Xenofreak Nation, Book Three: XIA (18 page)

Bryn didn’t connect Maddy’s father with the huge boat that had come alongside them until Maddy glanced over at it and said, “I’m surprised you’d risk leaving international waters. How did you find me?”

“I saw you on the news. Where’s Munnu?” His Indian accent was slightly heavier than Maddy’s.

She hesitated, staring at her father’s holo. “You already know, don’t you?”

“Did you think you could keep it from me?”

“I-”

“Did you
really
think I wouldn’t find out what you did? How far you’ve sunk into depravity? You are a vile degenerate, and I’m disgusted with-”

Maddy swept a hand through the holo and terminated the conversation before turning to everyone present with a strained smile. “Well, that was pleasant. I think perhaps we’d best leave as quickly as possible. My father’s yacht is equipped with enough firepower to easily blow us out of the water.”

“He wouldn’t do that. Not here. He’s too careful,” Jason said.

“You said yourself he owns quite a few American politicians. You don’t think he could make the official report read like a tragic accident?”

“Good point,” Scott said. “Let’s go.”

Bryn gripped the edge of the seat as Maddy thrust the throttle forward and the yacht surged ahead. The other vessel was facing upstream in the opposite direction. It wouldn’t be able to maneuver nearly as quickly, and as they left it behind, Bryn hoped that was the end of the confrontation. Unfortunately, Maddy’s father had anticipated she might run.

Scott pointed to the radar. “We got incoming!”

Bryn saw two fast-moving blips just rounding the back end of the larger yacht. Maddy pulled the wheel to the left in a turn so sharp it caused Fournier to slide several feet along the seat. He woke up and spluttered, “What…what?”

“Damn it!” Maddy cried. “That fishing boat is creating too much drag. If we don’t cut it loose, they’ll catch us for sure!”

Scott said, “I got it,” and disappeared down the stairs.

Bryn couldn’t see much more than the running lights of the speedboats chasing them, but the radar showed the distance between them rapidly narrowing.

“I suggest everyone hit the deck!” Maddy called out.

Bryn knew what that meant: they were about to get shot at again. She got down onto all fours between the seat and the table. Mia slid off next to her, ducked under the table, and wrapped her legs around the column supporting it. Bryn couldn’t see Padme and Fournier, but she did catch sight of Jason by the stairs, squatting down behind the railing. Malone’s voice echoed up the passageway, “What the hell’s going on up there?”

“Brace yourselves!” Jason shouted back.

Over the noise of the yacht’s straining engine, Bryn heard what sounded like a cat loudly purring. It was gunfire, of course. Scott would be totally exposed on the bathing platform.

Be safe
, she thought, closing her eyes tightly and wishing her quills would allow her to put her hands over her ears.

“We’re taking fire!” Jason stated the obvious, probably for Lo’s benefit.

The next thing Bryn heard was more shouting rising from the lower deck, only this time, the guardsmen were yelling in unison. They
had
found Maddy’s weapons stash, and from the sound of it, began enthusiastically returning fire. Louder, closer gunfire told her Jason, too, had begun shooting.

The yacht straightened out and Bryn opened her eyes. They were coming up on the pier again to their right, as Maddy headed back between it and her father’s vessel. Then the Mad Eye queen suddenly dropped to her knees, the fingers of one hand still clenched around the steering wheel; it was immediately clear to Bryn she’d taken a bullet.

Bryn crawled towards her as the deck listed to the right. She craned her neck to look up at the looming pier and was just thinking if Maddy didn’t straighten the wheel, the yacht would hit it, when the vessel jerked violently. Bryn was tossed several feet, and ended up face-down, hands clawing at the polished wooden deck for purchase as the underside of the yacht shuddered and scraped along the edge of the submerged pier with a screeching, grinding cacophony. Maddy made a heroic attempt to gain her footing, but before she could steer them to safety, the front of the vessel thumped up against something that knocked her from her feet and sent Bryn rolling across the deck. Bryn had a flash of memory: the concrete dock surrounding the pier had only been partially submerged – it had risen from the river about halfway down the pier. She barely had time to realize they’d run aground before the yacht launched into the air and immediately slammed back down again. It skidded a short way before something unyielding brought its momentum to an abrupt stop.

