“Browbeat the motel proprietor into unlocking the door to your room, rather than heading straight here and busting it down. That gives us a few minutes at least.”

He steadied himself by gripping the edge of the small dining table. “To do what?”

“To escape, of course. It’s not like we can stroll out the front door without being seen and pursued.” She wrinkled her nose. “Although it’d be interesting to discover if I am capable of outrunning an Escalade while you’re slung over my shoulder.”

Seth’s face took on that unflattering, sickly greenish cast again. “There’s no back door,” he said.

“I know. Luckily there
is
a bathroom and a convenient wall that leads straight out to the rear of this complex.”

She grabbed his upper arm and towed him into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind them. “Please stand back a bit. I haven’t got time to be neat about this.”

Seth crouched against the freestanding side of the shower cubicle, and stuck both arms over his head. Reassured by his unquestioning compliance—in this matter at least—Jay examined the bathroom layout. Toilet, pedestal washbasin with two shelves above it for toiletries. Shower cubicle tucked into the rear corner of the motel unit, and facing the flimsy internal wall that backed onto the tiny kitchenette. Three-foot gap between that shared internal wall and the shower unit’s opening—barely large enough to comfortably accommodate a decent sized bathmat and a person exiting the shower….

Punching through that three-foot span of blank wall to the right side of the shower unit would lead directly outside, behind the motel complex, giving them a chance to escape unseen. It was the best option—and the one that would cause the minimum of damage to the room. It was, after all, hardly the motel owner’s fault that he had unknowingly registered Seth Williams, AKA Randall Thor, as a guest.

Jay reached into the shower cubicle to turn the water on full. If the intruders believed Seth was bathing it might buy her a little more time—time that could significantly decrease the chances of being spotted and immediately pursued. She danced her fingertips over the blank piece of wall, listening for variances that indicated wall studs and framing. Satisfied, she karate side-kicked the dry wall a half dozen times in quick succession, each time targeting a different section of the wall with the sole of her sneaker-clad right foot.

Predictably, her footwear didn’t survive such harsh treatment intact, and rather than deal with shredded canvas and a flapping sole, she ripped the sneaker from her foot and stowed it in her hoodie’s front pocket. Best not to leave evidence of her presence behind. If Seth’s pursuers believed he was acting on his own, they might delay diverting more resources to their pursuit of him.

Moving so quickly her hands were blurs, Jay ripped off the smashed sections of drywall and reached into the wall cavity to yank out the insulation, until only the skeleton of wooden framing and the outer shell of clapboard cladding remained. She glanced over her shoulder and beckoned to Seth. Seeing him still cowering, hands shielding his eyes, she strode toward him, bracketed his wrist with her hand, and dragged him behind her. “Watch your step,” she advised as she negotiated a piece of framing. “Shelter behind me as much as possible.”

Seth managed not to trip on anything, and plastered himself against Jay as she put her shoulder, hip and thigh to the outer cladding. One concerted push detached a large section from the framing with a series of creaks and groans, its landing muted by a cushion of the neglected, weed-riddled grass behind the row of motel rooms.

Jay’s enhanced hearing detected footsteps and a muted metallic jangle—keys to the rooms at an educated guess. Time to go.

She stepped through the gap, pivoted, and plucked a startled Seth from the cavity. “Hush,” she murmured in his ear. “They’re here.”

He gulped, compressed his lips and nodded.

Taking that nod as permission to do whatever it took to get them both the hell out of there, Jay bent, slung Seth over her shoulder, straightened, and took off at a run, rocketing past the rickety swing set so quickly she set the swings in motion.

She anchored him more firmly, splaying her right hand across the back of his thighs. This next part was going to be a little… disorienting for someone hanging head down. “Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on,” she said, pitching her voice just loud enough to carry to his ears.

Seth took instruction well. His breathing might have been labored but to his credit, he didn’t so much as squeak despite what must have been an uncomfortable position. Nor was she forced to slow while he complied with her instructions, which made the process of launching herself from the ground to negotiate the six-foot corrugated metal fence bordering the rear of the motel complex far more efficient.

She’d cleared the fence and planted her feet on the grass verge when she detected raised voices. For now she was safely hidden from view. Jay took a moment to filter out ambient sounds, and confirmed “they” had gotten into the bathroom and discovered Seth’s escape route. If she’d been solo, she would have lingered to glean whatever information she could about this trio of men. But she had a vulnerable human to protect—a potentially valuable one, too. Seth’s skill set could prove useful once Jay had located the Beta unit.

Priorities decided, she jogged up the street to locate a suitable vehicle to “acquire”. It was either that or drag Seth, at a run, the six blocks to her car. Of course, she could carry him, but that feat of strength would hardly go unnoticed. She’d been fortunate no one had spotted her jumping the fence and she wasn’t about to push her luck further.

~*~

Jay terminated the call as she swerved into the oncoming lane and zipped past a slower vehicle. Nessa and Chandler had arrived safely, and Jay had promised she would call them as soon as the situation with Nessa’s “stalker” was resolved. Everything was in hand. Kind of. It was a pity her twin wasn’t fully operational, because right now, torn in multiple directions, Jay would appreciate a clone to watch over Nessa. Instead, she was forced to rely on Chandler, a human… with no idea what he was truly up against.

As she slotted neatly back into her own lane, Seth reacted to her maneuver by stomping his foot on the passenger-side floor mat. The gesture was accompanied by a high-pitched whimper that brought to mind Brum’s antics when the pup was reprimanded for bad behavior.

How strange. Why was Seth—?

