xXx
Logan sprang up the chute, pushing against the frictionless surface with every ounce of skill he possessed. He managed to get his fingers in the door as it was closing; it coughed, and slid open. He darted through and it closed smoothly. Logan spun around behind a cart; not much of a hiding place. The man in a one-piece coverall returned through the open door at that moment, and inspected the chute. He pushed the button to open it again, looking down the chute with a puzzled expression, then he let it close. He pushed the intercom button by the shutter.
"No blockage. Must have been a hiccup. Nobody here, in any case. I'm heading back to the kitchen, okay?"
"Check, Eckson. Go ahead." The man let up the intercom button and jogged down the stairs.
Logan felt his hand plump out with blood then smooth as his fingers repaired the crushing damage of the doors. He evaded the room's single camera and found himself on the iron walkway over the main warehouse.
The catwalk worked its way around the entire inside, and above it were rafters. On the floor below was the motor pool, including the helipad that could roll out the back over the water and then retract, as well as a few offices. He saw the entry to the lower levels; a staircase and an elevator. What he was looking for was the main office control room, and he saw it across from his current position.
The rafters tempted him, but he knew better than to think they were undefended. Probably had an electric current running through them that was programmed to triple its output if its current was disrupted.
Logan poked his head over the side of the walkway and saw the electric eyes built underneath with a five foot range. So he'd be detected if he tried to travel under the walk. He pulled back to the shadow and thought for a minute. This wasn't the toughest security he'd ever beat, but he had never had to be completely undetected and without assistance before either. Sure, one or the other, but not both.
His forearms itched; his claws were subtly shifting in his flesh, making small cuts. His incredible healing smoothed away the blood pockets as fast as they formed, but Logan was sweating. He squinted at the command tower, his sniffer working overtime.
Through one of the small windows, he saw Lisa bend over a monitor, her face serious. He remembered why he was here. The rest of it went away, and he dropped silently to the floor twenty feet below.
xXx
Peter felt as though he was surrounded by tendrils of senses as he cautiously edged forward. He probed every shadow, every nook before he advanced. He had no sense of time, only of intense scrutiny. He did not want to catch another concrete block.
Movement—
Peter lowered his center of gravity and lashed out with his webs, catching the engine block just after Creed hurled it. Springing to the side, Peter latched onto the earth with his feet, exerting his full adhesive talent. The tethered engine block roared through the air just a foot away from Peter's chest. Peter leaned back, hauling on the line with all his strength.
He was strong. He was really strong. And he had never before pushed to find the limits of that strength. Now for it—
The block hit the end of its trajectory, still tethered; it swung around. Peter's arms snapped into sharp relief with the strain, but he held, and so did the web. The block slashed around in an arc, and Peter let it go along the way it had come. Creed ducked, startled; the block caromed off of the metal wall of a dump truck, crashing and clattering away.
Creed stood to his impressively towering height. "Nice move. So Logan aint comin."
"He got a better offer to be on the cover of Feral Quarterly; leopard skin thong and the whole nine yards."
Creed looked up and sniffed. "Guess I better get on with killin you so I can get back to work. Nice trick. I figured you'd have some backup."
"Hey, I am the cavalry," Peter said boldly.
"Giddyap," Creed growled. He flashed a savage grin, then leaped.
Peter was ready this time. He snapped a wad of web out, and his aim was excellent. The wad smacked into Creed's face, over his nose and eyes. Peter slid to the side, spun out another filament that slapped into Creed's wrist. Before the behemoth hit the ground, Peter sprang over his back and pulled on the filament with all his might. Creed was yanked around so he smashed to the ground on his shoulderblades. Peter was beyond stopping now. His wrist spat out the strongest web he could make, plastering across Creed's ankle and pinning his leg to the ground.
Creed roared, and flexed his mighty muscles. The web ripped. Creed did a kip up that thudded onto the ground. He snarled as he tore a handful of web off his face. His eyes were glacial, cruel. He wasn't warmed up yet.
