Trouble Bruin (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

The ground fell away beneath her, scrolling out beneath her wings like the map Dr. Atkins had unrolled on his desk the day before. She shuddered at the thought of him pursuing him. She knew that despite his expensive clothes and likeable manner he was brutal, bloodthirsty, and would stop at nothing to crush anything he saw as a threat to his powerbase.

And that now included her. She’d probably just signed her own death warrant.

But if she’d done nothing, she’d have been complicit in dozens or hundreds or thousands of death warrants. Dr. Atkins was willing to toss them around like confetti in pursuit of the almighty dollar.

She focused on Art. She thought of his dark eyes, affable one moment, stormy and intense the next. She thought of the smooth golden tan of his shoulders and back and the way his muscles moved under his skin. She thought of the way desire had slammed through her body when he’d kissed her, hard, by a bonfire of Starweed. She thought of the way he’d shuddered and growled as he’d released himself inside her, their hearts thundering together and their skin sheened with sweat.

“Don’t die, Art. Please don’t die.”

The town of Darwin grew from a smudge on the horizon to a sprawling collection of toy houses. As Charlie flew over, she began to release her cloud of weed killer laced with serum.

The town was clearly divided into two halves – she knew one half was run by the bears and the other by the big cats, although these days there was some cooperation. Areas of the town had been fixed up – there were even a couple of open spaces where children could play. She was flying low enough to hear their shouts and laughter. Some of them stared up at the plane and waved excitedly. Their parents, warier through long experience, hurried them under cover.

Between the two halves was No Man’s Land, an area of unclaimed territory that was used as a garbage dump by some of the people of Darwin…and as a place to sleep for others. Titch had been living there, raiding the food warehouses at the edges of the town to survive, before a bounty had been placed on her and Art had been sent out into the Badlands after her. It had been an oddly lucky break for the kid.

It was no place for a child to live, but the community leaders were trying to make things better. Charlie could see people in tattered clothes queuing for soup kitchens, and even ambulances of a kind. The vehicles were mismatched, battered, and sloppily painted white with red crosses on the sides and roofs. They weren’t pretty, but it looked like they were providing emergency medicine for people without a pack, pride or tribe.

People looked up as Charlie flew over, confused by the cloud of tiny, cool droplets misting down from the sky.

“It’s okay,” she said, even though they couldn’t hear her. “I’m here to help you. I hope.”

Charlie flew on, circling around Darwin and working her way out in a spiral over the Badlands. She was hoping that the bears with the mutation – the ones who’d need the serum if they were going to survive – would be close to the remaining crops of Starweed.

She glanced at her control panel, then did a double-take and looked at her fuel gauge again. She leaned forward and tapped the glass with her finger, hoping that perhaps the needle was stuck, but there was no mistake. Her fuel supply was going down much faster than it should. What the hell?

With the added weight of the herbicide, the margins for the amount of fuel she’d need were tight, but there should have been enough. The little canister of serum hadn’t been heavy enough to make much of a difference. And Dynamic Earth didn’t employ idiots. She doubted the engineers had got their calculations wrong. So what was happening?

She panicked, running her own calculations in her head. How far away was Art? How long would it take her to get there? Did she have enough fuel to make it?

An image flashed into her head - Art crawling painfully towards the cave; Titch urging him on. He’d been so weak. Dying.

She shook the thought away. If anyone could keep him alive out of sheer bloody-minded stubbornness, it would be Titch. She’d dog-paddle across the Styx to drag him back if she had to.

“Don’t let him die, Titch,” Charlie murmured.

She almost hit the roof when Titch replied, “It’s up to you to save him now.”

She looked around, bewildered, to see Titch climbing out of a baggage compartment.

After a couple of minutes of confused shouting, Charlie said, “I’m really sorry about my language.” Some of it had been pretty filthy. “But what are you doing here? And how did you get here? And why aren’t you looking after Art? He needs to be kept cool…given water…watched while he sleeps…”

Titch calmly strapped herself into the co-pilot’s seat. “You told me it wasn’t my fault if I couldn’t save him, remember? And you were right. Because none of that would have made a difference. Not really. That’s why I stowed away. He needs that potion stuff, and you’d never have got it if I’d stayed behind.”

“Oh yeah? How do you figure? Look, Titch, I know you just wanted to help, but—”

“Who do you think caused a distraction and got Dr. Atkins out of his office so you could get the stuff? It was the only time you weren’t being guarded.”

Charlie gaped at her. “Titch…what did you do?”

