Attack the Geek (16 page)

Where was he hit?
she asked herself, looking over the inventor. There were no red patches on his white shirt, or his pants.

She leaned in, in case her crap eyesight was making her miss the obvious. After a Taking 20 amount of time, she still couldn’t see an entry wound. But Drake was out cold. She took his pulse. Subdued, but alive.

“The fuck is this?” she asked out loud.
Did invisi-person have a tranquilizer blow dart? Blaster set to stun?
She tried to inventory the weapons with a stun power from the store, and quit after seven.
Too many variables. Need more data
. “Drake? C’mon, dude, get up.” She poked and prodded, jostled and shoved, then tugged on the unconscious inventor, trying to get him to sit up. Nothing worked, and trying to keep him upright was about as easy as getting a bag of lumpy potatoes to sit upright.

Ree grumbled as she set Drake down gently, trying to keep from adding blunt head trauma to his list of injuries. She wasn’t about to leave him alone with a jillion and one neighborhood monsters.

“Sorry in advance,” Ree said, then leaned in and shouted, “DRAKE!”

Nothing.

Ree devolved into mutter-cursing as she grabbed Drake under his arms. She turned him around and started dragging the inventor down the hall. She wouldn’t get very far like this—not fast, anyway. And if whoever had done this wanted to get away, now they would. But them’s the breaks. Lots of breaks. Bad breaks, worse breaks, and oh-God-I’m-going-to-be-sore-tomorrow breaks.

But since complaining had yet to make anything in her life better outside of that one time shaming an airline on Twitter, she soldiered on.

I am getting so many milk shakes when this is all done.

Chapter Twelve

The Battle of the Six Egos

Ree lost track of time as she dragged Drake through the maze. She stopped every so often to wheeze, prod Drake with the hope that he’d wake up and relieve her of the dragony, then give up and start moving again.

The infrared filter on the goggles revealed nothing, but Ree bet that as soon as she turned the filter off, something invisible would drop-kick her, steal her beer money, and scurry off to gloat.

I deserve a raise.
That thought would have sustained her, save for the fact that Grognard’s business was probably hosed. But she did
deserve
the raise, and that was something.

She rounded another corner, going back to using Drake’s chalk to mark their journey. The piece splintered a bit more each time she marked a turn, and the diminishing nub was approaching powder. Not that she actually knew where they were in the labyrinth anymore.

Halfway down the hall, she took another break to look around a T-juncture that split off to the east.

Revealing a squadron of less-cool-than-their-surroundings humanoid shapes goose-stepping toward her, two by two.

She pulled off her goggles again to see ranks of Bronze-Age-y toy soldiers advancing on her position, each holding a spear. They were each about two feet tall. At ten rows, two by two, that made for twenty possible problems inbound.

“Charge!” came a high, tinny voice. The figure’s sword raised in challenge.

So. Many. Milk shakes,
Ree thought to herself, running back to haul Drake to the far side of the T-juncture. That way, if she needed to beat a retreat, she wouldn’t have to go back through the tin men to get to him.

She set Drake down so that she could start dragging with the least delay, then poked the inventor one time in the chest, then cheek.

“Drake? It’d be really great if you could wake up now.”

Still nothing.

“Once more unto the breach, dear . . . me,” Ree said, feeling the exhaustion even more. She stood several feet back from the corner so she could see the toys as they approached and take cover. Sadly, as a righty, she’d be cutting off her range of motion, with her right shoulder against the wall. That meant she’d have to stick and move, all the more important with that many opponents. With luck, they’d all be minion-y, and she could mow through them in a hurry.

The first soldier came into view, and she took it off at the head with a flicking cut from the wrist. She cut at its neighbor with a back-edge cut, but that one got its shield up in time. Instead, her blow just knocked it off its feet and across the floor. Ree stepped to her left and cut back, trying to catch the second row. But the next pair of soldiers had their shields up.

She danced with them for a minute, giving ground sparingly and trying to keep the soldiers on the defensive. She had reach and strength on her side, but 19–1 were pretty grim odds.

She fought cut by cut, kick by kick, and even threw in a bit of wrestling that made her feel vaguely Gulliver-esque. In a minute or so, she stood surrounded by a field of broken toys and scattered blades, only a couple bruises and minor cuts worse for the wear.