After Scott cut the rope to the fishing boat, the driver of one of the outboards chasing them had to swerve to avoid hitting it. The driver lost control and sideswiped Singh’s yacht. Scott had just laughed aloud when he was suddenly thrown head over heels into the Hudson River.

Hitting the frigid water was such a shock he barely managed to suppress the reflex to suck in a breath. His vest wasn’t the inflatable kind this time, but it was waterproof and acted somewhat like a life vest as he struggled to the surface. Once there, he ineffectually thrashed about, lungs spasmodically taking in great gulps of air. He recognized that he was in danger of hyperventilating and tried to slow his breathing and take stock of his surroundings.

It was dark, but the light from the dying bus fire atop the pier revealed the second speed boat bearing down on him. To his left, he made out the silhouette of Maddy’s yacht, listing to one side on top of the pier’s dock. The occupants of the speed boat hung over the side, their guns ready to raze the crippled yacht’s deck. Scott’s cougar fingertips felt like frozen sausages, but he managed to wrap his hand around the remaining grenade on his belt and pull it free. He needed both hands to pull the pin, which meant he’d have to go under again, something he very much didn’t want to do. But the thought of Bryn lying helpless and injured spurred him to take a deep breath before letting himself slide back beneath the cold, black water.

Once he’d resurfaced with the armed grenade in his right hand, he waited a couple more seconds for the speed boat to get close enough. They’d slowed significantly and were just about to pull even with the yacht when he scissor-kicked with as much strength as he could muster in order to lift himself a precious few inches from the water and hurl the grenade. As soon as he verified that it hit its target, he turned away so he wouldn’t be blinded when the blast lit up the night.

It exploded with a satisfying boom that reverberated through the water. The dock ahead of him was illuminated just long enough for him to spot the most likely place to pull himself out of the river – about fifteen yards from the yacht. He began swimming in a weak breast stroke, and just before he reached his goal he saw the slim beam of a flashlight appear like a beacon.

Someone called out, “Scott!”

It sounded like Alton’s voice, although Alton had never used his first name before. When Scott finally made it to the pier and reached up with leaden arms, hands appeared and clasped his forearms. He wasn’t much help hauling himself out, and could only collapse in a shivering heap.

With chattering teeth, he ground out, “Bryn okay?”

“She’s banged up,” Alton replied. “We all were. Maddy took another bullet in the vest, but no casualties. That your grenade?”

Scott started to say, “Yeah,” but the dock beneath them groaned alarmingly.

“Better get out of here.” Alton ran the flashlight over him. “Can you walk?”

Scott wasn’t about to admit he wasn’t sure. His arms and legs felt both numb and cramped at the same time. It seemed like a major accomplishment just getting up onto all fours. Alton helped him to his feet and kept hold of his arm to guide him away from the yacht.

“Where we going?”

“Warm you up.”

“Who’s watching Maddy and Fournier?”

“Bryn. Gave her my backup piece.”

Scott smiled to himself, but couldn’t tell if his frozen cheeks even moved.

“Here.” Alton shone his flashlight on a broken section of wall. They went inside, stepping over and around the kind of decayed refuse that collects in abandoned buildings. Alton helped him up a flight of stairs, where he saw for himself how everyone had gotten off the yacht so quickly. It had crashed into the side of the building, ripping a hole in the stairwell wall. They’d only had to step from the deck onto the second floor landing.

“Lucky, huh?” Alton asked.

“’Bout time we had a little luck,” Scott replied.

They went up to the top level, where the door to the outside was missing. He looked out on what used to be a parking lot, and was being used for that purpose again; dozens of empty prisoner transport vehicles with the emblems of various law enforcement agencies were parked in neat rows. The buses he could see didn’t look the worse for wear. The reinforced windows were all intact and there were no bodies or other evidence that whoever had been guarding the prisoners had been overpowered.

