the concussion wave knocked her off-balance. Her fire stopped; she fell over flat onto the cold floor, her rifle slid several paces away.
The three remaining bloodhounds reached the end of the hunt; one from the passage Nina had come, one to the north, and the Sergeant to the south.
They paused in what might have been a soldier-to-soldier courtesy as she stood in preparation for liquidation.
The turrets on the Sergeant’s shoulders swiveled with the sound of whirring gears. The one big red eye dominating its robotic head shrunk to a sliver as if squinting for better aim.
A series of fiery sparks engulfed the Sergeant. The thing shivered and spun around facing a new enemy to the south.
Vince Caesar-a trail of blood behind him-lay on the floor thirty yards to the south holding Carl Bly’s SAW.
Nina dove across the floor, grabbed her M4, and launched bullets into the Commando to the north. It went silent and fell backwards as if something flipped its ‘off’ switch.
The machine gun rounds tore apart the Sergeant. Vince tried to draw a bead on the second one, but it swerved side to side like a smart duck in a shooting gallery. Vince’s fire went high partly because he could not risk hitting Nina.
The remaining red-eyed soldier met Vince’s machine gun with shots from its own weapon. Before it found its mark, Nina blasted it from behind at close range. It emitted a sad electronic hum and fell face-first on the concrete.
The warehouse went quiet. The loudest sound to her ears came from her heaving chest.
Nina hurried along the outer wall to Vince. He lay on the floor. Blood pushed through the makeshift bandage on his knee. He had exerted a dangerous amount of effort.
She spat, “Vince, are you crazy? Your knee-“
“Shut up. I wanted to rescue you for once. About time someone did. That all of them?”
Nina spoke through huffs of deep breath; the adrenaline still ran through her veins like burning aviation fuel.
“There’s one still up on the catwalk,” she glanced in that direction but the maze of crates and shelves blocked her view and therefore, in return, blocked any view of them from the spotter.
“Nina Forest.”
Nina turned around fast expecting to see the Bishop standing over her with some implement of torture. She saw nothing other than the labyrinth of stacked pallets and the de-activated Commandos.
“It is good to be near you again.”
The voice came from a PA system. She did not know if that system belonged to the remains of the Sysco facility or something The Order installed. She supposed it did not matter.
“You were always a good soldier,” the Bishop’s words slithered through the air. “Always focused on accomplishing the mission.”
Vince mumbled, “Who the hell is that?”
Nina did not answer.
“You performed a tremendous service for Voggoth many years ago. Your most glorious mission. Do you remember? You delivered Trevor Stone to me. You betrayed him, Nina. I never had the opportunity to thank you for your work. Well done, Nina Forest.”
The back of her neck grew red. Her brow furled as her eyes darted around the chamber searching for the source of the transmission. She did not think the Bishop saw her, but his dead minions certainly gave him a clue as to her position.
“He suffered for days. We nearly purified him. All thanks to you, Nina. It is a shame that you have wasted your skills in service to humanity. Voggoth could use another drone as talented as you.”
Nina stood tall and straight. She cradled her M4 in her arms.
Vince grew nervous. Not for himself, but for her.
“Nina, listen, he’s just trying to bait you. Trying to draw you further in.”
It occurred to Nina that Vince held little understanding of what the Bishop might mean. He-like the other wolves-only knew the general story of her capture, implantation, and stolen memories. Nothing more.
“You are such a good soldier, Captain Forest. Especially when you serve Voggoth’s ends.”
Vince reached up from his position on the ground and grabbed her arm.
“Don’t do it. It’s a trap.”
Nina realized that while Vince did not know the whole story, his faith in her-his loyalty-trumped anything the Bishop might say or suggest.
“I know.”
“Nina,” but Vince’s protest trailed off when he saw her narrow eyes; her determined eyes. “Okay, then, you want the SAW?”
“No, too heavy,” she answered and eyed his wound. She might be able to get him out of there with a strong shoulder, but he could not help her with what lay ahead. “You keep it. Hold out here as long as possible. I’ll come back and get you when I’m finished with this.”
“Here,” he slipped off his shoulder holster with the Mac-11 and held it to her. “Take this. Every bit counts.”
She accepted the weapon and slipped it over the shoulder opposite her own Mac-11.
“I apologize, Nina Forest,” the Bishop’s voice returned. “It is a shame that when your compatriots removed our implant you lost all those memories.”
Nina thought about the missing year of her life. She thought about what she had lost. She thought about a life with Trevor, stolen by Voggoth and his ilk.
If the Bishop had hoped to intimidate or confuse, he failed. His taunts gave birth to the seed of fury planted in Nina the day she had awoke in The Order’s facility with her memories stolen. A seed nurtured first by mystery and then by the revelations of all she had lost. Of all they had taken.
“I am sure you would be proud of how efficiently you performed for Voggoth. I cannot restore those memories, but I could share the story with you if you care.”
Vince threw his eyes toward the ceiling and remarked, “He really doesn’t know who he’s fucking with, does he?”
The energy in her body-every muscle, every nerve-seemed to vibrate. All her life Nina had felt proficient with weapons; now she felt as if her very person had become a weapon, fueled by anger and guided by lethal instinct. The battle in the maze with the Commandos served merely as an appetizer. The main course awaited.
She nodded to Vince and then walked north. After a minute she reached the end of the maze. Far across the chamber on the western wall the remaining Commando rolled along the catwalk and aimed his weapon toward Nina as she moved into the open.
Its shots went wide; distance again thwarted the creature’s accuracy.
Nina changed the M4’s rate of fire switch, raised her rifle, and fired a solitary bullet that traveled all the way across the warehouse.
The Commando’s red eye shattered. Its robotic body rolled backwards, hit off the wall, then slumped forward over the catwalk railing. The thing fell to the floor far below.
Nina paid the dead enemy no mind. She continued walking north toward the exit.
Toward the Bishop.
18. Lone Wolf
The St. Claire Square mall included a food court. Not much had changed between pre- and post-Armageddon in that respect. On that particular evening as a steady rain drummed against the skylights, Jon Brewer sat at a long table in that big room with a cup of coffee and a grilled chicken sandwich.
Well, at least it tastes like chicken.
Only a few lights shined in the place, creating spaces of dark and spaces of light illuminating aged counter
