The Phoenix Variant: The Fifth Column 3 Read online

  Damien lifted the top of a desk, crushing her hand. The knife came free, skittered across to another desk. They both moved for it—counter-attacked each other. Damien brought his knee to her ribs. She snapped her fist into his neck. Both blows connected, knocking the air from him and doubling her over.

  She straightened up. He opened the desk in front of her, swinging the lid. It connected with her head and broke in two. She stumbled but got her footing. He kept half the lid and used it as a rudimentary weapon, thrusting it into her. She dived clear, under another desk. He moved on her quickly.

  She found the knife again.

  She thrust toward him, withdrew and then slashed twice in quick succession. He used the lid piece to deflect the blows and glance them aside, then used it to strike her behind the knee.

  .50 cal rounds shattered the classroom. Panes of glass exploded, showered over them. Damien shut his eyes, deflected the knife. Lijana dropped to one knee.

  The sound of the rounds made his ears ring. Lijana swiveled into a crouch, slashed her knife across him. The blade cut his forearm, cut across his chest and shoulder. He dropped into a seated position and deflected the knife with both legs.

  Scrambling between desks, Damien couldn’t help but shut his eyes as more rounds smashed through the second level of the state school. Classrooms shook and windows disintegrated. The rounds tore through wall after wall, carving large holes in their wake.

  Damien pinned Lijana’s knife arm with one leg and knocked her to the ground with the other. She landed on her hip and released the knife, grasped for his leg. He tried to roll away, knowing she’d break his leg if she had the chance.

  Lijana moved around his leg, reaching his chest.

  During their early training in Project GATE, he remembered swapping his orange juice with Lijana’s pineapple. He didn’t like orange and it was her favorite. And now she wanted to kill him.

  Lijana pinned his chest with her knee. Her hands came fast around his face, one below his chin, the other around the top of his skull. His hand closed over the knife. He pulled his chin in to the side, but she wrenched it back. Pushed him farther.

  She forced him onto his stomach. He lost touch with the knife. He lay on his stomach, head to one side. He tried to move but both her hands pressed down on the side of his jaws and skull, pushing hard into his skull with her body weight. The pressure blossomed into pain and he was suddenly immobile.

  His hands-free earbud dug into her palm. She shifted her hand. That shift gave him just a moment to move. His fingers reached out across the classroom floor and found the knife. Backhanded grip. He slid his head away from her weighted hands. She clamped her hands over his head again, pushing down hard. His skull felt like it was about to fracture into a hundred pieces.

  He brought the knife over his back, turned with it. Rolled into an upright position. He wasn’t sure if he’d hit an artery but then he saw Lijana kick and squirm on the floor. Blood dribbled and squirted from the side of her neck.

  Knife in hand, Damien shuffled back until his back hit the edge of a desk. She reached out, touched his leg, wrapped her fingers around his ankle. It wasn’t a move to break his ankle. She just held on, looking at him with ice green eyes. For a moment it was Grace. He wanted to apologize but the words never came. Then it was Lijana again. Her grip relaxed.

  Damien sat there for a moment, remembering to breathe. The .50 cal rounds had stopped tearing apart the school. And that meant one thing.

  The masked Blue Berets were in the building.

  He didn’t know where that other operative was. He got to his feet as more gunfire erupted downstairs.

  ‘Damien?’ Aviary said.

  He ignored her, moved across the classroom, into the corridor.

  ‘Second level,’ he asked. ‘Where do I go?’

  He could barely speak, catching his breath and using what little energy he had left. He was dehydrated, weak with hunger. He realized the last thing he ate was finger food at the function in the Waldorf Astoria hotel and that was who knew how many hours back.

  Knife in hand, he moved through the corridor, unsure of where to go. All the windows were barred up. He could hear movement coming for the central stairs.

  ‘Keep going,’ Aviary said. ‘West end. West end.’

  ‘West,’ he whispered, more to himself than her.

