The Fate of Ten
Page 59
Immediately, Walker and her team fan out, flanking Five. They’ve got their guns leveled at him. Daniela goes the opposite way, taking a step behind me.
“Uh, you should’ve described this rogue dude better,” she says.
Five takes a look at Walker’s agents and sneers. Even though he looks worn-out, having a bunch of guns pointed at him seems to rekindle his intense temper. His remaining eye tweaks open wider and he stands up straighter.
“Don’t make me laugh with this shit,” Five says to Walker, then turns towards Agent Murray when the man chambers a round. “I’m bulletproof, bitch. Come on, I dare you.”
There’s something weird about Five’s voice. It sounds tinny and raspy, almost like he’s having trouble breathing.
The agents are smart enough not to get too close. I know how fast Five is, though. If he wanted to come at one of them, he’d be able to close the gap in a second or two with his flight. I stride forward onto the grass, hoping to get his attention on me before he does anything crazy. Sam stays right at my side, Daniela a few steps behind. That’s when I notice the lumpy shape in the grass next to Five. It’s one of those blue plastic construction tarps wrapped around what is obviously a body, all of that tightly bound together by thick coils of industrial-strength chain.
That must be Nine.
“Give him to me,” I say to Five, not wasting any time.
Five looks down at the body and it’s almost like he’d forgotten it was there.
“Sure, John,” Five replies.
Five bends down and hooks his hands through the chains. He hoists up Nine’s body and grimaces. He’s hurt and tired, and I can tell this show is taxing him more than he counted on. With an animal grunt, Five tosses the body across the thirty yards that separates us. I catch Nine in midair with my telekinesis and lower him gently to the ground. Immediately, I rip off the chains and unroll the tarp.
Nine lies unconscious in the grass in front of me. His clothes are in as bad a condition as Five’s and his injuries are similarly gruesome. There are blaster burns on his arms and chest, one of his hands is broken like something crushed it and there’s a bad gash on his head. It’s that last thing that really worries me. Blood soaks through Nine’s mane of dark hair—a lot of it—and his eyes don’t open when I gently slap his cheek.
Sam puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is he . . . ?”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Five groans, answering Sam’s question for me. “I had to hit him pretty hard to knock him out, though. You’ll probably want to get on that, doc.”
I place my hands on the side of Nine’s head, but pause before I start healing him. It’s going to require my concentration and that means I won’t be able to keep an eye on Five. I look up at him.
“You going to do anything stupid?” I ask him.
Five holds up his hands, palms out, even though one of his arms won’t go as high as the other. Then, he flops backwards into a sitting position. “Don’t worry, John. I’m not going to hurt any of your little friends.” All the same, his one eye scans over my crew, sizing each of them up. Five’s gaze lingers on Daniela. “You’re no cop,” he says. “What’s your deal?”
“Don’t talk to me, creep,” she replies.
“Don’t egg him on,” Sam says quietly.
Five snorts and shakes his head, more amused than anything. He pinches a handful of grass in front of him, rips it up and tosses the tuft away with a sigh. “Get on with it, John. I don’t have all day.”
I’m still wary this is some kind of trap, but I can’t put off healing Nine any longer. I press my hands to the side of his head and let my healing energies flow into him. First, the gash on his head closes up. That’s just the superficial injury, though. Intuitively, I can feel the deeper, more serious traumas affecting Nine. His skull is fractured and there’s some swelling in his brain. I focus my Legacy there, although I’m careful not to push in more energy than I need. The brain’s a delicate thing and I don’t want to scramble Nine’s any more than it was before he got his head smashed in. He might still have a concussion when I’m done with him, but at least the most serious damage will be reversed.
It takes me a couple of minutes of just concentrating on Nine. I’m vaguely aware of the tense silence around me. When I’m finished, I take my hands off his head. The other injuries can wait until we’re not in the presence of a total lunatic.
“Nine? Nine, wake up,” I say, shaking him.
After a moment, Nine’s eyes flutter open. His body tenses and his eyes dart around wildly. It’s like he’s expecting to be attacked again. When he recognizes me and Sam, he calms down and his expression becomes dreamy and out-of-it. He grabs my arm.
“Johnny! I got that son of a bitch. I put one right through him,” he mumbles.
“Got who?” I ask, and get no response. Nine’s head is already lolling away from me. I can and did heal his injuries, but I can’t make him not exhausted from fighting for the last twenty-four hours straight. He’s way out of it. We’re probably going to have to carry him.
I look up from Nine to see Five still seated in the grass, watching us. Seeing that Nine’s out of the woods, Five begins a slow, sarcastic clap.
