Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) (25 page)

I understood, but that didn't mean I liked it or that it hurt any less. My parents' flaws had caused them to disappoint me when I needed them most. I still loved them; I wasn't sure if I could ever forgive them. Just the look on my mother's face when she looked in my eyes and shamelessly called me a whore. “She wants nothing to do with me,” I said sadly.

“
You cut right to the core of her. Of course she wants nothing to do with you. You made her look inside herself and see how self-centered she is. Nobody appreciates being disillusioned. But you're alive. Your parents are alive. The cowardice gene appears to have passed you over. You ask me, you've got a lot to be grateful for.”

Grateful
.
Yeah, right
.

“
You don't think so?”

“
I found out my parents value their lives over my own today,” I said. “It
kind of
sucks.”

“
You think you're the only person this happened to? I've seen many people take a fatalistic approach to danger — to hell with everyone else. If people are meant to live, they'll live. If not, more room for the rest of us. There's a reason that kind of mindset prevails, darlin. Attachments make people vulnerable; they can be used as a weapon against you. Because when you think about it, it's pretty fucking counter-intuitive for survival to be thinking, 'What if that bullet hits
her
?' instead of 'What if that bullet hits
me
?'”

I didn't know what to say. It was a surprisingly profound statement, especially coming from him. Emotions had seemed to be a foreign language to Michael: one he refused to learn. He'd said countless times he considered them a fatal weakness. And yet, what he just said implied insight into the minds of others. Insight, sympathy, and maybe even a bit of regret.

Maybe that was wishful thinking, on my part. I was one of those fatally flawed people who actually had emotions, with a tendency to romanticize to boot — but somehow, I didn't think so. I opened my mouth to issue some Hallmark sentiment of my own but was drowned out by gunfire.

Michael:

With a feeling akin to gratitude, I whipped around and returned fire. By now, my eyes had gotten adjusted to the darkness. I saw several guards drop. A savage joy filled me each time I felled one of the fuckers. I nearly forgot about the girl standing beside me. Her face was drawn, turned away from the carnage. I gritted my teeth. Readjusted my aim.

Click
.

Empty.

A sign from God, the girl would say, given her hatred of violence. The guards had started to advance the moment they realized I was out of ammo — and that had been my last viable gun. I was starting to reach my limit and I suspected Christina had reached hers long ago. She stumbled along beside me. I practically had to drag her.

“
Where do you think A is?”

I tried to hide my annoyance. “Probably Node Five.”

“
Why so high a number? She never killed anyone.”

“
You don't need to kill people to be dangerous. Sometimes just knowing things is enough.”

If A was in Node Five, the place would be swarming with guards. Not just the regular kinds, which were bad enough, but the special ops guys. The ones with the bulletproof armor and riot shields.

“
I don't remember this many doors being open before,” said Christina.

She was right. All of the office doors were hanging ajar. With no manual locks, there was nothing to keep them from opening.

“
There they are!”

A bullet shot past my neck.

“
In here.” I darted into one of the laboratories. The equipment was far too expensive for the guards to risk more careless shots. Glass instruments and electronic equipment and wires were strewn about, organized into haphazard piles awaiting assembly or experimentation.

If this place led where I thought it led then…yes, we'd be close to weapons storage. That door hadn't had a manual lock back when I'd worked here all those years ago, but they could have upped the ante on security since then. I forced myself to stay focused. The guards were coming through the doors, edging around the tables. They wouldn't shoot unless it was point-blank. They wanted us trapped in here. But the easternmost door wasn't blocked yet.

“
Get ready to run in three seconds,” I whispered. “Two…one…”

“
Wha — ”

I tightened my grip around her wrist and darted around the tables, keeping low. A single shot went off, followed by a smash and a curse. One flight of stairs and two corridors later, we were in the weapons storage room.
Am I good or what?
I gave the door a push, holding my breath. Would it open?

It did.

During my first week on the job, I'd been assigned as a researcher. Richardson had sent me on a business trip to Target Island to see what an internment base looked like, as well as to stock and itemize all the hand-held weapons used by the IMA. As most young men do when dangerous weapons are thrown into the mix, I'd all but drooled. The IMA imported weapons from all over the world. Spectre M4 submachine guns, grenade launchers, TT33s and AK-47s were just a couple of the nasty toys that the IMA just had lying around, gathering dust. There was also a wide assortment of knives, bulletproof armor, and emergency equipment like flares, smoke balls, and tinned rations.

I strapped one of the kevlar vests over my chest and grabbed one of the handguns, a Firestar, feeling like a kid in a goddamn candy store. Handguns were the weapons I used most often, and the ones I was most comfortable with, though I snagged a mine launcher and its detonator and a couple knives to be safe. The vest had pockets for auxiliary weapons and I placed these latter in the corresponding compartments.

In a small bin in the corner I found some fingerless gloves. I flexed my fingers and the leather squeaked satisfyingly. After spending literally hundreds of hours in this room, I knew it like the back of my hand. This was my element. I turned my head, and caught Christina looking at me strangely. “Yes?” I raised an eyebrow as I strapped the detonator around my wrist, beneath the gloves, where it would remain concealed from sight. “See something you like?”

She shrugged and looked back at the shelves of guns.

