I stared at her. “Chimpanzee?”

  “Yeah, they actually go to war with each other,” June said, “and it’s brutal. They have six times the strength of a human and zero compunction about massacring their fellow chimp during fights. They will literally shred them.”

  “Ewww,” I said, “And also … that sounds a lot like metas. Sort of.”

  “You are going to walk into that,” she said. “Your gun runs dry, you’ll be fighting metas hand to hand without powers—and they can touch you, Sienna.” She looked at me with great significance. “These female prisoners hate you. But those male prisoners that are on the loose? Probably also hate you … and haven’t seen a woman in a while—”

  “That’s a real subtle implication, there, June,” I said. “But I’m kinda done with the running bullshit.” I ejected the magazine and checked the number of rounds. Yep. Fifteen, counting the one in the chamber. I slammed it back home. “I’m sick of the running. You run from your fears and they just get worse. They own you, forever. Stand and fight back … maybe you do die—but you do it on your feet.”

  “Like a man?” she asked, mockingly. “You can go out with your boots on, if you want, Doc Holliday—no way for me.” She shook her head. “I’ve tried to save you throughout but—this is insane. You are throwing yourself into the teeth of—pick a beast. Lion, tiger—”

  “Bear, oh my,” I said.

  “Death,” she said, eyes wide. “You are literally throwing yourself into death.”

  I smiled, wanly. “Well, Death was my great-grandfather, so … you could say I’m just following a family tradition.”

  She looked pale and took a step back. “Come with me, Sienna. Don’t do this.”

  “I’m not running, June,” I said, keeping the Sig by my side. “But you should. Find the storeroom. Either hunker down or escape. Whatever you do, I don’t blame you a bit.” I turned back to the right, to the long hallway toward the front of the Cube. “But I gotta go do this thing.”

  I started off at a run.

  “You’re going to die!” June called after me.

  “We all die sometime,” I called back. “And when I do go? It’s not going to be helpless, on my knees, or with the knowledge that I did less than everything I could to smash back the tides of chaos.”

  “You’re going to lose!” she shouted down the hall.

  “It won’t be the first time,” I said, done with shouting. She could hear me anyway. “But at least a dozen assholes are going to lose before me. Plus...To thine own self be true,” I muttered, thinking of Harry's words. And off I went.

  37.

  Sophie

  Four Years Ago

  “Why does Wolfe think better of you than every one of the rest of these assholes combined?” Sienna asked the moment they were alone, standing in the shade of an old barn that someone had rehabbed into a home.

  It was steamy, the normally dry Texas heat coupled with the high humidity required to keep the plant life growing in this pocketed corner of the state into a potent mixture. Sophie felt the sweat roll down her back at a trickle. “I hate suits,” Sophie said, unbuttoning her collar. “Blouses. I don’t really care for the climate of Texas, either, especially during the summer months.”

  “The hell does that have to do with my question?” Sienna asked, eyes slitted.

  “I don’t believe that Wolfe has told you a damned thing about me,” Sophie said, staring off into the distance.

  “You’re right,” Sienna said, “but that in itself tells me something about you. He could barely hold back his snarls of contempt for your posse back there—exempting Penelope, because he apparently he had nothing to say there, either—but you—you—you show up, and the world’s biggest psychotic douchebag goes radio silent except for a slightly affirming word two days ago?” She shook her head. “You have history.”

  “I’ve lived long enough and traveled far enough to have history with just about everyone in our world,” Sophie said. “If you manage to survive as long as I have, you will, too. It won’t be a good history, based on what I’ve seen of your personality—”

  “Now you’re critiquing my personality? Screw you, Sophie—or whatever your name is,” Sienna said, turning away.

  “You don’t have many friends at this point, Sienna,” Sophie said. “You might try not alienating the few people who do come your way.”