  He reached the end and found a much smaller staircase near the student restrooms. As he moved down the stairs he realized there was blood across both of his arms. Pouring from various slices across limbs, shoulders, chest. His white tuxedo shirt was now a crisscross of crimson.

  ‘Down the stairs,’ Aviary said. ‘If you can get down, there’s a parking lot on the west side.’

  He reached the first level and could hear boots squeaking on polished floors. The exit was right there. Next to him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said softly.

  ‘Buy me a drink after,’ Aviary said. ‘If you … you know, survive. I mean, of course you will but, um, you know.’

  Damien pushed the door open and stepped into the parking lot. It was tiny and once again had super high fences. He didn’t know if he had the strength to climb the chain links, but the lot was still half-full of vehicles. He had nowhere to really keep an unsheathed knife so he used it to tear an arm off his shirt, then discarded the knife. He ran toward a compact silver 4x4, leaping onto the bonnet. With the shirt’s blood-stained sleeve in his mouth, he jumped from the roof of the 4x4 and grabbed the top of the fence with both hands, then pulled himself over.

  He was back in public housing territory again, but only briefly. The footpath was right in front of him. He moved along the fence line, quiet as possible. Rain stung the new lacerations across his body. He took a second to inspect them. One on his forearm was particularly deep. Blood ran from it and coated his wrist and hand entirely. He took a second to make a tourniquet from the torn sleeve and wrap it just below his elbow. Without it, he’d be lucky to get another block. He pulled it tight enough to stop the blood flow, then peered out from behind a yellow school bus.

  Farther back on the street he could see a Marauder in position. The .50 cal was aimed at the building. Aside from the gunner and the driver, no one was there. No one to spot him. They were all inside, hopefully tangling with the other operative.

  He crossed the street as quietly as he could and reached another public housing block. This one had no tall fence to climb over, which was a nice change. He ran along the grass to keep his noise down, then realized the rain and wind were so loud that it probably didn’t matter.

  The block funneled him out into yet another parking lot. He noticed a main road on the right—farther west—and took it. It was more open but he needed the speed.

  He had to be getting closer.

  ‘Aviary,’ he said as he ran. ‘How am I looking?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, her voice straining. ‘One operative still at the school, just moving out now.’

  He was still alive. This wasn’t over yet. Damien pushed the last reserves of his adrenalin and sprinted the sidewalk. Restaurants and a funeral parlor blurred past. He ran around a pair of half-destroyed bus shelters and hit a large intersection between two wide streets.

  ‘Where am I?’ he said.

  ‘Houston and First Ave,’ Aviary said. ‘Take a right. You’re almost there.’

  That felt good to hear. He broke into a final run and didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back.

  ‘Operative’s on your street now, coming up behind you,’ Aviary said.

  Great.

  Ahead, something stirred in the gray. He squinted through the rain and it started to take shape. Solid, sharp. As he ran it loomed closer, twirled, swept across the street.

  It was a segment of a large crane, torn from the sky. The metal frame screeched along the pavement and asphalt, rolling with the wind. It decapitated fire hydrants and crumpled parked cars. And it was coming straight for him.

  He quickly realized it was too wide and he
couldn’t get clear of it. It seemed too high to leap over. And it was rolling and sliding very fast, unpredictably.

  Damien diverted, ducked between a 4WD and a van, lifting his feet off the ground so they wouldn’t be crushed and curling into a ball. The crane smashed across the 4WD, passed right over him, pulverized the van beside him. He pulled himself out in time to see the operative in pursuit dive into a shopfront moments before the crane collected him.

  Damien was running again.

  ‘On your right, just there!’ Aviary said.

  ‘Take me there!’ Damien yelled.

  ‘I can’t!’ she screamed. ‘You’ll cut out once you’re underground!’

  ‘Where is it?’ he yelled.

  ‘Center platform, right side!’ she said. ‘I’ll see you on the cameras and open the doors!’

  He saw the street stairs to a subway station, partitioned off with pink tape. It was next to a chemist on the corner. He burst through the tape and for a brief moment felt like a marathon runner. That feeling was short-lived as .50 cal rounds warmed the air behind him. The chemist exploded into a ball of glass and metal.

