Frostfire

“His loyalty to the company is essential to the project,” she said. “If I go out with him, I can determine if he’s been compromised in any way.”

“I don’t know.” He thought again of the odd emotion in Kirchner’s eyes. It had looked like … desperation. “Sex doesn’t work on Eliot. You’ll have to use other measures.”

Tina smiled. “I can do that, sir.”

“Jesus, he’s one heavy dude,” a young man’s voice complained, grunting with effort.

A deeper voice, equally strained, snapped back. “He’s dead, you dumbass. What’d you expect him to be, a feather?”

The dead man couldn’t feel his weight or any part of his body. He seemed to be in a gray void, trapped between sunlight and shadow, drifting without substance or will. All he could hear was the two other men talking, the panting of their breath, and the sounds they made as they worked.

“Once we pick up the other one, then we hit the road, right?” the grunter asked.

“Yeah, and I’m driving.” Metal squealed as something beneath the dead man moved. “Gimme those chains.”

“Not like he’s gonna jump out the back,” the younger man said. “Okay, okay, don’t get your dick in a knot.” Chains clinked and slid across a flat surface.

Death had been his aim, the dead man thought as he floated up. The one thing that had gone right, that he had done right. He remembered the dog tags in his fist, and how tightly he had clutched them as the bullets had pelted him. He’d held on to them, even when the earth had exploded beneath him and he’d been blown into this place. They had been the last of his earthly possessions, proof of his final act of courage, the only thing he had wanted to take with him into oblivion. He couldn’t feel them in his fist anymore, and that bothered him more than the voices.

“Where’d they find the big son of a bitch anyway?” the younger man asked. “Iraq?”

“Afghanistan.” The older man paused to catch his breath. “Bought him from some poppy farmer who’d been using his corpse as a scarecrow.”

“They hung his ass in a field to chase off birds?” He whistled. “Man, that’s cold.”

“They weren’t trying to scare crows, moron.” A match was struck. “At least they kept him on ice. I can’t stand the ones that stink.”

“So what are they gonna do? Chop him up like the others?” A thud sounded, and the young man yelped. “Shit, Bob, I was just curious.”

“You ask too many questions, Joey.”

The dead man silently agreed. He didn’t want to know what was going to happen to his remains.

Coward.

The new voice made the harsh word sound soft, almost like an endearment. He tried to move away from it, but the void held him fast, now another prison from which he would never escape. He didn’t want to hear her words, but they encircled him, manacles of silk and sweetness.

You have run from everything. Hiding in your battle-fields and wars. Roaming the world like a fugitive. Now you would give them your life.

He hadn’t given them anything. He’d made a trade so that he could find some peace. I am already dead. I died in battle.

No, you did not. The voice lashed at him. You know it. Death does not provide a listening post.

He had been so sure this time…. I feel nothing.

You will not allow yourself to feel. You are too afraid of what will happen if you do. That makes you a coward.

He had been many things because of his pride, some so reprehensible they had forever stained his soul. He knew it; she knew it. But he had never been spineless. He had fought his entire life against that indignity.

Then why are you here? she asked, her voice turning sly. This is not your end. This is nothing but retreat. Surrender. Despair.

“Give me the keys,” Bob said, obliterating her voice from the dead man’s head. “If you’ve gotta piss, hit the john now. And no more soda. Once we get on the road with the other one, we can’t stop.”

“Yeah, but what if we get pulled over?” Joey asked suddenly. “I mean, the truck says cold storage, man, not dead bodies. Trooper looks back there, sees them, we’re going to jail.”

“That’s why I’m driving, asshole. So we don’t get pulled over.” Keys jingled and a metal door slammed into place. “Hurry up,” Bob said, his voice fainter now. “We’ve only got an hour to get her before the shit we used wears off.”

Joey muttered something indistinct that trailed off as he moved away.

Did you hear him? she asked. You have an hour left.

He had eternity, as far as he was concerned, but he had to make one last request. You must let me go. I want it to end.

She laughed. I never held you here. Your pride, your stubbornness, they were your jailers. You might have freed yourself a thousand times if not for them.

As you say. She had always burned him with her truth, but never as deeply as she did now. What difference does it make?