  “People seeking my help are not my friends,” Sienna said. “The government employees at various levels I have to work with to solve meta problems? Not my buds. Nice guys and gals. Sometimes we have drinks after a job—but not my friends. And you don’t know who my friends are, okay?”

  “I know your brother is the only one working with you at this point,” Sophie said.

  “Well, when you’re as awesome as I am, who needs lesser metas to trip over?” Sienna asked. She was smiling tightly. “Besides … I’m never lonely. My head’s completely full.”

  “That’s hardly the same as having friends who can save you if you get in over said head,” Sophie said.

  “I beat the ass off of Sovereign,” Sienna said. “I don’t get in over my head.” She stared to turn to leave.

  “You’re a damned lightweight,” Sophie said, finally snapping. “You beat one guy.”

  “I beat a hundred and one,” Sienna said, whirling on her. “You forget about Century?”

  “Flash-frying them doesn’t count. And if you know the number of the people you’ve killed … you’re still an amateur.”

  “You want to test me?” Sienna raised a hand and it burst into flame.

  Sophie just smiled, brushing hair out of her eyes. “You shouldn’t tangle with someone whose power you don’t know. It’s a good way to get killed.”

  “Have you killed lots of people, Sophie?” Sienna asked, brows furrowing as her eyes narrowed.

  Sophie took a long, slow breath. “There are whole battlefields sowed with bones because of me.” She let the breath out. “In my day … humans were disposable.”

  “Your day is done,” Sienna said.

  “Don’t I know it,” Sophie said. “This is why I don’t go around killing all willy-nilly anymore.”

  “And here I figured it was the invention of the gun that put the fear of not-gods in you.”

  Sophie felt a smile curl across her face. “You’re so young … but you think you know everything. I wish I remembered what that felt like.”

  “Being young? I can tell by your face it’s been a long while. Don’t blame you for forgetting. Do metas get Alzheimer’s?”

  Sophie felt the slight burn. “You’re really quite good at getting under peoples’ skin, aren’t you?”

  “Runs in the family,” Sienna said. “My mom was really good at pissing people off, too.”

  “You don’t know everything,” Sophie said.

  “Plainly. I didn’t know you people were hiding all this time while I was fighting the greatest meta battle ever in history.”

  “I can understand your anger, feeling like you were alone in that. But you weren’t—”

  “I doubt you understand my anger,” Sienna said, letting flame creep out of her fingers again.

  “You think you’re the only one who’s been angry in your life?” Sophie asked. How hot was it out here? She felt like there was a fire under her collar, as sure as if Sienna had lit it. “Mad enough from the hurts you’ve suffered—from your mother or father stomping all over you—to look for targets to take your rage out on?” Sophie stared her down. “You think you’re the only one who’s killed and not given a damn? In my day we didn’t need a moral excuse like you do to fit in with modern society—and you’re failing at that, by the way.”

  “I’m failing to fit in with society? What a stunning revelation you’ve gifted me here. Why, I had no idea. Also, you could have been a little more subtle about where you were heading in the lead-up to that bomb, since you already told me I have no friends.” Sienna raised her hands beside her head and mimed a bomb going off. “Whoa. Totally blew my mind. Amazeballs.”

  “I’m starting to see why your mother locked you up,” Sophie said. “I think it might have been more for your protection than hers.”

  “You don’t know shit about my mother or me,” Sienna said. “So … pipe down, peanut gallery, or—”

  “Or what?” Sophie asked. Yes, it was warm under her collar.

  “Or I’ll show you my anger,” Sienna said, and she was completely over the top, burning from both hands now. “Up close, personal—and all up in your face, Sigourney.”

  Sophie turned away, drawing a steaming hot breath. It was sweltering, wasn’t it? She shed her jacket, limp and soaked from sweat, tossing it to the ground. “You’re a child.”