  He made it underground. The Second Avenue station was still lit, he could see where he was going. It was an old station with two island platforms. Damien speed-vaulted over the turnstiles—planting one hand on a turnstile and throwing his legs out to the side. He cleared them and kept running.

  ‘Open the doors!’ he yelled.

  Aviary wasn’t replying. She couldn’t hear him anymore.

  He hoped she could see him on the security cameras. He looked back and saw the operative monkey vault over the turnstiles—both hands on the turnstiles, legs tucked underneath. The operative landed on both feet and continued at full speed.

  Damien fled down the stairs to the island platform, ruck still on his shoulders. He didn’t have time to work out which platform, and he didn’t have Aviary guiding him anymore. He ran out onto the left island platform and spotted the train. It was on the inner track but it was resting next to the other platform, carriage doors closed. There was an empty track between him and train.

  He’d chosen the wrong side.

  The operative was running down the stairs to the platform, very close. Damien continued his escape, darting between rows of blue steel pillars. He stopped at the end, trapped.

  The driver’s cabin was opposite him, but the doors were still shut. He saw a camera next to him and stared into it, hoping Aviary could see him. He pointed at the doors and took a running start. The operative was halfway along the platform. Another five seconds and he’d be on Damien.

  Damien ran the narrow width of the platform. He reached the edge and jumped for the train. The doors were still shut. He leaped over the empty track.

  The doors beeped. They jolted open. Damien tucked his arms in, his shoulders bunching up just enough to clear the doors as they opened. He landed inside the carriage, rolled almost out the other side. He recovered and turned to see the operative taking a wide turn on the platform. He was coming in after him.

  ‘Close!’ Damien yelled. ‘Close!’

  The doors beeped again. Continued beeping. They were warning signals. The operative reached the edge of the platform and jumped toward him. The doors weren’t going to close in time.

  Damien started to wish he’d kept that knife.

  The door slid shut. The operative landed on the outside, the tips of his shoes holding him against the carriage. Damien watched him leap backward, off the train and down onto the empty track. He drew his pistol and fired through the window. Damien crawled for the driver’s cabin. He snuck inside and shut the door behind him. Aviary had disabled the locks so he couldn’t even lock himself in.

  Another shot blasted through the cabin’s side window. He ducked, then noticed the far end of the platform fill with masked Blue Berets. They rushed forward, carbines leveled at the operative. Damien watched as the operative disappeared in the tunnel.

  He had to disappear too. He started the engine and pushed the train into the dark tunnel ahead. He took it northwest along Aviary’s prescribed route. He was on his own now, until he found Sophia at Union Square. He just hoped she’d make it.

  Chapter 37

  ‘Are we finished?’ Nasira said.

  Aviary was transfixed on her computer, or computers, since she had a few of them running. One showed the subway map with live traffic—an easy map to read when there were only two trains in motion. Another screen showed the locations of the newer stock, the ones she had limited remote control over. And the large screen on the high wall showed a grid of security camera angles. Aviary switched them from Second Avenue to Union Square and waited in silence.

  ‘We finished or what?’ Nasira said.

  ‘No!’ Aviary said.

  Nasira walked over to her. ‘Listen to me, we leave when I say we leave.’

  ‘OK,’ Aviary said.

  ‘And I say we leave,’ Nasira said.

  ‘I can’t leave now,’ Aviary said.

  ‘You want to escape or you want to be Denton’s next hostage?’ Nasira said. ‘Or more like interrogation victim.’

  ‘We need to get the meteorite to Sophia and get her out of there,’ Aviary said.

  ‘And then what?’

  Aviary looked at her. ‘And then we should go.’

  ‘Oh, and then we go, right.’ Nasira shook her head. ‘Jay is out there, you know? By himself. Injured,’ she said. ‘And I’m trapped in here doing sweet fuck all.’

  Aviary raised a finger to her lips.

