The Seraphim Sequence: The Fifth Column 2 (19 page)

Damien followed Grace up to the fourth level. It was completely empty, all the shops abandoned. Grace jumped the counter to a Jollibee Express and checked her Vector’s Glock mag. Damien crept closer to the balcony and cautiously looked down. Before he could get close enough, Grace stopped him.

‘Let me do that,’ she said.

She jumped back over the counter and walked past him, flipping over a hood from under her T-shirt that concealed her face. Damien watched in disbelief as she shimmered into the air. He could still make out a slight distortion as she leaned on the balustrade and checked below.

‘Eight Special Action Force troops confirmed on level one,’ she said. ‘Two shocktroopers on level two, inside stores, cloaked.’

She walked back to him, her body rippling into visible light.

‘You can turn invisible now?’ Damien said.

‘It’s called crypsis, and it’s mostly the chameleon suit under my clothes. But I do have octopus genes now.’ She shrugged matter-of-factly. ‘Pigmentation, reflectors, light scatterers.’

‘Charming,’ Damien said. ‘So I’m guessing the counter-terrorism guys haven’t noticed the shocktroopers.’

‘They don’t seem to be working together. That improves our odds slightly.’

‘Six and two, not bad. I mean, comparatively speaking.’

Grace’s lips were pursed. ‘But shocktroopers, Damien. Two shocktroopers. And what could be two full units down there.’

‘You can cloak and see through freaking walls!’ Sophia cut in. ‘Instead of just sitting there—’

‘I can’t engage that many!’ Grace yelled.

‘Not liking what I’m hearing, guys,’ Jay said in Damien’s earpiece.

‘We’re cornered from three angles,’ Damien said.

‘It’s nice to be popular again,’ Jay said.

Grace was pacing around Damien. He focused instead on the balustrade and the shocktroopers that lay in wait four levels below.

‘They’re drawing all of us to the atrium,’ Grace said. ‘CT
and
shocktroopers. And we’re doing exactly what they want.’

Damien turned to see Grace standing in front of a fan. The cool air blew a loose strand of hair across her face.

‘Jay, what’s your locstat?’ she said.

‘We’re all together,’ Jay said. ‘One big happy family. Still at the bank.’

‘Head north now,’ Grace said. ‘But hold back from the atrium. We need to get you across without being noticed.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Jay said.

Only Grace was able to cloak herself. They couldn’t get anyone else across that way.

Damien strode toward the fan. ‘Is there anything bigger?’

The store sold air coolers and conditioners. In the back corner he spotted a larger industrial fan, about thirty inches wide. He checked to make sure it was unplugged and carried it out, a bemused Grace watching. The fan was metal and heavier than he’d thought. He struggled as he placed it on the tiles beside her.

‘We could draw them back to the western wing,’ Grace said. ‘That should give the others enough time to make it across the atrium. If we’re all together, we have a chance. We could make it through the underground parking lot.’

‘I need as many Etch A Sketches as you can carry,’ Damien said.

Grace stared at him blankly. ‘What?’

He walked over to the information board and scanned for a toy store. ‘Toys R Us. Level three, Midtown Wing.’

Grace didn’t look impressed. ‘That’s past the atrium.’

‘They’re not on three yet. Plus, you have crypsis or whatever.’

‘I can’t conceal all those Etch A Sketches,’ Grace said.

Damien was only half-listening. He was busy scanning the information board until he spotted a grocery store. Level one, north end. That would work.

‘I have some shopping to do,’ he said.

‘We don’t have time, Damien. I’m not letting you.’

‘You have to,’ he said evenly. ‘Meet me back here.’

He expected her to call him off, but she didn’t. Something behind her eyes clicked into place. ‘Go,’ she said.

Damien sprinted into the brightly lit evacuated supermarket. There was no sound except the rumbling of air-conditioning units and the scratching of fluorescent lights, but that was probably just his infrasound hearing. He paused to snatch a plastic shopping basket before moving along the aisles, checking the signs above. When he found the aisle he needed, he filled the basket with all the coffee creamer on the shelf, then moved to the cocoa and did the same. He noticed an abandoned shopping trolley. He dumped his basket inside the trolley along with his MP7 and wheeled it into the next aisle, knocking over a display of fruit.