You will be free of them now. But only if you choose to live.

What have I to live for?

Not for me, she assured him. For her.

Chapter 3

The big, burly sheriff’s deputy who brought Lilah home wanted to personally check inside her house, but while refusing seemed ungracious, if not a little suspicious, she turned him down. He asked again if there was someone he could call to come and stay with her.

“The guy stole my car, Deputy, not my license or my house keys,” she assured him. “He got some Staind CDs, an old blue sweater, and a transmission that occasionally slips in reverse.” And her only means of transportation, but she’d deal with that tomorrow.

The cop smiled a little, but he had the sharp, tired eyes of a veteran. “Was your registration in the glove box? That would have your home address on it.”

“I always keep it in my purse.” Along with her fake insurance card and every other piece of phony identification she possessed. “Can you tell me what happens now?”

“We’ll list your car and plates on our database and alert the patrols.” He handed her a business card with his name and phone number. “You can call me to check on the status, but unless he’s stopped or ditches the car, we probably won’t recover it. Your insurance should take care of replacing it.”

It would if she actually had some. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Keep your chin up.” He touched the brim of his hat and left.

Once she had closed and locked the door, Lilah pressed her brow against it and released a long breath. This wasn’t the worst day of her life, but it would do fine as runner-up. Slowly she turned around. She hadn’t decorated for Christmas yet, and in the last of the sunlight from the windows, what furniture she had looked scruffier than usual. She’d tacked up a few cheap but pretty posters of landscapes on the bare walls, and made curtains from some old tablecloths she’d found at a rummage sale, but the rest of her possessions looked cheap or worn-out. Even her old Toshiba, sitting on the card table she used as a desk, appeared ready for the laptop graveyard.

Although it was risky, she always left her computer out in the front room and switched on, and checked it right before she left and again as soon as she arrived home. Vulcan had sent her an encryption program so complicated that only a genius hacker could access it, and the moment he did, the computer would release a vicious virus that would destroy the contents of its hard drive in seconds.

Now she sat down with the laptop in the dented, slightly rusted folding metal chair she’d rescued from a Dumpster, and clicked on the Internet icon, waiting patiently for her dial-up to connect her. Vulcan thought she was crazy not to install high-speed, but she actually preferred the lag. It gave her time to think, and if for any reason she needed to break the connection, she could simply yank the phone cord out of the wall jack.

No one was in the protected chat room they used, but Lilah knew as soon as she signed on, alerts would go out to the rest of the group. Sure enough, an avatar with a bubbling beaker appeared a few moments later.

Del, everything all right?

Lilah smiled sadly before she began to type. Not really. Bad day here. One problem after another.

Paracelsus typed in a sad face and Anything I can do?

She knew some of her Takyn friends were wealthy; while they kept their real-life identities and locations confidential, and never bragged about their situations, they sometimes let things slip. She knew Paracelsus collected antiques and lived part of the year somewhere on the beach. He was always the first to offer funds to anyone in the group who was in trouble. She was also fairly certain he and the others knew she wasn’t rolling in it, as her most frequent request was for advice on how to fix things she couldn’t afford to replace, like the laptop, her water heater, her transmission….

Del? Serious problems?

She bit her lip. Losing her job and her car in one day was probably nothing more than bad luck and a lousy coincidence, but she couldn’t shake off the sense of unease. And if she’d learned anything since her ability had manifested, it was to trust her instincts. I’m not sure, but I think I need to take off for a while. Go visit some of the family.

He knew she was, like all the Takyn, an orphan. When are you leaving?

The only place she could rent a car tonight was the airport, and she didn’t have enough cash on her to cover the cab fare. Tomorrow morning, first thing. I’ll probably be on the road for a couple days. Hopefully her credit card limit would hold out for as long as it took to find a new place to live.

You’ll check in, let me know how you are?

They always kept tabs on one another, especially when they relocated. It wasn’t a matter of friendship as much as it was survival. But as uneasy as she was, Lilah doubted anyone was coming after her now. From what Jezebel and Aphrodite had told her about GenHance, they shot first and never asked any questions. If the bastards at the biotech firm had discovered what she was, they would have grabbed her, not her car.

Absolutely, she typed. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">