chapter 19
What now?” Zero yelled through the metal door. He’d just drained the last juice box and wished he had a few more. Watermelon Zinger might be the best flavor yet.
Nikki knocked again, this time harder. He shuffled to the front door, mumbling, “Annoying females. Don’t they know a guy needs his privacy?” The thought of females brought Vegan to the forefront of his mind.
Hand on the knob, he smiled. Vegan would bring him a case of Watermelon Zinger; all he had to do was ask. She’d breeze through the front door and drop her brows when she noticed all the frozen dinner boxes. Then, she’d always say, “It’s time for you to get out of here. Get some air! Stretch your wings!” And she’d grab his hand and tug, dragging him to the river to wade. One day, he was going to get in the water with her.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The pounding on the door startled him so much his hand flew from the knob. He pulled the door open. “Look, Nikki —”
Keagan Townsend stood there instead with a sadistic grin. “Were we expecting a playmate?”
Zero slammed his shoulder against the door, throwing all his strength into the movement. Just before the heavy metal sealed shut, he caught a glimpse of the shock registered on Townsend’s face.
Keagan Townsend: one of Vessler’s favorite hit men. Zero and Vegan had found his name and photo in an unprotected file they jacked from Omega Corporation.
Zero bolted the locks while Townsend’s voice filtered through the cracks around the door frame.
“Think, think,” Zero said to himself, heart hammering in his chest. “Come on, you’ve run a thousand drills for this.” He stopped, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. As he exhaled, the plan rushed into his mind.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Sounded like Townsend was throwing his own weight against the door.
Zero shoved clothes and trash off the trunk by the computer desk. He grabbed the giant magnets inside the crate and rubbed them across his work center. So much work. So much time lost. But erasing the hard drive, files, everything would send an instant alert to anyone logged into the network. One that only lasted a few seconds before fading to nothing. He’d wired the network to shut down three seconds after infiltration or — as in this circumstance — compromise. Thinking back on it, he wished he’d built in a little more time. Five seconds. Maybe ten. One minute. What if no one was on the network right now? He forced his mind to the task at hand and threw a glance toward the entrance.
Townsend would eventually get through, but not by slamming a fragile human shoulder into sheets of metal. “Keep it up, moron,” he said when Townsend pounded again.
From the other side, he heard a scream. Townsend yelled a stream of curses.
“Do you kiss your momma with that potty mouth?” Zero chuckled while his hands trembled at the keyboard. From the sound, the fool had probably just dislocated his shoulder. Good. That should buy a little time.
Two minutes later and exhausted, Zero did a mental checklist. Yep. Everything gone. He carried his laptop to the bathroom, dropped it into the toilet for good measure, and headed back to get the Mac. Gunshots erupted, echoing off the tunnel walls. The door dimpled and finally swung open.
Zero snapped his wings open to leap, but was stopped when a metal wingcuff zipped around his midsection. It clamped down, squeezing his lungs. He wrestled against it, trying to thread his fingers beneath the metal. He’d heard about these weapons but had never been in one. The thin titanium sheet spread about sixteen inches wide, designed with the purpose of keeping Halflings from snapping their wings open. No wings, no leap, no escape. Man, at least Superman got Kryptonite, a rare alien material. Titanium was so easily accessible, humans were making everything from jewelry to cell phone covers from the stuff. The Halflings already knew Vessler was shipping loads of it stateside. They’d intercepted a couple of those loads. But still, there was probably enough titanium to make a wingcuff for every Halfling on the planet. The thought scared him more than the inability to move.
Townsend rubbed his upper arm and entered the building, casting narrow-eyed glances around the room.
“What’s the matter? Scared of a locked-up Halfling?”
He spat in Zero’s direction and continued his cautious steps.
“Don’t worry, I work alone.” Zero rocked back on his heels, watching the scared little human, and opted not to focus on the gun dangling from the end of his hand. “Did you hurt your shoulder?” He tilted his head, sarcasm lacing his words. “Ah, that’s too bad. You humans are just so” — he grinned —”easily broken.”
One man posed no threat to a Halfling. One man holding an automatic weapon with armor-piercing rounds did. Zero knew he should tread carefully. Too bad the desire to do so escaped him. “It was nice of you to drop by.” He plastered a phony smile on his face. “But I’m afraid I already made a donation to your organization.”
Townsend’s brows drew together.
“Your organization.” Zero knew he’d hooked Townsend. “You know, the one for men who are too stupid and ugly for even their mothers to love.”
Townsend closed the distance, drew back, and swung.