They began walking along the edge where the guardsmen had been thrown off, so Scott couldn’t see the center of the pier, but he heard the constant roar rising from the crowd. It made him sick to think there were hardened criminals – criminals under the powerful influence of mob mentality – on the loose down there with the general xeno population.

He picked up a faint, annoying buzz from his earbug, like a bee had flown into his ear. Hooking a claw into the device, he pulled it out and flicked it over the edge. “Definitely not waterproof. What’d Lo say?”

“She’s still trying to talk her way onto the pier to look for Shasta.” Alton held an arm out to stop him, backing up against the front of a bus. “Careful.”

Scott caught sight of several men sauntering between the rows of vehicles, bumping shoulders and laughing, a roving band of xenofreaks so brashly confident of their advantage they weren’t paying attention to their surroundings.

Once they’d gone past, Alton led Scott directly to what remained of the burning bus. The lingering smoke was noxious, but Scott felt the heat from yards away. Suddenly, Bryn appeared, running full bore towards him. She threw herself silently into his arms, nearly knocking him off his numb feet. Her mouth felt hot against his cold lips. If her quills were poking him, he couldn’t feel them and didn’t care.

“Thank God you’re alright,” she whispered.

He pulled gently away. “You, too. But who’s watching the prisoners?”

“We are.”

Scott looked around. Malone was standing on the steps of an open bus door, holding a shotgun. The bus engine was idling and it looked like everyone from the yacht was now sitting safely on board.

“Welcome to the xenofreak express,” Malone said.

Bryn had been frantic with worry when Scott came up missing. No one had seen him get ejected from the yacht, but once the second speed boat blew up, Jason had immediately put two and two together.

Scott was in better condition than most of the guardsmen they’d rescued, but she could practically see the steam rising off him when he stepped onto the bus. One of the guardsmen was sitting in the driver’s seat, speaking into an old-fashioned two-way radio. “Dispatch, do you read? This is Corporal Manuel Bastida of the Army National Guard. We are in need of assistance. Do you copy?”

The only response he seemed to be getting was static.

“Ah, it’s warm,” Scott said. “How’d you get it started?”

“Keys were in the ignition. That’s why we picked it.”

She hustled him down the center aisle to the back where he could strip in private. Once there, she helped peel off his jacket, vest, gun holster, utility belt and shirt. Unlike with the guardsmen, she didn’t hesitate to reach for the button on his jeans. Once she’d dragged them down past his hips, she murmured, “Sit,” and took off her coat to wrap around his shoulders.

The bus was softly lit inside by lights along the top and bottom of the windows, but it was dark near the floor when she knelt down in front of him. She had to untie his boots by feel, and after she’d tugged them and his socks off, she finished removing his jeans.

“Lucky me.” She briskly rubbed her hands up and down the cold skin of his calves. “I finally got you almost naked.”

He grabbed her upper arms and lifted. She didn’t need an invitation to rise and place a knee on either side of his thighs. When she lowered herself onto his lap, his wet boxer shorts quickly soaked through the fabric on the inner thighs of her jeans. He slipped his hands under her shirt and she let out a squeal of shocked protest as the cold, damp fur of his fingers spanned her waist.

“Guys need any help back there?” Alton asked.

Bryn was about to say no, but Scott said, “Some dry clothes would be nice.”

When one of Malone’s men padded down the aisle, Bryn reluctantly slid off Scott’s lap. Like most of the guardsmen, the approaching man was barefoot. Things had gotten tossed around on the yacht, and none of them had time to find and put on their wet boots before evacuating. They were all dressed in dry clothes, though, which they’d obtained helping themselves to what they could find in the cabins.

“Here.” The man handed over a pair of grey slacks and matching suit jacket in a polished fabric. “We took up a collection.”

“Uh, thanks.” Scott accepted the offerings and looked them over with a dubious expression.

“You’re not going to turn your nose up at vintage Gucci, are you?” Maddy called from six seats up.

Only Bryn heard him mutter, “I am never going to live this down, am I?”

“So what if it’s a woman’s suit?” She tried to sound practical, but inside she was valiantly fighting a smile. “Better than freezing, right?”

