He cursed the woman all over again. She wasn’t worth this torture. So much for being the white knight. Darkness descended. Bitter cold. He felt lost and alone, afraid he wouldn’t make it through. He tried to project a forward motion, tried to stop the mind-numbing terror from taking him over completely, but there was no way out and no one to save him.
Something moved in his mind. Just for a moment. Something or someone. He felt the connection as if a hand reached for him, fingers brushing across his face, and then he was through the wall and out into the night. He collapsed onto the ground, going down hard, unable to catch himself. His hands dug into the soil for an anchor. Anything real. He needed to feel the heat of the night and the dirt and vegetation in his hands.
I’m here, Malichai said, and pressed his hand hard into Trap’s shoulder as he crouched down beside him.
Trap nodded and managed to let loose of the soil with one hand in order to cover Malichai’s with the other. Tremors wracked his body. It was impossible to move. He had no idea how he was going to make it back to the airboat.
I’ve got you, Malichai said as if reading Trap’s mind. I’m taking Trap back to the boat. Wyatt, tell Pepper to move it.
Wyatt sighed. He knew what it cost Trap to go through a wall, and going through one that thick had been dangerous. There was no way he could have shaken a hole in the wall without bringing down the building, but he still felt guilty when he realized just how bad Trap’s condition was. All of them felt it.
He touched the pressure bandage and his palm came away smeared with blood. Pepper, we’re all waitin’ on you, now. How close?
You can get out of there if you have everything you need. I’m pushing my way through to the outside right now.
Relief was tremendous. He had gotten as much information off the computers as he believed he was going to get.
Let’s shut this thing down. They may have heard the shots fired on the floor below us. No one’s come to investigate yet. Likely they were ordered to stand, but someone will come eventually.
Wyatt turned. The motion caused pain so severe he doubled over. The action saved his life. The blade of a knife missed his neck, swishing through empty air where his head had been. Wyatt dove forward instinctively, somersaulting and coming up to his feet. He groaned aloud when he saw his adversary.
“Not you. What the hell are you?”
One eye was gone and part of the skull, and he could see the abnormally thick skeletal structure beneath. Aside from the bony armor, the man still seemed human, so why hadn’t he bled out?
His opponent didn’t waste time answering. He rushed Wyatt, racing toward him, going up over one of the desks and leaping on a table, scattering bottles and glass in every direction with a kind of clumsy speed. He hit Wyatt with a solid left to the chest, right over the stab wound, even as the two bodies crashed to the floor. Wyatt’s chest seemed to disintegrate under that blow.
The only answer was, like Wyatt, he could somehow repair himself. Or… Whitney had found a way for the body to repair itself. He knew that some of the soldiers, before going out on a mission, were given a drug to speed up the healing process. The drug also could kill them. That was the more likely explanation.
Even with the super soldier raining blows on him, Wyatt’s brain refused to shut off. He was in survival mode, knowing this soldier could easily kill him. Each punch felt like a crushing blow. The man’s fists were battering rams, slamming into his ribs and the wound on his chest. Wyatt blocked as best he could, with pain ripping through his chest.
Fire burst through him, a dark, ugly place Wyatt rarely allowed himself to go. The surge of adrenaline through pure rage allowed him to heave the soldier off of him with enough strength to send him flying. Wyatt leapt to his feet and raced up the wall, launching himself at the soldier. He caught him in a flying scissors hold around the neck, taking him down hard, punching low, trying to find a way to disable him.
He hit the soldier twice, two hard punches to the groin and then leapt away, using his speed to keep the man from getting his hands on him. He knew he had to end it fast. Once the rage-driven adrenaline drained from his system, he was going to be in bad shape. He had to find a way to end the maniac once and for all.
Supersoldier turned to face Wyatt, as Wyatt moved back, his body coiled and ready for action. The soldier spit blood and grinned at Wyatt as he drew another knife from his belt. He ran straight at the Cajun, the knife low, going for the soft parts of the body.
Even injured, Wyatt was faster, his body a powerful machine, with the roped muscles and speed of a cat. He eluded the attack by side-stepping, spinning out of the soldier’s path to come in behind him and grip his neck. He wrenched hard, using his enhanced strength. The thick bone protecting flesh and muscle held.