Peter was moving. Filaments hissed from his forearms as he sprang to the side, then around, surrounding Creed in sticky strands without hitting him directly. Creed picked up a fender and stood, slitted eyes estimating Peter's movements. Quick as a flash, he drew back his arm to throw.
A sticky blob of web slapped across the fender and the heel of his hand, but there was no time to correct; he stumbled forward as the force of the throw did not get free. Peter sprang through the web and landed on the fender, the entire force of his leap and his inhuman strength coiled in his arm.
He let his fist fly; his punch landed square on Creed's broad forehead. Peter felt the bones in his hand buckle, bending like rubber under the force of a blow that would shatter a normal man's hand. Unnatural force snapped loose into Creed's head; the monster staggered back, startled, as Peter bounded off the fender and landed behind him on the other side of a filament. Creed was stunned; astonished by the force the small man could command. As his cracked skull and spine knitted, he slowly turned; the world was still rocking a bit.
Web slapped into his ankle, and he felt himself tugged off balance. He leaped before he fell, the force of the hop carrying him through two filaments. Then Peter was on the other side of him, and he felt web slop across his face again. He growled, deep in his chest. This time he didn't bother to scrape it off. Webbing snagged around his clenched fist, keeping his hand shut. Peter leaped and rolled and bounced all around the web he was weaving around Creed.
Creed's growl deepened and broadened, and he shoved his way through the filaments. Peter was ahead of him, spraying web across his path. Now Creed was draped in the sticky fabrics. Even where he had torn free, the sticky sheets and ropes fluttered along after him. It was slowing him down.
Then Peter stood still, in the middle, waiting. Creed stood to his full height and glared at him.
Peter was trembling. Creed could smell his fear. But Peter was not backing down. Creed narrowed his eyes and smiled. Good. Very good.
Then Peter leaped forward. He came in high, twisting around Creed's strike in midair. He landed with all four limbs on Creed's chest, packing a startling wallop. He was clear, and he circled around and came in low, lashing out with his heel, crushing into the tender flesh behind Creed's knee. Creed let out a shout, but Peter was airborne, slashing both palms into Creed's ears; eardrums ruptured with the pressure change.
Creed spun with a slash, but Peter was already gone. He was breathing fast, but the fear was galvanized into pure fuel for his speed now. He popped up in the air and drove a knuckle deep into Creed's solar plexus; air left the giant in a whoosh. Peter used his downward momentum to drive his fist into the muscles above Creed's knee; Creed's leg went numb.
Peter's senses screamed in overdrive. He felt the pulse of the vein in Creed's thigh, and he buried his thumb in it. Then he rolled back, seeing the disruption of blood in the giant's body from the abuse it was taking. He was doing it! He was taking on Creed!
Peter went airborne again; there is no gravity, he thought. There is no pain. There is only me, and lightning for blood, and this is living.
He landed with a scything kick that caught Creed in the Achilles tendon, followed by an uppercut that rocked him back upright. A blow to the tricep; the throat; the sternum; the bridge of the nose; the left eye; right canine; left temple; then Peter was sailing back through the air away from Creed before the clumsy swing fought back.
He lashed in again, forearms screaming with the abuse; more web, more web! He snagged Creed's heel, already deep in webbing, and yanked as he jump-kicked him in the opposite shoulder. Creed crashed down. Peter folded his legs and dropped, his knees sinking into Creed's abdomen; he used the rebound to land on his feet and snap another line of web, and another, gluing Creed's claws into bluntness.
Creed struggled to his knees, breathing heavily, blood pouring from his face. Peter froze twenty feet away, poised to renew the assault, blood racing with unbearable speed. He had done it. Fought Creed to a standstill. Take that, Logan.
Creed watched him out of his good eye. "Not bad, kid," he said. "I felt that last one." He patted his abdomen with his sticky mittened hand.