Titch flapped her hand. “Don’t worry. I didn’t unplug anything important. That Rhys guy is fine. What happened to him, anyway?”

“According to Dr. Atkins, he was attacked by a drug-crazed bear shifter.”

Titch snorted. “I don’t
think
so,” she said. “If he was attacked by someone as strong as Art, but, you know…nutso, he’d be a crater in the ground.”

“Right,” agreed Charlie. “How did you know I’d go for the serum when you created a distraction?”

Titch gave her a withering look. “Because you’re not a complete idiot, duh. Besides, that’s how it’s supposed to go. You’re the dashing aviatrix and I’m the plucky sidekick, and we’re going to take down the evil corporation, rescue the damsel in distress – that’s Art – and live happily ever after.”

“I’m not sure Art would like being called a damsel in distress. And…” She trailed off, but there was no easy way to say it. “Titch, I don’t know if we can save him. You being on board makes the plane heavier. It throws off the fuel calculations. I don’t know if we have enough to get to Art. If we can…it’s going to be a really rough landing.”

“Oh.” Titch’s voice was small. But she rallied quickly. “Good job you’ve had practice, then.”

Charlie locked eyes with her, nodded, and took the controls in a death grip.

As they neared the cave where they’d left Art, the plane began to cough and judder. It was eerily familiar to Charlie. “Hold on tight,” she said to Titch. “This won’t be a lot of fun.” There was a stomach-snatching jolt as the engines choked on the last of the fuel and stalled.

The girl was so pale she looked almost green, and her knuckles were white where her fingers clutched the edge of her seat. Her eyes were huge and terrified in her sharp little face. She managed a tiny nod.

And then they were gliding. Their descent was smooth, and they both breathed a sigh of relief when they passed over the yawning mouth of the cave, the poison, laced with serum, sifting down in their wake. But the sound of the plane didn’t bring Art stumbling out of the cave.

They skimmed over the blackened remains of their campfire. The ground whipped past beneath them now, and Charlie shouted, “Brace yourself, Titch!”

Obediently, the girl folded herself up with her hands laced together over the back of her head. It was probably the first time she’d ever done as she was told without arguing. Charlie only hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

Her teeth rattled in her head as the landing gear touched the ground. Titch yelled in a combination of fear and exhilaration, her voice coming out wobbly and garbled as they were jostled up and down. And they coasted to a bumpy, uncomfortable stop with the needle on the fuel gauge resting below the zero mark.

Titch unfolded herself slowly. “Are we alive?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Charlie said. “Because once we’ve found Art, I’m going to kill you for stowing away.”

They unbuckled their seat belts and climbed out of the Cessna, unsteady on their feet but basically unharmed…and walked right into the middle of a group of large, serious-looking men with large, serious-looking weapons.

“Well, crap,” said Titch. “I think you’ll have to get to the back of the line.”

Chapter Eighteen

The Dynamic Earth soldiers closed in around them. Gary was one of the half-dozen, and the look he gave Charlie was one of puzzled hurt. She felt bad about that, but not as bad as she might have – after all, he was part of a group of goons that were going to drag them back to Dynamic Earth and do horrible things to them. She didn’t particularly want to get started imagining what the horrible things would be.

She wondered whether she’d ever even find out whether her plan to add the serum to the Cessna’s tanks had saved the Starweed-dependent bears in the Badlands. Whether Art had survived. She probably wouldn’t.

“I won’t fight you,” she said.

One of the soldiers laughed, and she suppressed a flare of temper.

“I mean I’ll come with you without a fuss. Just let Titch go, okay? She’s just a pain-in-the-ass kid. She just trails around after me because she has nowhere else to go.”

It stung to say it, but the only way Titch would agree to be parted from her would be if she thought Charlie was rejecting her, just like her mother had. She reached for the most hurtful thing she could say. “I don’t want her – nobody does.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, and for a moment she thought it was going to work. Maybe Titch could find Art and they could keep each other safe. They’d be a weird little family, but sometimes weird worked.

Then Titch snorted with disgust and said, “Don’t listen to her. It’s her not-very-cunning plan to save me. I stay with her. She needs me.”

One of the soldiers – a guy with prison tattoos across his knuckles and climbing the sides of his thick neck – glanced over Charlie’s shoulder. She turned and saw Dr. Atkins standing at a distance, his hair ruffled by the slowly turning blades of a helicopter standing ready for takeoff. He looked her dead in the eye, then drew his hand slowly across his throat. There was no mistaking his meaning.