In the baking goods aisle, he loaded the shopping trolley with as many bulk flour packets as he could find, then wheeled the trolley to the fruit and vegetable section. Trays of vegetables lined one side of the aisle. He grabbed a tray and tipped the fruit out, then tossed the tray into his trolley. He did the same with five more trays, then wheeled the trolley out of the supermarket. The trays would come in handy.

He halted outside, realizing he’d forgotten something. He ran back in and snatched a handful of matchboxes. While he was there he grabbed an economy pack of toilet paper. He froze. Men in black uniforms moved past the supermarket entrance, weapons raised. Special Action Force troops.

One, two, three moved past without glancing in his direction. His MP7 was still in the trolley and his P99 pistol was in his jeans. His hands were full with toilet paper. He hoped they didn’t notice the MP7 or the strange collection of items in the shopping trolley and suspect he was here.

The fourth CT soldier moved past, wielding a Benelli M4 shotgun. Damien remained frozen, trying not to draw attention to their peripheral vision. The fifth CT soldier hustled past, his head panning and tilting as he moved. In mid-stride, he turned his Heckler & Koch G36C subcarbine toward Damien.

A hot wash ran from his head to his feet. He dropped the toilet paper and drew Sophia’s P99 from his jeans. His pistol came up close to his body. Round already in the chamber, he aimed for the CT soldier’s face. From this range, anywhere on the face would be a lucky hit. Center of mass was a surer shot, but the soldiers’ vests could easily defeat a .40 round.

He aligned the P99’s sights and squeezed. The CT soldier dropped, the momentum of his walk carrying him forward as two of Damien’s rounds exploded under the helmet.

Damien ran to the rear of the supermarket. Stepping over the boxes and toilet paper, he slid the last five feet and rolled out of view, pressed himself up against the end of an aisle. He was in the red zone now, his heart rate probably pumping over 120. He checked his magazine. Two rounds, and one in the chamber. Trapped in a supermarket with half a dozen CT soldiers, and all he had was three rounds. This wasn’t going to end well. In every operation he’d taken part in, he’d been scared. That was a given. But right now he was terrified.

He jumped into the next aisle, P99 covering the far end. He made it halfway and stopped. Think, he told himself. Jay and the others are counting on you. He was properly adrenalized, which meant he could move faster and with more power than normal, but at the cost of cognitive function. He couldn’t think properly.

What could he do to even the odds? He silently wished he had Grace’s X-ray vision, then remembered his own abilities. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and let his ears do the searching. The air-conditioning rumbled at a low frequency and the fluorescent lights buzzed at a higher frequency. He filtered those out and tuned to the frequencies between.

Footsteps. Light, rubber-soled. Moving tentatively around the supermarket. He tried to identify them, make out how many and who was closer. He could hear one set that was particularly close. Two aisles left, a fraction back. He needed to calm his breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth. If his heartrate jumped any higher he’d hit the gray zone: even more adrenaline. A state of hyper-vigilance. He wouldn’t be able to move his fingers, he wouldn’t be able to think at all, he’d lose his peripheral vision and maybe lose his hearing completely. If that happened, he was as good as dead.

He opened his eyes. Staring him in the face: sugar, spice and all things nice.

He had an idea.

He selected a miniature bottle of paprika powder and held it between his teeth, then carefully moved to the rear of the supermarket. There would be more soldiers at the front than the rear to cover any attempted escape. On the way he snatched a box of Koko Krunch cereal. The koala on the front promised a Jango Fett figurine inside. He reached the end of the aisle and, cereal box in one hand, P99 in the other, checked his right. No soldiers at the end of the aisles, yet.

He retreated past a rack of egg cartons and emptied the cereal box in his wake. The cocoa shells skittered across the lino floor, along with a solitary plastic figurine in Mandalorian armor. Damien withdrew to the far right corner of the supermarket: an open aisle with generous displays of fruit and vegetables. No soldiers. Yet. He had thirty seconds at most.

He snatched an egg carton and emptied it in front of Jango Fett. The eggs broke across the floor. Taking the paprika bottle from between his teeth, he ducked out of view and tuned to the footsteps again. They were careful and faint, but their rubber soles occasionally gave a faint squeak. He pinged several at the other end, near the entrance.

He moved along the vegetables to the front of the supermarket, but held back a few feet. He unscrewed the cap from the paprika and waited. He needed to time this right.