“I’d really like to go home now,” Ree said, cracking her neck again as she moved to pick up Drake and resume the dragging drudgery.

She rounded the corner to the sound of distant voices. Ree slowed, trying to drag as softly as possible. As she got closer, the voices became a bit more distinct. They were higher-pitched, one in the alto register, the other a clear soprano.

But what are they saying?
Ree stopped to listen, closing her eyes and focusing on the words.

“ . . . them here. I said him, and only him,” said one voice, the alto.

“You said lead them out, I led them. I activated the charm, and then I opened the gate. I did my part. Now pay up.”

“Not until he is delivered to me.”

A gasp of exasperation. “Bringing them here was your stupid idea, and now you want me to go play fetch with an unhinged magician? Double.”

“You’ll bring him, or you get nothing, and you can find your way out of here on your own.”

Unless the labyrinth had voice-changing powers, or doppelgängers, then the alto was Lucretia. And the soprano was Wickham.

“Gorram Toaster-loving bitch,” Ree whispered, setting Drake down. The Lieutenant might be mostly a pushover, but even having an extra body in the way would make fighting Lucretia harder. And as she’d said with Drake, just throwing one person at a time at Lucretia was a recipe for failsauce.

“Drake, I really need you to wake up, okay? We need to kick Wickham’s ass. You hear that? Leftenant Arrogance needs a smackdown.”

Surprisingly, Drake’s eyes fluttered. He shifted in her grip, stretching like someone coming out of a deep sleep. She was usually the late sleeper in her relationships, but she’d been the first up a number of times, especially on Fuck Insomnia™ nights.

“What now?” he asked sleepily.

Ree responded in a whisper. “Keep it down. We’re close.”

Drake blinked open his eyes and stared at Ree, his eyes bloodshot. “Ms. Ree? Close to what?”

“Wickham and Lucretia. Wickham sold us out, from the sound of it. No sign of the boys just yet. You good for a fight?” Ree offered the rifle, as if the weapon would help him shake off the stun.

Drake took the weapon and used the stock to help him push up to his feet. A couple of wobbles later, he was upright.

“I believe so, but I may need a moment to gather my sorts.”

“Don’t wait too long. Who knows when they might leave?”

Drake took a long breath, then straightened himself. “So be it. Lead on, Ms. Ree.”

Ree crept forward, sword at the ready. She reached the corner, then arranged her goggles so that she could see the invisible Wickham.

She leaned around the corner centimeter by centimeter until she saw the edge of a black crinoline dress. Leaning back, Ree whispered, “Lucretia’s closer to us, we take her first. Keep them pinned as I go in, then fire on Wickham. If we’re lucky, Lucretia’s as beat as we are. And I think my cardio is better than hers.”

“It’s undisputable that you have a finer heart than the fate witch.”

“True, but not what I was say—” Ree shook her head. “Never mind. Thanks. Let’s go.”

Ree raised her sword, dug into the jacket for the screwdriver, and then dove around the corner.

Lucretia and Wickham were there, and the world slowed as Ree charged, sword held forward like a lance. A saner voice in her head reminded the rest of her that she should probably start carrying a sturdier bludgeoning weapon for times like this, where a supreme ass-kicking was called for, but homicide was off the table.

Gorram Chaotic Good aversion to actually killing people.
Lucretia flicked her wrist, and Ree tripped over her own feet. Expecting something dumb like this, she dove forward into a shoulder roll, recovering forward and pushing back to her feet.

Several bolts zipped over her shoulder, forcing the two women to break apart. Wickham reached for her blaster while Lucretia produced a misericord stiletto from the folds of her dress.

Twenty feet left. Ree pushed forward, a roar building in her throat and leaping out into the cool air of the labyrinth.

As she prepared to lunge at Lucretia, a stone slid out from underfoot, sending her sprawling again. She steadied herself on the ground, then threw the screwdriver to distract the fate witch.

Throwing an empty gun at Superman might do nothing, but chucking a foot of steel at Lucretia at least got the woman to duck. And while ducking, there was no cursing.

Ree advanced again and cut at the woman’s limbs, trying to push her into the back of the alcove they’d been using for their conversation, a 10 x 10 space carved into an otherwise straight hallway.