“Bravo, John. Always the hero,” he says. “What about me?”
“What about you?” I say through clenched teeth.
“Uh, you should’ve described this rogue dude better,” she says.
Five takes a look at Walker’s agents and sneers. Even though he looks worn-out, having a bunch of guns pointed at him seems to rekindle his intense temper. His remaining eye tweaks open wider and he stands up straighter.
“Don’t make me laugh with this shit,” Five says to Walker, then turns towards Agent Murray when the man chambers a round. “I’m bulletproof, bitch. Come on, I dare you.”
There’s something weird about Five’s voice. It sounds tinny and raspy, almost like he’s having trouble breathing.
The agents are smart enough not to get too close. I know how fast Five is, though. If he wanted to come at one of them, he’d be able to close the gap in a second or two with his flight. I stride forward onto the grass, hoping to get his attention on me before he does anything crazy. Sam stays right at my side, Daniela a few steps behind. That’s when I notice the lumpy shape in the grass next to Five. It’s one of those blue plastic construction tarps wrapped around what is obviously a body, all of that tightly bound together by thick coils of industrial-strength chain.
That must be Nine.
“Give him to me,” I say to Five, not wasting any time.
Five looks down at the body and it’s almost like he’d forgotten it was there.
“Sure, John,” Five replies.
Five bends down and hooks his hands through the chains. He hoists up Nine’s body and grimaces. He’s hurt and tired, and I can tell this show is taxing him more than he counted on. With an animal grunt, Five tosses the body across the thirty yards that separates us. I catch Nine in midair with my telekinesis and lower him gently to the ground. Immediately, I rip off the chains and unroll the tarp.
Nine lies unconscious in the grass in front of me. His clothes are in as bad a condition as Five’s and his injuries are similarly gruesome. There are blaster burns on his arms and chest, one of his hands is broken like something crushed it and there’s a bad gash on his head. It’s that last thing that really worries me. Blood soaks through Nine’s mane of dark hair—a lot of it—and his eyes don’t open when I gently slap his cheek.
Sam puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is he . . . ?”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Five groans, answering Sam’s question for me. “I had to hit him pretty hard to knock him out, though. You’ll probably want to get on that, doc.”
I place my hands on the side of Nine’s head, but pause before I start healing him. It’s going to require my concentration and that means I won’t be able to keep an eye on Five. I look up at him.
“You going to do anything stupid?” I ask him.
Five holds up his hands, palms out, even though one of his arms won’t go as high as the other. Then, he flops backwards into a sitting position. “Don’t worry, John. I’m not going to hurt any of your little friends.” All the same, his one eye scans over my crew, sizing each of them up. Five’s gaze lingers on Daniela. “You’re no cop,” he says. “What’s your deal?”
“Don’t talk to me, creep,” she replies.
“Don’t egg him on,” Sam says quietly.
Five snorts and shakes his head, more amused than anything. He pinches a handful of grass in front of him, rips it up and tosses the tuft away with a sigh. “Get on with it, John. I don’t have all day.”
I’m still wary this is some kind of trap, but I can’t put off healing Nine any longer. I press my hands to the side of his head and let my healing energies flow into him. First, the gash on his head closes up. That’s just the superficial injury, though. Intuitively, I can feel the deeper, more serious traumas affecting Nine. His skull is fractured and there’s some swelling in his brain. I focus my Legacy there, although I’m careful not to push in more energy than I need. The brain’s a delicate thing and I don’t want to scramble Nine’s any more than it was before he got his head smashed in. He might still have a concussion when I’m done with him, but at least the most serious damage will be reversed.
It takes me a couple of minutes of just concentrating on Nine. I’m vaguely aware of the tense silence around me. When I’m finished, I take my hands off his head. The other injuries can wait until we’re not in the presence of a total lunatic.
“Nine? Nine, wake up,” I say, shaking him.
After a moment, Nine’s eyes flutter open. His body tenses and his eyes dart around wildly. It’s like he’s expecting to be attacked again. When he recognizes me and Sam, he calms down and his expression becomes dreamy and out-of-it. He grabs my arm.
“Johnny! I got that son of a bitch. I put one right through him,” he mumbles.
“Got who?” I ask, and get no response. Nine’s head is already lolling away from me. I can and did heal his injuries, but I can’t make him not exhausted from fighting for the last twenty-four hours straight. He’s way out of it. We’re probably going to have to carry him.
I look up from Nine to see Five still seated in the grass, watching us. Seeing that Nine’s out of the woods, Five begins a slow, sarcastic clap.
“Bravo, John. Always the hero,” he says. “What about me?”
“What about you?” I say through clenched teeth.
