Page 4 of Coldwire
He avoids the first bullet, already moving out of its path before I pull the trigger. Despite everything I know, despite the hours we’ve spent on base watching surveillance footage of Nik Grant to prepare for apprehending him, I’m still taken back by how fast he is when he rams into me.
I avoid falling on a wholly instinctive lurch, regaining my balance right as he swings a fist. Instead of blocking him and risking my momentum, I veer away, then try to recover my stance and straighten my shooting arm, but Nik predicts where I turn. He grabs my elbow, twists, and suddenly I’m pressed chest-first to the wall, my firearm pointing skyward behind my back. My suit whines in the protest of danger.
“Tell me, soldier,” Nik Grant says into my ear. “Why were you posted in Kunlun last year?”
When the billboards go black outside, the darkness in the hallway turns whole and blanketing. There’s no boom, but the abrupt, accompanyingsilence indicates another detonation has gone off. An electromagnetic bomb somewhere in the building, cutting out the voices that had been piping through my comm link. My team can’t hear me. I’m on my own.
“What are you talking about?” I demand.
“It’s a very simple question,” Nik says. “Just tell me why you were posted there. Tell me what you did.”
I raise my foot behind me and kick, striking his knee. Though I hoped that would be enough for me to tug free, Nik doesn’t let go. He pushes my arm up, hard in the wrong direction with my shoulder. In that flash of screaming pain, I drop the weapon.
“I”—Nik kicks the gun with a huff, sending it skittering along the floorboards—“read your files. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
I slam my head backward. Nik grunts, his grip releasing, and I immediately swivel, searching for where my firearm has gone.
I get the feeling he’s allowing me to shift to the offensive now that he’s disarmed me. The hallway flares with abrupt green, lit by the advertisement that returns to life on the billboard directly outside. My earpiece offers a bit of static, too, then:
“Eirale?Eirale, come in—”
“I already said fifth floor,” I hiss into it. “Fifth floor, hurryup—”
Nik Grant is going to run for the windows.
I gauge it in the turn of his left shoe, in the flicker of his eyes under the awful green light and his attention latching on to the glass. The moment he starts forward, I lunge to stop him, colliding with him to send us both toppling to the floor.
“They will discard you, soldier.”
I slam my forearm over his clavicle. He stops struggling. Both his arms stay splayed on either side, locked where I can see them.
“Don’t move,” I seethe.
“They will use you, then discard you. If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll post you upcountry first. You won’t even feel it when you’re squeezed out.”
“Good,” I snap. “Maybe then I won’t have to watch your stupid tapes over and over again.”
Nik blinks. “Ouch.”
My earpiece keeps spitting overlapping voices at me. I finally use my free hand to grip the mic in my suit collar, shouting, “Isaid, fifth floor!” but seconds pass and Teryn continues asking for a location. I’m still blocked out.
I shift the smallest amount. Nik says, “Trouble getting through?”
His shoulder twitches beneath my arm. It’s only then that I notice he’s wearing an earpiece himself.
“Change of plans,” he says. He’s not talking to me. “I have something interesting here.”
“Excuse me?”
I catch the sleight of hand too late. A dark patch of something appears in Nik’s palm. By the time I’m attempting to move, to put distance between us, he’s already slapped it onto my neck.
I’m not unconscious for long.
Two minutes. Maybe three. I scramble upright, lurching into a sitting position.
I haven’t moved. I’m still on the fifth floor, the billboards continue to emit green into the hallway, and the window is wide open, the moth-bitten curtain fluttering with the wind.
Shit.
