Dead Harvest

  I threw my mind at him with all I had. The Friedlander body convulsed around me as I struggled to pull away. Every muscle clenched as one. Tendons snapped like rubber bands. I shrieked in agony, but still I pressed on. My nose erupted in a torrent of blood, and for a fleeting moment everything went red as a vessel in my eye burst under the strain. Then, suddenly, the pain evaporated, and all went dark.

  Friedlander was gone.

  My mind slammed into the cop's like a freight train. He buckled, but kept his feet. His stomach clenched, threatened to purge. By force of will, I kept it down.

  I wheeled around. Just the three of them inside with me, armored up like they were heading off to war. A lot of effort for such a little girl. My earpiece crackled with static and shouted commands, but I ignored it. Instead I raised my firearm, a mean-looking fully automatic assault rifle that looked to weigh about a ton. This guy handled like a dream, his muscle memory doing all the work. He let out a panicked wail inside my head as I pulled the trigger, three quick bursts. Just like that, the advance team went down. My guy had decent aim – one of 'em took a stray bullet in the shoulder, but the rest hit them square in the breadbasket. If the vests had done their jobs, breathing was gonna hurt like hell for a while, but all three ought to live.

  I approached the open doorway to the hall. A thousand shouted questions in my ear. I considered yanking the earpiece, but then I thought better of it. The better to hear you with, my dear.

  A rustling to my right. One of my teammates was scrambling to get to his knees, his gas mask clouded with condensation from his labored breathing. His rifle lay useless halfway across the room. I watched him as he groped for the piece strapped to his ankle. Not on my watch. I cracked him hard in the face with the butt of my gun, and he fell limp to the floor.

  I took a moment to check the others. They were both out. Best not to disturb them, I thought – they look so peaceful when they're sleeping.

  The front door lay in the center of the floor, the hinges a splintered mess. I pressed my back tight to the wall beside what was left of the door frame and listened. If anyone was right outside, I didn't hear them. I rolled along the wall onto my belly, gun at the ready, and sprayed a few rounds into the darkened, fog-laden hall.

  Again, the radio squawked. 'Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on up there? Flynn! Jenkins! Skala! Fischer! Anybody – report!'

  'We've got shots fired, and three men down,' I replied, injecting what I hoped was the appropriate amount of panic into my voice. 'They got past us, sir. Send all units to the front entrance – suspects are armed, and I think they mean to shoot their way out!'

  I let off a few bursts into the hall to punctuate my point. From somewhere below me, I heard the pop, pop of return fire. The radio filled with chatter as cops were redeployed. I hoped that Kate and Anders were on the move – they were never going to get a better shot. I fought the urge to fall back and join them – for this to work, I was gonna have to keep the pressure on.

  I crawled into the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs. If anyone had seen me, they didn't let on, and anyway, they had no reason to shoot at me if they had – I looked like one of them. Still, bullets hurt, so you can never be too careful.

  The stairwell wound around a central shaft that cut clear down to the first floor. I rested the barrel of my gun between the wooden balusters and squeezed off a few shots toward ground-level. No response this time – they were either waiting me out, or they were already on the move. I slinked down the stairs to the next landing and tried again. Still no response.

  The second-floor hallway was bathed in eerie white light, streaming in through the transom above the front door from the spotlight they'd trained on it from their position on the street. I steered clear of the beams, hugging tight to the shadow-clad floorboards. From where I lay, I had a clear shot at the front door. Gritting my teeth against the possibility of actually hitting anyone, I took it. Shafts of white light poured through the holes I'd punched through the door and swirled ghost-like with the settling remains of the tear gas. It was oddly beautiful.

  I lay there a while, occasionally loosing a round or two on the poor innocent door to keep this standoff going. I wanted desperately to retreat and check on Kate and Anders, but they couldn't have been taken or I would've heard it over the radio. No, the best thing I could do for them was to stay put and give them time to run. When this was over all I had to do was find a quiet corner while they stormed the place and walk right out that front door. No one would be the wiser.

  It was a decent plan. A solid plan. And all it took was a creaky floorboard to let me know it was never gonna happen.

  The floorboard in question was about five feet to my right, just three steps up from my second-floor perch. By instinct, I rolled away from it, bringing around my gun – incessant yammering aside, this guy sure beat the last meat-suit for handling – but I was too late. It was the rookie, his face stripped of his gas mask, his eyes wide and frightened. He had his 9mm trained on me, the barrel bobbing between my head and chest in his shaky, unsure grip.

  'Drop it, Mike.'

  I did what he said, setting the rifle on the floor beside me. I wasn't wild about my odds, lying flat on my back as I was, so I rose slowly to my knees, my hands raised in what I hoped was a placating gesture.

  The rookie said, 'Stay put, Mike – I don't want to have to use this.'

  'And I don't want to make you. Why don't we talk about this?'

  I stepped toward him. He retreated.

  I reached for the rookie's name. It wasn't hard to find – old Mike here was shouting to him at the top of his imaginary lungs. I said, 'C'mon, Owen, it's me – why don't you put that thing down, and we'll walk out of this together.'

  'But you – you attacked us!'

  'I'm sorry. I wigged. I thought they were behind us. This is all just a big misunderstanding.'

  Owen looked incredulous. 'You wigged?'

  'That's right.'