The cereal he’d poured on the floor was to cover his blind spot and serve as an early warning system in case anyone tried to get the jump on him. The eggs were a precautionary measure in case he couldn’t cover himself in time. Even if the soldier didn’t slip—the egg yolks were more noticeable than oil—it would still slow them down by a second or two. And that would be the difference between alive Damien and dead Damien.

As CT soldiers, they’d drill for scenarios similar to this on a daily basis, their reaction times shaved to nothing. Chimera vectors or not, he knew that all it would take was a round to the head or the artery in his neck and he’d be dead in seconds.

Around the corner he confirmed two nearby soldiers. Moving now would be suicide. He picked up a nearby fruit—a coconut—and hurled it over to the rear of the aisle. It landed with a hollow clonk. Footsteps shifted and moved toward him. These soldiers weren’t stupid; he would take the corner wide.

Damien closed his eyes, listened. He heard the footsteps approach. And another set, about five feet behind. There was another soldier in the aisle directly behind Damien, halfway down. The others were too far away to pinpoint.

His heartrate had receded now. He’d managed to calm himself to the point where he had maximum awareness, maximum cognitive functioning, high physical functioning and good bloodflow. He knew what needed to be done.

He turned and shook the paprika bottle at the soldier. The powder shot out and coated the soldier’s face. His eyes were protected by goggles, but the paprika still blinded him and filled his nostrils.

Damien had to expose himself now. He moved into view, firing his P99 one-handed. The soldier in the next aisle pivoted, subcarbine barrel aiming for Damien’s chest. Damien fired his first shot on the move, then his second. The first went wide. The second caught the soldier through the goggles. Damien followed instinctively with a third. The slide on his P99 locked to the rear.

He slammed the butt of his P99 into the nose of the paprika-sprayed soldier, then brought the pistol down, guiding the soldier’s subcarbine to one side and clear of his own body. He brought his other fist up, empty paprika bottle still firmly in hand, and jabbed it into the operator’s Adam’s apple.

Damien moved his attention to the aisles and the supermarket’s front. He was close enough to make an escape, but already he could see two more soldiers emerging from the aisles ahead, shotguns, submachine guns and subcarbines locking onto him. He still had the paprika soldier as a shield, and the guy wasn’t dead yet. He could run, but he’d be lucky to make it ten feet.

Two soldiers positioned themselves for a better shot, moving in an arc on both sides. There wasn’t much space at the front of the supermarket. The soldier on the left was cut off by an aisle and the soldier on the right was hampered by cash registers. Damien pushed his paprika soldier closer toward them, planted one leg behind the soldier and jerked his helmet to one side. He stumbled toward his colleague on the left, trapping them both in a corner.

Damien pressed the paprika soldier’s subcarbine against his belly and, leaving room for the ejection port, aimed at the operator on the right. He squeezed and a burst of rounds caught the soldier in the stomach. Following through with the motion, Damien drove his elbow into paprika soldier’s face. His head snapped backward, smearing Damien’s hand with spice, and his helmet collided with the left soldier who was now cornered behind him. Damien sidestepped the paprika soldier and moved toward the left soldier.

The guy saw him coming and quickly adjusted tactics. He brought his subcarbine to bear, magazine pointed at Damien, and used it as a blunt instrument. Damien caught the magazine and flipped it up and over. The subcarbine spun in the soldier’s hands until it was in Damien’s grasp. He turned his hips, driving the muzzle into the soldier’s stomach and knocking the air from him. Then he thrust the muzzle upward, catching the soldier under the chin.

In the same movement, Damien withdrew the subcarbine and forced it down on the unbalanced paprika soldier’s forehead. Paprika soldier fell backward. Damien squatted, his knee positioned under the guy’s spine as he fell. He bounced off Damien’s knee and rolled across the crimson-spattered floor.

In his peripheral vision, Damien spotted the right soldier getting to his knees, shotgun in both hands. He’d taken the rounds in his stomach—protected by a vest.

Damien slammed the butt of his subcarbine into the left soldier’s groin. He gave a silent scream and collapsed. Damien aimed the subcarbine and fired a three-round burst into the shotgun soldier’s head. He jerked the subcarbine back, driving the butt into the left soldier a second time. This time, the butt connected with the soldier’s head and rendered him unconscious.