"Only too glad to be of service," Peter said.
"Let's get started," Creed growled, rising to his feet.
Peter's heart stopped for a moment. No. He crouched. He had knocked Creed down once. Time for an encore. He darted in.
So fast.
He snapped a good hit across Creed's jutting elbow, ducked, and came up with a solid gut punch. Creed grunted. Peter spun around him and landed on the other side, web zipping out—
But Creed was already swinging, as though he had anticipated Peter's move; his vast fist in its sticky padding thudded into Peter's torso.
Peter was airborne, then he smashed into a pile of crushed cars. They groaned and tilted; Peter sprang free before they tumbled down. But Creed was there again. A flattened car was a difficult thing to dodge, and Creed swung it like a pro. Peter zipped through the air again, silent artillery exploding before his eyes. His body spun itself and snapped onto the pile of crushed cars instinctively, and pushed him clear before Creed's club became a missile. The whole stack came tearing down, and Peter stumbled as Creed bounded in.
Creed swung; Peter mashed a punch into Creed's wrist, deadening his arm. Creed snatched at him, but Peter ducked and kicked at his feet. The huge man swung around without falling, and Peter was sailing back through the air. Peter clung to the side of the wrecking crane, breathing heavily as he could, watching Creed.
The feral giant's eyes did not leave Peter as he sank his fangs into the sticky webbing around his claws. He pulled it loose, and flexed his hand. He spat the web out, leaving a trailing fu man chu that shifted with the wind, hanging from his face. As he flexed his hand, bones popped inside.
A moment too late Peter realized he was being predictable as he snapped webbing out at those fearsome claws. Creed was moving, spinning, catching the web on his ribs as he whirled. Peter was yanked off balance, surprised, and the coiling web sent him flying at Creed.
Creed jabbed. Peter's world popped. He was sailing back with the force of the monster's blow. But he didn't get far. Creed snatched at his leg.
Creed got a grip.
xXx
The door swung shut behind the soldier. "Two coffees, black," the soldier said. Lisa absently took hers, and Bryant reached for his. He took a sip and made a face. "Coffee tastes like crap," he muttered. "Six million dollar facility and the coffee tastes like crap."
"Sorry, sir," the soldier said. Then there was a meaty metallic thud, and he flew through the air to crash against the wall and slide insensibly to the floor.
The other two soldiers in the room spun, but one saw only a blur of motion before his rifle was jerked from his hands. Logan spun, turning his back on the soldier, and flung the rifle at the other. As his target snapped the safety off and brought up his gun, the flying rifle caught him square in the teeth. He slammed back against the wall and toppled to the floor. Logan's elbow snapped back and caught the disarmed soldier in the chest. Something cracked, and Logan's victim flew back, clawing at the air and gurgling. Logan crouched before Lisa and Bryant, claws still sheathed, no less menacing for that.
Bryant raised an eyebrow. "The garbage chute?" he asked cordially.
Logan stood to his full height. "I'll get to you in a minute. Don't be in a rush to get my attention." He looked at Lisa. "You got somethin to tell me?"
"Logan," she said, sounding a bit lost. "How? I mean, this place…"
"Less about me," he growled. "More about you. Tell me what's going on. Now."
"Yes, tell him," Bryant said. He sipped his coffee and made a face.
"Logan," she began, "I was schooling in Boston. Then one weekend I got sick. Real sick."
He said nothing. She went on.
"I went to the emergency room, and they did some blood tests. I don't know what kind of red flag it popped up with the government, but they sent the FBI to talk to me. Turns out I have a rare disease called Tymaz Nine."
Logan's face darkened into a scowl. "That aint no disease, darlin. Tymaz Nine is a biological weapon."
"I know," she nodded. "The FBI referred me to the specialists at the Project. They ran…tests," she said, hesitating. "Logan, they think they can save me. Tymaz Nine has been activated in my bloodstream. I'll be strangled by my blood until, a day or two from now, I'll finally keel over and drown in my own body."