Cold metal struck the side of Zero’s face. He’d seen it coming, but with arms locked beneath the titanium, there was nothing he could do. He didn’t try to lean away from the hit; instead, his head slammed to the side. He ran his tongue over the inside of his bleeding cheek. When his eyes shifted back to Townsend, he grinned again. “I guess you don’t know much about Halflings,” he mocked. “We’re tough. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’ve been practicing, but that felt like a nasty bee sting.” He thought a moment. “Maybe not a nasty sting … more like a kiss from a sweat bee.”
The blow fell again, this time with more force. Zero smiled past the pain. He wouldn’t dare give Townsend the satisfaction of knowing it hurt.
Townsend dragged him from the lair and into the light. That stung his swollen eye. And as they left his compound behind, Zero realized he needed to get a message out somehow. The whole three-second network warning seemed a really stupid idea at this point. But it was all he had. Unless he could think of something else.
He tripped once on his way to the yellow Hummer and went down hard, landing on his knee. Pain sliced up and felt like it split his leg in two. He realized just how human titanium could make him feel. He’d watched football players and guys on soccer fields fall and overreact, screaming and grabbing their legs after a knee injury. Now, he understood.
Townsend tossed him into the backseat, clamped a chain around his ankles for good measure, and locked it by running the chain through the door handle. So much for jumping from the car. If he did, he’d be dragged. Zero wasn’t vain or anything, but the idea of having his flesh peeled by asphalt just didn’t have an appeal.
Before long, they arrived at the Omega Corp laboratory. Zero knew more abuse was sure to follow and tried to brace himself.
The interior of the lab was about what he’d expected. He knew they’d have state-of-the-art equipment and hadn’t been wrong. Everything from computers to medical apparatuses dominated the space — all shiny new and gleaming with the slightly futuristic look of gear that wasn’t on the market yet.
As a way of saying hello, they’d slammed him around and locked him — in titanium brackets, of course — onto a slab of a table. Scientists poked and prodded him, then injected something into his arm that caused everything to go a little dreamy. His eyes blurred and he fought it, but his vision refused to locate any specific object, choosing to pulse to a total haze then return to semi-focused details. People in white coats, medical equipment on metal poles, all a foggy distortion. Zero fought panic as the white-coated personnel then dragged him from the examination table and tossed him onto the floor where a trio of thugs — whose waist size and IQ probably hovered around the same number — beat him mercilessly. These weren’t scientists, just Vessler’s hired muscle.
Wounds healed; some quickly, some taking time. But with each passing hour, Zero worried a little more. What if he’d missed something? If information about the network leaked, it posed a threat to every Halfling on the planet. He tried to retrace his steps but blows to his head caused a haze of memories that he wasn’t sure were real or imagined. He’d dropped the laptop in the toilet. That he remembered with vivid clarity. The rest, who knew?
Around him, a hospital-white room held computers, medical equipment, and long counters. White-coated, clipboard-cradling science dweebs oohed and aahed with each bone-crushing blow like he was some new species just discovered … which to them, technically he was. Occasionally, they would make notes on their clipboards or on a computer screen.
These guys are sick.
“I bet you’re just upset that you didn’t win the beauty pageant,” he said when the middle guy paused to catch his breath after a battery of blows. Zero figured his ribs must be broken, because the words came out in a whisper and it felt like a knife blade jutted from his side.
The man answered with a kick to the thigh.
Zero clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. Ugh. That hurts like flying full force into a mountainside.
A ringed fist caught his jaw. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on Vegan. Her face, her scent. Vegan preferred to go barefoot, and she kept her toes polished with soft colors. Often, they walked the woods to the lake’s edge. She’d roll up her pant legs and wade carelessly through the water. From the bank, he’d watch tiny fish swim up to her, drawn by her heavenly essence. They’d bump against her ankle and she’d giggle and wiggle her toes, then beckon him to come out with her. But he’d always said no. Even through the cloud of excruciating pain, he could see Vegan’s warm smile and hand beckoning to him on the bank.
When another punch landed in his neck, tears welled in his eyes. Not that the humans noticed. They were busy finding the best ways to pummel him, their sweat sprinkling him like their own personal Total Gym. The stench of body odor filled his nose, replacing the scent of Vegan and all that was good in the world. Bits of their perspiration dried on his cheeks. Good. He didn’t want them to know he’d cried.
Halflings could die. It was possible. The bad thing about his body having self-healing ability was that just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, he’d heal and they’d begin the assault all over again. He was too wounded to snap his wings open, and when they’d realized that they’d removed the wingcuff, allowing for more body targets. It didn’t matter. He was too weak to even move.
He wasn’t sure if he’d die here or not. If he did, at least he’d protected the network.
Zero runs the network. He remembered the day he’d received the commission.
Zero runs the network. He relished the memory, the honor. Another tear blurred his vision. If he made it out of this place alive, he planned to do two things:
He’d run the network.
And he’d wade in the stream with Vegan.