  ‘Don’t—’ Nasira stopped when she realized she was endangering them by talking loudly.

  Aviary was looking at her screens again. ‘Just call him,’ she said, handing over her iPhone. ‘Use my phone.’

  Nasira was about to argue another point, then stopped. She took the phone and walked to the other end of the Operations Control Center. She leaned against a copy machine.

  ‘Who do I—?’

  ‘Pink,’ Aviary called out.

  Nasira shrugged and dialed the contact labeled Pink. It rang three times before Jay answered.

  ‘Um, hello?’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘Hey,’ Nasira said. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Hey.’

  She didn’t know what else to say. ‘I’m … coming for you,’ she said.

  ‘That’s a bit early in the conversation, isn’t it?’ Jay said.

  ‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘I’m serious. As soon as we’re done with the handover.’

  ‘Take your time,’ he said.

  ‘What are you … doing?’ she said.

  ‘You know, just sitting in my apartment watching TV. How about you?’

  She laughed. ‘Oh yeah, just at Grand Central, you know. Waiting for a train.’

  ‘Huh,’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Some bitch’s birthday from the office,’ Nasira said. ‘We’re heading over for drinks in Hell’s Kitchen—’

  ‘What did you say you do again?’ Jay said, clearly amused.

  ‘I’m a florist,’ she said.

  ‘What does a florist do?’ Jay asked.

  ‘I dunno,’ Nasira said. ‘Fucking flowers and shit.’

  Jay laughed, then almost choked. ‘Yeah. Slipped my mind. Are you coming over later?’

  She smiled. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I might be really drunk.’

  ‘I might be really lonely,’ Jay said.

  ‘That can work,’ she said.

  ‘Someone’s at the door,’ Jay said.

  Nasira snapped out of her scenario. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jay said. ‘Looks like I have to go.’

  Nasira pulled the phone from her ear and checked the map. She had Jay’s location. Two operatives overlapped him.

  ‘Are you armed?’ Nasira said.

  Jay laughed. This time it annoyed her. ‘I haven’t been armed since this whole thing kicked off,’ he said. ‘Major handicap.’

  ‘You should’ve g
one to a fucking police station or something!’

  ‘I know, that’s what I said!’ Jay yelled.

  ‘OK, listen—’ She paused, heard a door open on Jay’s end.

  ‘Did the hurricane slow you down?’ Jay said. He was talking to the operatives.

  ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Uh, look I have an idea. Listen to me,’ she said.

  ‘I have to go,’ Jay said.

  ‘Children that nestle near!’ Nasira yelled. ‘Say it!’

  Jay sighed loudly, then started repeating her. ‘Children that nestle near.’

  ‘Pleased a simple tale to hear!’ she said.

  ‘Pleased a simple tale to hear,’ he said.

  She couldn’t remember what came after that. ‘Fuck you motherfuckers!’ she said.

  ‘Fuck you motherfuckers,’ he said.

  There was a short pause.

  ‘Yeah, that didn’t work,’ he said.

  Her eyes blurred. She blinked, felt frustration well inside her.

  ‘Keep your phone—’ Nasira said, but the call ended.

  Jay was gone.

  Chapter 38

  Damien released the lever in the driver’s cabin. The train halted sharply, drawing along a side platform at Union Square. On his right he could see two more island platforms and a side platform on the far wall.

  Another train stopped suddenly, screeching across the rail at the far end.

  Sophia.

  He hit the button for the doors on his right and jumped out onto a bare track. He ran across the first island platform, between its green columns. Ahead of him, the other island platforms were divided by partitions, but they had gaps up high that he could climb over to get through.

  Damien leaped off the platform and hit the partition wall with his feet first. His fingers just managed to find the top of the partition. He absorbed the impact with his legs and hung there.

  Headlights blinded him.

  He looked across to see a train blast through the tunnel, heading right for him.

  ‘Shit.’

  He hurled himself over the partition and clung to the other side. The train punched through, screeching to a halt on the other side of the partition.