Prodigal (Maelstrom Chronicles) (26 page)

“I know some of what happened,” he told her quietly—very quietly. “I can’t say in front of the others.”

She stood on the other side of the barred door. He longed to take her hand, enjoy the warmth of her skin in his cold cell, but her expression was impassive. Not a glint of pity or interest sparked in her dark eyes. “Did you do it?”

He couldn’t tell if she was serious. “No.”

“Then I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait.” As far as he could tell, everyone was busy tossing the prisoners’ cells and threatening manual cavity searches. “How bad is it out there today?”

She lifted one shoulder. “The scientists are positive the convergence is imminent. So is Ship. We relocated everyone who can’t fight, except the scientists. They claim they’ll get in their shuttle and leave when it starts. The U.S. government and the Global Union sent representatives to record it for the news channels, as well as some additional troops. The whole country is hopping.”

“There’s no question the convergence will happen?” He gripped the bars harder. He wouldn’t be in danger from shades if they invaded, but everyone else would, and convergences included daemons. Nobody was immune to daemons.

“We find some of the shades when they puddle, but we know we’re not finding them all. That’s how they hid from us for so long—they stayed spread out. Even with the upgrades, the sensors can only be calibrated to certain levels of microsensitivity. It takes a ton of juice. Ship can’t blow its fuel reserves on this.”

“And Frannie?” he asked.

She paused before she answered, as if considering whether he had a right to ask about her daughter. When he’d snapped out of his trance in the middle of that swarm, he’d known his short life was going to change completely. The thing he hated most was losing Claire.

“She’s staying on Ship,” she finally answered.

“At least finding out what I can do explains a few things,” he said, trying to lighten her mood. “Like the mud on my boots.”

“The shit,” she corrected. “It was shit.”

“But not cat shit.” He studied her face, which had softened slightly. “How is Rainbow Sparkles?”

“Hairy. Annoying. Getting fat.” Her sensor lit up, and her eyes adopted the faraway glaze of someone listening to incoming messages. “It’s fine, Elizabeth. No, he didn’t kill the dead prisoner. Yes, the scientists checked for that. Why don’t you come down here and talk to him yourself if you and Sieders have so many questions?”

Elizabeth had gone straight to Ditmer Sieders and the Global Union the morning after Adam had been seen eating shades. Every day, the not-so-good doctor suggested his relocation to the apocalyptic equivalent of Guantanamo Bay, and every day, the scientists refused.

He’d definitely have to break out if he got sent elsewhere. Provided he still could.

“I know they think he killed Obadiah Gentry,” Claire said next. “But he didn’t. I was there. Uh-huh. Yeah, because I’d jeopardize the whole town to get laid. That sounds like me. Aren’t you and Bitty supposed to be on the last shuttle out? Get packing.”

Her implant stopped glowing, and she fingered the thin, nearly invisible wire at her temple as if she wanted to snatch it out. “I’m going to fire that woman,” she said grimly. “I do not need her brand of paranoia right now.”

“It might be time to let me out of here.”

“You’re the one who wanted to be in jail in the first place.”

“So everyone would calm down. I don’t think it’s helping.”

“We’ll finish up in a minute,” she said. “Hold tight.”

Her deputies completed the contraband search, and Claire gave orders that the prisoners were to receive no more visitors. “Not until this is over and we can ditch them. I’m thinking Argentina’s far enough away.”

“Argentina? That ain’t part of America,” Quentin protested, so Claire stunned him, too.

And after everyone else left, Claire stunned the rest of the prisoners so they couldn’t overhear her and Adam.

“So tell me.” She fiddled with the keys at her waist. Was she going to let him out? “What happened last night, and why haven’t you broken out of here yet?”

Chapter Twenty

Adam told her everything he could remember about Quentin’s visitor and about the scientists’ belief that lack of access to shades was why he was losing his strength.

“So eating shades is what powers you,” she mused. “And now you’re weak. Well, not weak, but normal. Like the rest of us.”

“Shades or the yellow sun, like Superman.” He hadn’t completely lost his strength, but when he’d surreptitiously tried to bend the bars of his cell, he’d failed. “Who knows?”