The soldier nodded. Rattlesnake-fast, he reached out and grabbed Charlie’s arm. “Let’s make this easy on all of us,” he growled. “There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”

“Oh yes there is,” Titch said furiously. “Get your hands off her!” And she went off like a kid-shaped grenade, kicking and spitting and biting.

Neck Tattoos backhanded her, and she crumpled to the ground.

Charlie turned on him, striking out viciously. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, you coward?”

All the air was driven from her body as the soldier slammed a massive fist into her stomach. She collapsed, clutching her midsection. The air seemed to be locked in her lungs and she felt as if her heart had stopped at the heavy impact. She couldn’t make any noise except a thin, airless wheezing.

“Yes,” said a voice. “Why
don’t
you pick on someone your own size? Or do you enjoy hitting girls?”

She looked up through blurry tears and saw a warped, watery vision of Gary hitting Neck Tattoos with a neat, professional uppercut followed by an inelegant but effective knee to the balls. The other soldiers closed in around him. Gary was a big guy, but it was five to one – he didn’t stand a chance. She’d been right, he
was
one of the good guys.
Damn
.

Charlie struggled to her feet and joined the fight. Between them they managed to knock one of the Dynamic Earth men to the ground, where he lay dazed and semi-conscious. Another was holding Titch by the wrists. His fingers left wicked red marks on her skin. She was struggling with all her strength and letting loose a string of profane threats that would have curdled milk. Her eye was swelling closed, the skin beneath it puffing up into sickly shades of red and purple.

Two of the remaining soldiers forced Gary to his knees. One of them wrenched his arm up behind his back, twisting it viciously. Charlie thought she could hear the bone creaking under the pressure. She didn’t dare move in case the guy broke it.

Neck Tattoos walked over slowly, heavy boots hitting the ground in a dull rhythm. “What should we do with him, Sarge?” asked one of the soldiers holding Gary.

Neck Tattoos spat on the ground. “Finish him,” he said. “I’ve got no time for guys who pussy out on the job.”

And as he turned away, the soldier who’d asked the question put his hands on either side of Gary’s head and twisted, hard and fast. There was a sharp, horrible crack followed by a hopeless wail.

It was a few moments before Charlie realized the wail was coming from her. They’d killed him just like that, without a second thought. One of their own.

Titch was sobbing and kicking the guy holding her viciously in the shins. He threw her to the ground with brutal force and she crawled, whimpering, to Charlie, and buried her face against her breast. Charlie wrapped her arms around her and rocked her. “It’s okay, Titch. It’s going to be okay.”

It wasn’t, though.

They might be taken back to Dynamic Earth. They might just be killed here and dumped in a shallow grave. But they were going to die.

Then there was a spine-chilling, terrifying roar…except it wasn’t terrifying to Charlie. It was the most wonderful thing she’d ever heard. Titch stopped sobbing and looked up, eyes circular. “It’s Art! We saved him!”

He was striding towards them, eyes intense, face set in a mask of rage. As he came, he tore away his shirt, the scraps of fabric fluttering away behind him. His gaze was locked on Charlie and Titch, never wavering. He looked like a huge, furious avenging angel, magnificent and unstoppable.

When he reached the group of soldiers, who were rooted to the spot by fear and surprise, he threw a punch that flattened Neck Tattoos. As another soldier charged him from the side, he whirled and caught him by the waist, hurling him to the ground.

The soldiers snarled and began to shift, their faces twisting into slavering snouts and fur rippling over their skin as they went wolf. Neck Tattoos, bigger than his buddies in this form as well, threw back his head and gave a full-throated howl of challenge.

Art snarled contemptuously. He’d walked through a hail of bullets. He wasn’t going to let a trio of mangy wolves keep him from Charlie and Titch.

He shifted, muscles rippling as he let his bear flow through him, reshaping his body and filling him with strength and righteous anger. He swiped one massive paw, and Neck Tattoos went flying through the air, red-black blood from his torn throat splattering the ground in a dark, grisly arc.

Charlie pulled Titch’s face against her.

“Hey,” the girl said indignantly, wriggling in Charlie’s arms. “I want to watch. Art’s going to make them into
jam
.”

“Hush, you bloodthirsty little beast,” Charlie said as there was a howl and a thump, absently stroking Titch’s mousey hair. She felt weak with relief and love.

As Charlie and Titch sat together on the ground, a whirlwind of dust kicked up around them, stinging Charlie’s eyes. The helicopter was lifting off. Dr. Atkins had decided to save his own skin. No doubt even now his massive PR machine would be grinding into unstoppable, unspeakable motion.

But Charlie knew the truth, and Art was alive. For now, it was enough.