More blasts hit the opposite wall, keeping Wickham on the ropes.

Ree brought the sword around to go for a non-fatal wound, and the sword leapt out of her hands, clattering to the floor.

“So be it,” Ree said, diving forward in a Bull’s Rush. She may not have the applicable feats, but she trusted her hundreds of hours of knife defenses. And out of anyone in the Pearson Underground, she was stronger than Lucretia.

The two of them slammed into the wall. Ree grabbed Lucretia’s hand, holding the misericord away from either of them. The thing was like a baby rapier, and would quite handily pierce deep into any organ, anywhere, were it allowed. It wasn’t.

Lucretia fought back with surprising ferocity.

“Graceless harpy! You will pay too! That ring was my last chance, you idiot! Do you know what you’ve wrought?”

What?
Ree asked. She’d been expecting villain banter, but not You-fools-you’ve-doomed-us-all! rhetoric.

It had to be a trick. A weird one, but whatever.
I don’t have time for this shit.

“I have no fucking clue,” Ree said as the women wrestled, toppling to the ground, “what you’re talking about. And I don’t care.” Ree maneuvered her way to the side, and then atop Lucretia, years of Hapkido letting her flow from the mount to side-control, to her own mount, straddling the woman with her legs and witch woman’s core with her hips. She didn’t have as much body weight, which meant she’d had to learn exactly where to put herself to make it count. And at least this time, she had Drake’s coat helping out.

It helped again as Lucretia muttered something in Japanese. Ree’s grip on the woman’s wrist slipped. She slammed her hand forward, jamming the misericord through the jacket. The coat took a lot of the hit, more than she was expecting. It was magicked too, like the shambles of the buff coat below it. Even with two armored layers, the blade still punched straight through her left shoulder. The one where she’d been shot just a month before.

“CocknuggetmuncherOW!” Ree screamed, pain dropping her on her back.

Ree heard boots on stone as she struggled to keep Lucretia from stabbing again. Both hands pushed back on Lucretia’s arm. Ree threw a kick, trying to hit groin, hip, thigh, anything. She needed space and time to get her equilibrium and let skill come back into play.

“Little help, please?” Ree croaked, lashing out with kick after kick. Now-bare shins hit steel-boned corsetry and Ree wasn’t sure who was taking more damage.
Don’t care, keep going.

Ree took a kick to the side from an impossible angle. Had to be Wickham.

And a split second later came the
whack!
of wood against bone.

Lucretia’s focus flitted away, and Ree seized the opportunity, turning the woman’s wrist inward and stripping the dagger from her grip, her shoulder screaming pained epithets all the while.

And for my next trick . . .
Ree wrapped her arms around Lucretia’s just above the elbow, forcing the woman’s arms into hyper-extension.

“Got you!” Ree said, and slammed the pair into the ground, side by side. No hand gestures, no magic. Ree flexed the hold, and Lucretia screamed. It sounded like a good idea, so Ree joined her.

Shooting pain forced Ree to release the hold. Instead, she gave the fate witch one more cross to the face, then disentangled herself, her vision wavering.

“Medic?” Ree asked, feeling four kinds of not okay. Nausea, blood loss, exhaustion, blunt force trauma, her problems piled up like a Jay Z song.

Got 99 problems and a witch is one.

Hands wrapped around her, and she leaned into Drake, then moved the pair to the wall. She leaned against the cool stone and looked at the scene.

Lucretia was out. Wickham was disarmed, her arms tied in front of her. Drake had the beginnings of what would be an epic shiner but didn’t seem to have collected any other new injuries.

“You know how to get out of here?” Ree asked in Wickham’s direction. The world still wavered, unconsciousness go-go dancing at the edges of her vision.

Not yet, girlie. Gotta get the hell out, first.

“No. You managed to KO the only person here who can get us out.”

“If she made this whole place, shouldn’t it have gone poof when she dropped off?” Ree asked.

Wickham rolled her eyes. “You think Lucretia could make all of this? What she made was a portal, linking the sewer to a particular isolation pocket of the Spirit realm, but only she can take us back. That is, unless you’re actually not entirely useless and can do it yourself.”