  “And you’re totally the adult in the room,” Sienna said. “Any room, actually. Except maybe when you’re standing with the rest of your crew over there, since apparently they consider you their errand girl. Tell me something—does it ever get old, being the bitch for a bunch of washed-up, chickenshit gods—”

  There was a kind of snap in Sophie’s head, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in … so very long …

  And she was suddenly there, in Sienna’s face, a fist racing through the space between them, a punch thrown at such a speed that she wondered if she’d aged back in time. It had been a long, long while since she’d thrown a fist in anger, and it felt so … strange …

  It caught Sienna on the chin and she tumbled backward, feet flying over her head from the force and the surprise.

  She hadn’t even seen it coming.

  Sienna tumbled through the dirt and back to her feet, rising to float a few inches above the ground. Blood seeped out of her nose, and her teeth were out of alignment. “Whooo,” she said, brushing fingers against her mouth as everything straightened out of its own accord. Wolfe at work. “That was not a bad punch, there, grandma. Fast, too. Surprisingly little telegraphing.”

  “I was born before the telegraph,” Sophie said, staring her down.

  “You were born before the stars themselves,” Sienna said. Blood dripped down her lip, and Sophie couldn’t take her eyes off it. “But at the rate you’re going, you won’t survive another five minutes—”

  “Wait—” Sophie said. She had a regret. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “You’re right about that,” Sienna said, and suddenly she was there, right next to Sophie, and the punch was like a meteor streaking out of the sky.

  Sophie went airborne, feet off the ground, her jaw cracking as she flew.

  “But like I said—you won’t long survive it,” Sienna said, already there as Sophie came down, fist raised high. It came down on Sophie’s face, again and again as the dust of Texas rose around them.

  38.

  Sienna

  I only made it about a hundred feet down the hall before the roots of a plan took hold and turned me around. I jogged back to the intersection where I’d left June, but she was already gone. The sound of her footfalls rang out on the metal floor, moving swiftly away from me, toward the storeroom.

  Good. That was the smarter play for her. Hell, for me, too.

  But I never was one for making the smart moves.

  I took off toward Bletchely’s office, listening as best I could with my human ears, clutching my pistol in my left hand and hoping the right would go really numb soon. It was still aching badly, but I knew from training that a busted hand, once it went numb, could be thrown viciously and without concern for damage. I could use it like the most brutal of clubs because I wouldn’t be able to feel any damage to it. It wouldn’t be a ton of use against metas, but still … any little edge I could get would be nice, since now it was just dead weight hanging at the end of my arm.

  Bletchely was still unconscious on his desk when I slipped back in. He did not stir as I made my way over to him, set down my Sig, grabbed up a cup of cold coffee and threw it in his face.

  “Gahhhhhh!” He shot to life, bleeding from the nose and mouth and wild-eyed.

  I seized him and kneed him in the gut, then slammed him back down to the desk, putting my weight on him and manhandling him with one hand. He didn’t fight it, even though—all things being equal—he might have been able to overpower me if he really tried. I mean, I’d probably kill him before he could pull it off, but … he might be able to if he tried. And didn’t die in the process.

  “Okay, dickhead,” I said, “let’s talk turkey.”

  “Wha—I answered your questions,” Bletchely said, sniveling into a whine. Okay, maybe he couldn’t overpower me. “What do you want from me?”

  “How do I activate the suppressant in this place?” I asked. “Really douse every surface, you know disinfect it of all powers?”

  He shook his head. “You can’t.”

  “Like hell,” I said. “I know you can do it.”

  “You can do it in the Cube itself,” Bletchely said, “but not in the ring hallways. They cut our funding before we could implement that.”

  That … was not good. And also incredibly stupid. “What the hell?” I asked.

  “It was the ducting,” Bletchely was shaking his head. “The place is built underground, adding the new piping in the hallways would require tunneling … and—”

  “Okay, I don’t give a shit about the intricacies of what you deal with in budget meetings,” I said. “No suppressant anywhere but the cell blocks. Fine. Tell me how to turn that on.” And then let’s hope that the vast majority of meta prisoners were still in there. For no particular reason. Decency? LOL.