She smiled briefly. “Do they think you’d be able to fly and use heat vision if you kept eating shades?”

“No, but they do think I have…limits. Whenever I absorb the shades, my wavelength destabilizes, or something. Science babble. End result, I become more like the maelstrom. The stuff the shades are made out of. At some point, they think I might lose my ability to control myself.”

“That’s just great.” She ran a hand over her hair, the tight curls matted. It was early; the murder had probably dragged her out of bed. “I’m out of my depth here, Adam. I can kill monsters and protect my people, but you? I don’t know what to do with you. The scientists don’t know what to do with you. Nobody knows what to do with you, and I don’t want… Well, what I want doesn’t matter.”

“Put me to work,” he said. “I’ll travel the territory in a grid pattern, finding and killing shades. Give me a sensor array, some food, a tent, and track me. I’ll stay away from humans.”

“Nobody trusts you to run around loose.” She sighed. “Besides, it seems we have a mole for the warlords in Chanute. The humans in town aren’t the ones you’d need to worry about. The ones out there would find you and kill you within a day or two.”

“The guy you want is husky-voiced, kind of slow talking. Definitely an American, maybe from the South. Sound like anybody you know?”

“Yeah, about half the guys in Chanute,” she said. “You couldn’t see anything?”

“Couldn’t let them know I was awake, especially after he killed Pete. He might have killed me or the guard. I figured he’d walk by my cell to leave, but he didn’t.”

“So he has access to a laser gun and a key for the emergency door.” Claire frowned. “Tonya didn’t hear or see anything. She wouldn’t be in league with this guy, not after what the warlords did to her husband. That narrows it some.”

“I hate to support anything Quentin said, but how about a few cameras?” he suggested. “Though if that guy comes back, seeing him on camera during his next murder would be too late.”

“I’m already on that.” She didn’t mock him for worrying. As many people as wanted him dead right now, it was a valid concern. “Dammit, I should have ramped up security the minute the protests started.”

“I don’t think the protesters have anything to do with this guy,” he reassured her. Even in post-apocalyptic times, the world had its share of protestors with badly spelled signs, and the ones in Chanute wanted Adam gone or dead. “But I don’t particularly want him to give Quentin a gun. The guy would love to assassinate me.”

She glanced down the empty hallway. “They’re going to wake up soon. I gotta go. I’m cancelling your tests with the scientists today. I don’t want you out of the jail. It’s guarded at all times.”

“I should be guarding you.” When her brows drew together, he added, “And defending the city. God knows I can kill shades. It’s stupid not to use me, Claire. What if I could stop the convergence?”

“I’m not changing my mind.” She put her parka back on. “The convergence would still happen. You weren’t singlehandedly saving us, you know. That only happens in movies.”

“Unless you’re Adelita Martinez or General Nikolas EstherVorn,” he said.

“Well, you’re not one of them. You’re staying in here where it’s safe.”

“Safe? A guy in the cell next to me just got whacked.” He gripped the bars, frustrated. “What about using all the tools in your arsenal? I’m a tool.”

“Yeah, you sure are a tool,” she joked.

“Come on.” Her protectiveness of him annoyed the hell out of him, but it was part of who she was—part of why he loved her. Yelling about it wouldn’t help, so he tried logic. “Let me do my thing. It’s not safe in here with a murderer running around anyway.”

“I’ve got ideas. Leave that to me.” She gave him a long look and then walked out of the jail.

…

This time, what woke Adam from his fitful sleep wasn’t his killing urges or the sound of men’s voices. It was gunfire.

Feet pounded down the jail’s hallway. Before he thought about the fact it could be the murderer, he was out of his bed and straining at the end of his tactanium cord to reach the door.

Claire’s deputy Randall dashed past, headed for the rear of the building. A laser was in his hand.

“What’s going on?” Adam yelled. “Are we under attack?”

Could be the convergence. Could be the warlords. Randall ignored him, shouting at Quentin to get his ass up.

“It’s your get out of jail free card,” he told the prisoner. “We gotta snatch Kravitz before this place is full of dead bodies. He’s protecting the clinic.”

Randall was the warlords’ mole? How had he not recognized the guy’s voice?