Ah. She noted his white-knuckled grip on the edges of his seat and added that to her current repository of observations about Evan Caine’s former employee. Time to reassure her passenger.

“Given my enhanced sensory perception and physical abilities, you must realize it’s highly unlikely I will wreck this vehicle,” she told him. “And if a crash
was
imminent, I would either toss you to safety before impact or shield you with my own body—which, you must know, is far more resilient than a human’s. Likely you would suffer only minor injuries.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better about being in stuck in the passenger seat of a car driven by a freaking teenager who thinks she’s a freaking racecar driver?” she heard him mutter.

Apparently, the explanation that had previously reassured Tyler as to her driving abilities had little effect on her current passenger. “You, of all people,” she said, “must know I’m the farthest thing from an inexperienced teenage driver it’s possible to be.”

His head flopped back against the headrest and he loosed a heartfelt groan. “Damn. You heard that, huh?”

“Of course. Should I apologize for desiring to put some distance between us and the motel to minimize chances of a further encounter with your uninvited guests?”

He lolled his head to shoot her a sideways gaze. “If it’s a tossup between the Feds—or whoever the fuck they were—and enduring your driving, then I guess I can put up with your driving.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

“But I’d be real grateful if you’d keep eyes on the highway instead of on me—you know, just for appearances sake? So I’m not a sniveling mess by the time we get to wherever it is we’re headed?”

“I can do that.”

“Thanks.” He waited for her to turn her gaze back to the road before asking, “Where are we headed, anyway?”

“My creator owned a number of residential properties—each one with a concealed satellite laboratory. After his death, I cleared out all but one of the labs. I deemed it prudent to convert them into rooms that would not occasion comment if discovered. That sole remaining facility is equipped with what Alex considered ‘the bare basics’. It’s proven sufficient for my needs.”

It had been a risk to keep this one lab intact, but Jay had deemed the risks worth the benefits of access to fully equipped premises in the event she developed some manner of defect. Too, this property had once served as a bolthole. It had been the place she’d retreated to lick her wounds in the aftermath of faking her death to keep Tyler safe.

“That’s where we’re headed?”

“Correct.” She shot an assessing glance at Seth to gauge his reaction.

Surprise skated across his features. Then delight. Followed by a healthy measure of wariness. He sucked the insides of his cheeks and then ventured, “You’re giving me access to one of Alexander freaking Durham’s labs? Why’n the hell would you do that?”

“Because I require your assistance testing this.” She reached into the sedan’s center storage console and tossed him the wrapped package she had liberated from the Ladies room of the fast food restaurant. He’d said nothing about the package, nor the fact she’d left him in the car but taken the keys with her when she’d recovered it. His restraint was about to be rewarded.

She kept her gaze on the road, listening to the rip of packing tape and the rustle of plastic as Seth unwrapped the package.

“Whoa, baby. You made this weapon?”

“Yes.”

“Does it have a metal strip to make it, you know, sorta legal?”

“I saw no logical reason to include unnecessary components.”

His sharply indrawn breath, and the intonation he’d used when asking the question, suggested awe. Apparently, the ability to construct a weapon that was essentially undetectable when passing through a metal detector was something laudable in Seth’s eyes.

It would have been easy to accept his praise, but some inner compulsion prodded Jay to play down her achievement. “I am not the first person to construct such a weapon,” she said. “And I doubt I will be the last—unfortunately.”

“You don’t like them—guns, I mean.”

“No. I do not believe guns are in any way, shape, or form, praiseworthy.” She would even go so far as to say she disliked them—

No.
Dislike
was too weak a word.
Dislike
was the label Jay now applied to things that she felt a mild aversion for—such as pickles in a burger. And once she’d come to terms with the realization that a cyborg, who could extract nourishment from even spoiled foodstuffs, could actually dislike the taste of an inoffensive pickle, it had opened the gateway to further illogical dislikes. Her feelings about guns were not at all illogical, however, but wouldn’t prevent her from using one if necessary.

Of course, she would prefer to pit herself against Sixer using only her own strength, abilities and wiles. Unfortunately, Caine’s creation possessed a proven weapon that he’d already used against her on two occasions. He could not be relied on to “play fair”.

“Oookay, then,” Seth said. “Duly noted.”

When the silence lengthened Jay offered, “It’s not the weapon I require tested—it will perform the task for which it was constructed. The projectiles I intend to load it with, however, may require tweaking.”

“Ummm, am I allowed to ask
who
you intend to test these projectiles on?”

“I’ve improved a previous design. If these projectiles work as they should, it will require only one to completely disable Sixer.”

With luck, telling Seth exactly what he most wanted to hear would distract him from drawing the obvious conclusion—that
Jay
would be the test subject. Not to mention all the potential ramifications of trusting that the weapon-wielder—Seth—would immediately
remove
the projectile if it affected her as expected, rather than leaving her disabled and helpless… and a potential lab-rat for him to experiment on.

“Ho-
ly
crap on a cracker. You improved ’em? You little beauty!” Seth bounced in his seat, exuding a childlike glee. “Is this thing loaded? Can I examine the projectiles?”

“No. And not right now. I will give you access to them once we reach the lab.”

To Jay’s surprise, Seth didn’t protest. Nor did he take the opportunity to examine the gun. He immediately rewrapped it, securing the package with the used tape as best he could before leaning over to stow it beneath his seat. At her quizzical glance he offered, “Don’t want anyone to spot me playing with it. And it might be best to, ah, keep to the speed limit, too—wouldn’t want to get pulled over with this baby in the vehicle. We’d be toast.”