Scott looked like he was being forced to dry-swallow a bitter pill, but he yanked the slacks on. They were snug around his thighs, but he was able to zip and fasten them. He set Bryn’s coat aside and picked up the jacket. It had thin shoulder pads and lapels that were wide at the top and tapering down to the one large black button at its midsection. He put it on and frowned down at the triangle of his naked chest. Bryn had to press her lips together and turn away to keep from laughing.

He grabbed up his soaked shirt and began wringing it out. Bryn helped him squeeze the water out of his leather jacket and jeans. They draped his clothes over the back of the seat in front of them. There was a heating vent nearby, but she figured it would take hours for everything to dry.

He’d just finished transferring the contents of his jean pockets to the slacks when Jason strode up the aisle. “You all thawed out? Lo says-” he made a choking sound when he caught sight of Scott, but recovered brilliantly by coughing and continuing as if nothing had happened, “that she and Boardman are being allowed onto the pier.”

“Really?” Scott hastily reached down to retrieve his bullet-proof vest and utility belt from the floor.

“Army thinks the UAAV might come in handy communicating with the xenos. It can broadcast a forty-foot holo just like drive-in holo theaters.”

“Wow.” Scott put the vest on, fastening it over the jacket with a satisfied little grunt before reaching for his holster. “We gonna drive out of here?”

“Try. Only thing is, Lo says the army’s not letting anybody out.”

Scott stood and placed his foot on the seat so he could tuck his pant leg into his boot. He lowered his voice. “She tell them we got the guardsmen?”

Jason nodded. “Not even them. Afraid they might be contagious now.”

“It doesn’t spread through non-xenos.”

“You and I know that, but they don’t,” Jason said. “Um, Bryn, could you check on Dr. Padilla? She doesn’t look so good.”

She nodded and picked up her coat. Before she could shrug into it, Scott reached out and tilted her chin up. He’d never shown the slightest sign of affection towards her while on the job, so it surprised her when he planted a quick, hard kiss on her lips.

“Almost safe,” he murmured.

She smiled, holding his gaze as he backed away. He turned to follow Jason to the front of the bus. When he passed Maddy’s seat, she said, “You look fabulous, darling.”

“Thanks,” he replied.

Bryn found Mia’s seat and slid in next to her.

“Jason asked me to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

Mia turned to her with shadowed eyes. “I can deal with the pain. It’s just…the whole world’s gone crazy. Doesn’t it bother you?”

Bryn shrugged. “The rest of the world can do what it wants. I plan on staying sane.”

When Mia didn’t respond, Bryn sighed and looked around. She saw the top of Padme’s head in the seat next to Maddy. Across the aisle from them sat Fournier, his forehead resting against the window glass.

“Do you believe what Fournier said?” she asked. “That he’s been trying to help people?”

“Fournier’s a lunatic. All that talk of sacrifice for the greater good.”

“But it’s kind of obvious he was talking about Maddy’s father, right?”

Bastida had begun backing the bus out of the parking spot. Mia stared out the window at the huge yacht still lurking off the pier. “I guess so. What difference does it make? Even if everything Fournier said was true – especially if what he said was true – we won’t get very far trying to tell people. When he said the CDC sent me here because I would fail..? I thought the same thing when I got the assignment. It just didn’t make sense that they’d choose me.”

“Aren’t you going to even try? To tell them?”

A spark of life appeared in Mia’s eyes. “Of course I am. But you saw what Philip Singh is capable of. He just tried to kill his own daughter – or
son
– and everyone else on the yacht was just collateral damage to him.”

“No one is untouchable, no matter how rich they are.” Bryn had planned to say more, but she trailed off. Maddy had once commented that fathers were strange creatures. If Bryn’s father hadn’t forced the quills on her, she would have died soon after her first encounter with Junk. Then again, if he hadn’t done it, she wouldn’t have met Junk in the first place.

She shook her head to chase away the convoluted thoughts. If there was one thing she’d learned post-graft, it was never to speculate on the ‘what ifs.’ Still, she couldn’t help but think no matter what had happened to her in the past, and no matter what her father or Fournier had done to set things in motion, the mutated typhoid would have eventually surfaced on its own.