Then he remembered—Randall never talked. Unless he was plotting treason.

And now that he knew Adam was awake, Adam might be about to bite it.

“Guard!” he yelled, but that was probably what the gunfire had been—Randall stunning or killing the night guard. Had it been Tonya? Would he have hurt his own partner?

Adam tugged urgently on his rope, but he couldn’t break it. He needed his strength back.

“Shut up, fuck face.” Quentin, grinning, appeared outside Adam’s cell. “I can’t decide how I want to kill you, but I’ll do it more painfully if you keep yelling. Parks is gonna make me a lieutenant when I tell him I assassinated the Chosen One.”

“We don’t have much time.” Randall wouldn’t meet Adam’s eyes. “The daemons are coming. Hurry up.”

“You gonna leave us?” Quentin’s men demanded. “Come on, Jay.” The remaining prisoners started rattling their bars and yelling.

Adam quit pulling his tether. “The convergence is here? I thought we had a few more days.”

Randall studied Adam, but he didn’t have a newly-evil glint in his eyes. He looked like the same lanky farmer he’d been before Adam had known the truth about him. “Chanute had more action near the northern border than they realized.” He had to speak up to be heard over the prisoners, begging to be released. “Claire’s people missed some pods because the warlords got to ’em first. Eh, you’ll all be dead soon enough. I’m just glad they got the kids and women out.”

“And your family,” Adam guessed.

Randall checked his watch. “You do what you gotta do, man. What we gotta do is go.”

Adam grasped the bars. “Let me out of here. I can help the city. These people are your friends. You want them dead?”

“See? He’s annoying,” Quentin said. “Thinks he’s a fucking Boy Scout when we all know he’s evil. All the more reason to let me kill him.” He raised the silver laser pistol and bared his teeth. “You’re the reason this world is dying. You had one job, and you fucked it up. Now you’ve come back to finish us off.”

“Let us out first!” the prisoners yelled. “We don’t have a chance in here.”

Before Quentin could respond by shooting Adam or his former companions, the shattering crash of the huge front windows erupted in the other end of the building.

The screech of a daemon followed.

“Shit!” Randall snatched the gun from Quentin and directed it toward the noise. “One of them must have gotten through already.”

“I’m outta here,” Quentin dashed down the hallway. When he kicked open the back door, alarms blazed through the building.

A maroon, bipedal creature as tall as Adam rounded the corner and stalked down the hallway. Unable to close its wings as tightly as the angeli could, the daemon’s bat-like membranes brushed the corridor walls. Blood—red, mammalian blood—dripped from the claws on two of its four arms.

Despite the scientists’ theories, Adam felt zero kinship with the beast.

Randall fired, smacking it in the chest with white-hot light. It screeched so loud Adam nearly covered his ears.

The other prisoners panicked. Their doors and beds banged frantically as they wrenched at them, trying to break free or create a weapon. The jail cells were too sturdy for that.

As the daemon advanced, restricted by the narrow hallway, Randall fired again. The beast stumbled back each time, but a handheld wasn’t as effective as a blaster band.

“What the hell?” Randall cursed. “Why won’t it go down?”

“They told me that you gotta keep the laser beam going until it explodes.” He’d seen it for himself at Riverbend, even if he personally hadn’t killed any daemons.

Randall backed up. “Not with this pea shooter.”

“Try a knife. That way you can feel the blood on your hands,” Adam said, then cursed. Goddamn Guy Lassiter. No wonder Claire hated that quippy asshole.

Randall ignored him and kept shooting. Between the chaos, the daemon stench, and the laser fire, Adam wasn’t sure how he noticed it, but he smelled smoke.

Great. Trails of white trickled between the rectangular ceiling tiles. The ceiling was one of the places that wasn’t that reinforced, but it was too high for anyone who wasn’t a super-powered maybe-monster to access.

Quentin yelled through the rear emergency door. “Come on! I set fire to the jail. That’ll stop it.”

“Don’t leave us,” the prisoners begged. “Dammit, Quentin!”

The slamming of the back door as Quentin and Randall fled was their only response.