I helped myself to a couple smoke balls. A diversion could come in handy if —
when —
they fixed the generator. They were probably working on it even now .Then they would be back with reinforcements. That girl was going to need protection. Inside or outside, her white shirt made her a walking target. She might as well have been a flag of surrender.

“
Come here,” I said. She turned away from the grenade launchers with a guilty start. The first vest I found for her was too big. I managed to find a smaller size. She jumped when I fastened the belt around her waist. I wanted to roll my eyes. “It needs to be tight. Trust me, you don't want this gaping open on you.”

“
It's heavy,” she whined, tugging at the straps. “Is it supposed to be this tight?”

“
It's heavy because it's lined with lead. To keep you from getting fucking shot.” I tested the straps, tightening and loosening as I saw fit, before pulling back and studying the overall effect. Very sexy.
No
.
There's no time for that
. I clicked my tongue in impatience. “You need a gun.”

“
I don't want one.”

“
Too bad.”

I got her one of the TT33s, a small silver handgun with a kick. I suspected she would find it less intimidating because of its size. “Be careful with this,” I warned her. “None of these have been fitted with silencers. It may look harmless but it isn't a toy. It makes a lot of noise when fired and you can kill somebody with it.”

She stared at the gun as if expecting it to come alive and bite her.

“
Have you ever fired a gun before?” I queried, already knowing what the answer would be.

“
No.”

“
Do you want to learn?”

“
No.”

“
Let me rephrase that, then. You're going to learn.” I grabbed her hands, trapping beneath mine in such a way that her finger was on the trigger. I showed her how to take aim. “Sometimes it helps to close one eye. This is the safety. Always treat a gun as if it's loaded. Keep it on at all times…unless you're firing, of course.” I raised her arms, aiming at an imaginary target. “Relax your shoulders.”

“
Won't the guards hear the noise? You just said — ”

“
By the time they get here, we'll be long gone. This is more important. Relax your shoulders.” She remained tense, as if the slightest movement would snap her right in half. I tried to press her arms down so she wasn't all hunched up and her hand tightened around the gun. She squeezed the trigger and the gun went off, startling us both. My vest absorbed most of the shock from the recoil, but it didn't do shit for the shock circulating elsewhere.

“
Christ,” I muttered. “Hopefully you won't need it.”

Her vest wasn't the only thing feeling a little too tight.

Christina:

Node Five was bigger than Node Three, which suggested the IMA considered the vast majority of its enemies dangerous. The inside was as silent as a grave. Our breathing sounded impossibly loud in the darkness, almost obscene.

“
Stop that gasping,” Michael hissed. “You're not in a porno, for fuck's sake.”

He
would
know. I tried breathing through my nose but that didn't work; I didn't get enough air that way, and it made my chest start to ache.

When I turned my head to the side, Michael had his gun out and drawn. He was looking around, scanning the cells, a worried line between his eyebrows. “Something's wrong.”

“
What?”

He compressed his lips and gave a slight shake of his head. He didn't know yet. His eyes, however, were restless. Vigilant. “I know what it is,” he said a moment later. “All the cells — ”

“
Yeah?”

“
They're empty.”

Something collided with my chest, sending me back against the bars of one of the cells. It was like being punched. Something clattered to the hard floors. A bullet, spent. If I hadn't been wearing the vest, I'd be
dead
.

“
They evacuated the prisoners.” Michael's words dissolved into an outraged cry when a bullet clipped his shoulder. “I
knew
something like this was going to happen — ”

More gunfire. It was like thunder in my ears, shaking the bones of my skull. I couldn't question his judgment this time. We both knew we were only here because I'd asked to be; a request that seemed noble at the time but was growing more foolish with each passing second. Was A really worth it? I'd already gotten my parents.

Michael shouted something incomprehensible. My injuries awakened from their dormancy, screaming reminders of their presence when he tackled me. “You moron,” he was yelling, “You almost took a bullet in the head.”

He shoved me through one of the doors, slamming it behind us. I could hear the footsteps of the guards storming past the door. I stared at it, numb, feeling his breath stir my hair.
It's pretty fucking counter-intuitive for survival to be thinking, 'What if that bullet hits
her
?' Instead of, 'What if that bullet hits me?'”

He had jumped into crossfire to protect me.

“…
standing there, like a deer in the goddamn headlights…”

The signs had been there all along. I'd just been too obtuse to see them.

“…
maudit
. No sense whatsoever — ”

“
You…saved me,” I said. “You…actually care.”

“
Christina.” He sounded genuinely angry. “Shut up.”

Shutting up would be a good idea. But my mouth wouldn't obey. “Why don't you act like it? The way you treat me, nobody would ever — ”

“
Because it doesn't change a thing.”

“
It does,” I said. “More than ever.”

“
Not to me.”

“
It does to me.”

“
I don't think you understand. I saved you because you're useful to me.” He decreased the distance between us. “In more ways than one. That's all.”

“
No,” I whispered. “You're lying.”

“
Want me to prove it?”

“
Not now.”

“
When?”

My heart stopped. “What?”

“
When?”

A shiver snaked through my spine. I looked desperately at the door; the hallway had fallen silent. “I…I don't know when. I can't think…not more than a couple minutes in advance. I'm tired. Just not…not in this
place
. People have died here.”