  “It’s—it’s over there,” he said, indicating a keyboard nested below the displays behind his desk.

  I dragged him in that direction, plopping his near dead-weight against the small table it rested on it like I was shoving around a willing—albeit heavy—toddler. Not that I would ever shove around a toddler. Probably. “Tell me what to do. And for the first time ever, I’ll actually listen to you.”

  “It’s in the … countermeasures menu,” he said, and I one-handed typed and point-clicked my way through a few menus until I found COUNTERMEASURES. He was nodding encouragement. “Yeah, there … you see it?”

  It was hard to miss. SUPPRESSANT, big bold letters. I clicked it. “Authorization code?”

  “Uhm … Password1,” he said. “With an exclamation point at the end.”

  “That is the dumbest password I have ever heard,” I said, typing it in.

  “Well, I need to be able to remember it. And they require numbers and special characters.”

  “Whatever,” I said, and hit enter. “You need a lesson in infosec, badly.”

  I looked up at the monitors by the door to see gas spraying down on the cell blocks. There were a surprising number of people still in there, hanging out, enjoying the companionship of being part of a riot, I guess, but not really committed to busting out. Or maybe they were looking for me or avoiding me. Either way, I doused those assholes like insects, then headed back to the doors menu and re-initiated lockdown, something I should have done ten minutes earlier, the last time we’d been in here with Bletchely, if I’d been thinking straight.

  “How do I lock down the rest of the ring?” I asked, once it was done. I flipped the security monitors from the cell block in the Cube to the exterior hallway and admin areas. The infirmary was, as near as I could tell, on the 180 degree opposite side of the wheel from where I was right now.

  “You … can’t,” he said, shaking his head, blood running down his cheek. “I told you, it wasn’t working.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, sighing. “The only online door locks out in the corridors were the ones to the exit.”

  “Okay, I’m locking those down,” I said, tip tapping away. I flipped up the monitors to the exit hallway, and damn, there was a big body count unfolding there. Guards were still letting loose like crazy with full auto rifles, and it was like a wall of corpses had formed with people scrambling for the exit and failing perpetually.

  The door started to shut as a male meta scrambled for it, the partition rising between him and the long corridor with the guards taking aim down it. He was scrambling, using the door as cover. He leapt at the last second, and I cringed.

  He got cut in half by the door closing. It caught him at the waist, severing him neatly. The guards peppered him to death with shots as his upper body just hung there, writhing, then crashed down to the floor once the door closed, severed in half.

  “Oh my God,” Bletchely breathed. He turned a sickly shade of green.

  “You’re such a wuss,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?” Bletchely asked, croaking.

  “Yeah, I’ve just redirected the flow of prisoners who are out of the cell blocks out into the ring,” I said, taking a deep breath. With the exit cut off, anybody who hadn’t gotten caught in and suppressed was now wandering the circular road that led basically nowhere. There were only three stops on that wheel, with the entry now cut off—the storeroom area at 6 o’clock, where June was, the infirmary and whatever else lay at the 9 o’clock position, and finally the warden’s office here at 3 o’clock, as well as the admin offices on the floors below. I looked at Bletchely. “Who else is working in this section right now?”

  “No one,” Bletchely said, shaking his head. “It’s midnight. Graveyard shift. The administration that’s on is all in the area past the exit. Where you were kept during trial.”

  “Thank heaven for small blessings,” I said. “And no one works in the storeroom areas?”

  “No.”

  “What about in the infirmary?” I asked. “What else is over there?”

  “Guard breakroom,” he said. “But they’ll be all … out dealing with this.” He squinched up his face. “You probably locked most of them in the cell block.” He shivered.

  Okay, that was bad. “I’ll … deal with that later,” I said. At least the people who were abusing them were unpowered. Maybe they could be negotiated with. Maybe they’d take hostages and make demands.

 

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