The prisoners attempted to scare off the daemon by yelling violent curses, but Adam had another idea. He jumped on his bunk, gathering the slack of the tactanium cord into a coil. Hopefully the smoke wouldn’t get so thick that he passed out before he could try anything. While being on the bunk meant he could no longer see where the daemon was, he figured—

Yep. The daemon reached his door, screeched at him with it ugly, tusked maw, and ripped the bars out of the jamb.

The fucker was really strong. He didn’t know if he’d have been able to do that at the peak of his strength.

“It’s going after Alsing first,” one of the prisoners reported. “Maybe it’ll take him and leave us.”

The daemon’s yellow eyes settled on him, unblinking. It didn’t seem to have eyelids or much of a nose, though its mouth gaped, full of dangerous fangs. As it prowled toward him, its talons plinked on the tile like a giant dog. The smoke in the room wafted aside. Its black finger claws ticked together spasmodically. Its head lifted once or twice, as if sniffing.

It hissed.

The smoke overpowered the faint but unpleasant smell of the daemon. Adam tensed, gripping the tactanium cord so hard it bit into his palms. But the beast turned and left the room.

In a moment, the daemon had wrenched another set of bars out of a doorway. The prisoner inside screamed. Soon the whole jail was filled with the screeching and gnashing of the daemon. The guy gurgled into silence.

“Holy fucking God, it’s eating him,” one of the prisoners managed. “I thought daemons didn’t need to eat.”

Adam scuttled through the smoke to the doorway, trying not to cough, and picked up a section of the barred door. The hallway was hot, stench-filled. As he reached the end of his rope, flames crackled through the ceiling tiles of the opposite cell.

He couldn’t do anything for the prisoners—had no way to open their doors. He couldn’t even free himself from the tactanium leash. Or could he?

Disgusting sounds of ripping flesh emerged from the cell next to his. That could have been him, and he had no idea why it wasn’t.

Had the daemon sensed Adam was an entity, too, or had it simply preferred easier prey? He needed to change its mind if he was going to get out of here before he died of smoke inhalation.

“Hey, monster!” he shouted. “I bet I taste better.”

He flailed his cord as hard as he could against the bunk. Metal clanged. He kept yelling insults, since it had worked so well for the prisoners. The daemon poked its ugly head into the hallway.

Blood dripped off its face. Its claws grabbed the doorjamb.

He threw the section of door at it with a grunt. If he’d been up to full strength, it would have done more than bounce off the daemon’s shins.

Nevertheless, the daemon roared with annoyance and came for him.

On foot, it couldn’t move as rapidly as in the air. Adam waited for it to get close and darted into his cell, careful not to stumble on rubble.

It entered and regarded him suspiciously, so Adam hurled a piece of the doorjamb. When it advanced on him, he edged to the side, tactanium cord in his hands.

He’d have to be quick—quicker than the daemon. Tossing up a prayer to whatever God was listening, he threw himself at the monster with a shout.

The daemon, not expecting its prey to attack, dodged, but Adam wasn’t trying to tackle it. He clotheslined its thighs with the metal tether, drawing it taut between himself and the bunk. Darting behind, he wrapped the cord all the way around the beast.

It swiped at him, growling, but the cord tangled its legs. He didn’t have the strength to garrote it, but if he annoyed it enough…

With some effort, the daemon slashed at the tangle, snapping it with bloody talons, and Adam was free.

The remainder of the cord tight in his fist, he ran to the front office and found Tonya’s body. Dead. Shit. The keys were on her belt. Hands shaking, he fumbled the ring free, checked behind him, and heard another prisoner shrieking with pain and fear.

The daemon had gone after easier prey—again.

Now what? Escape or check for weapons in Claire’s office? It was his best chance, because the weapons room was on the other side of the daemon.

If there was one daemon this deep into the city, there would be more. He was going to need weapons. He tugged his shirt up over his nose and raced through the growing smoke.

The gun safe keyhole in Claire’s office was little, so Adam found the smallest key on the ring. The metal door swung open to reveal several laser handhelds, along with some Terran rifles and ammunition.

He took the handhelds—no use for Terran bullets with daemons and shades. Grabbing a spare coat off a rack, he poked his head out of the office, into the smoky hallway.