"I know about Tymaz Nine," he said. "But you can't have it. Only the KGB uses it, and only for internal controls in the former Soviet Republic."
"Oh, she has it alright," Bryant said. "You may not have enjoyed your work with the Project, but you know we don't miss a trick when it comes to biological weapons and controls."
Logan didn't look at him. "One more word and you'll be squealing while your guts spill over your shoes. I said shut up, Bryant. No more warnings."
Bryant turned a little green and took a quick sip of coffee.
"They said that you have… regeneration," Lisa said, "a kind of physiology that can reject poisons and shrug off biological controls. They thought that you might have the secret to finding the cure." She abruptly stopped talking, staring at Logan.
He looked straight into her eyes, his face pale. "You came here ta lure me into their trap to squeeze the blood out of me ta find a cure." His voice was oddly final.
"I raised you, darlin," he said, a deep pain in his soft voice. "You didn't even ask me."
She drew in a breath and threw her head back, looking down at him. "They told me about you, Logan. They told me they found you in the snow, no more than an animal. They told me that everything I knew about you was a lie, something they put over your true nature so you would be more controllable. They told me—"
"Enough," Logan said. "That's enough. You listened to them after a weekend in the emergency room, and forgot everythin you learned growin up under my roof, everythin you saw with your own two eyes." He nodded. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just an animal. Maybe I'm no better than a lab experiment. But, darlin," he said, "now you'll never know. You never asked me. So now…" he shrugged. "Now you'll never know how much I love you."
"You still haven't agreed," Bryant pointed out.
Logan looked at him. "You think I waltzed in here plannin to waltz back out? This was a one-way ticket to begin with, Bryant. All I wanted," he said, slowly turning his eyes back to Lisa, "was an answer. I guess I have it."
She said nothing.
"Take me," Logan said. "Do what you need to do," he added in a low voice. "If I have the cure, I want her to have it. Then let me go."
"Sure," Bryant said. "Then let you go."
They made eye contact, and understood each other quite well.
Then the soldiers came. Logan went quietly.
Bryant watched through the window until Logan was out of sight. "You can come out now," he said. The concealed door in the wall slid open, and Lisa stepped out, trembling. She looked at herself. "Incredible," she said.
"Indeed," the other Lisa agreed, slumping into a chair and rubbing at her leg. "You are very pretty, you know that?"
"Th-thank you," Lisa said. The Lisa in the chair sighed, and her features blurred and shifted; her skin's smell shifted. She was a blonde meter maid. She rubbed her leg more gently, wincing.
"How's the wound?" Bryant said.
"Hurts like a bitch," she muttered.
"I think you gave as good as you got," Bryant smiled. "Did you see the look on his face?"
"And you thought he was here to kill everyone," the blonde said as her eyes flared. "I told you. Irresistible bait in an inescapable trap. Next time listen to me in the first place."
"You forget yourself," Bryant said absently.
Her
eyes narrowed. "I never forget myself," she said. "Now you
remember that I am not a soldier or an intelligence officer. I'm a
spy. The best you have. I am a secret agent, not a lackey. Forget
that at your own risk, Bryant."
He turned and looked down at
her wordlessly for a moment. Then he looked back out the window. "I
have not forgotten anything. See to it that you stay as sharp.
There's no hole in my leg, after all. If it were not for
your indiscretion at the hospital, we could have avoided this whole
encounter."
"And you'd be chasing Logan and losing troops until next Christmas," she shot back.
He turned to Lisa. "You are dismissed," he said. She looked from one to the other, then rapidly left the room. Bryant turned back to the woman on the chair.
"Listen to me very carefully," he said, his voice low. "You stand against me and I'll make an example of you. You don't know what you risk."
Her eyes narrowed. "Like you made an example of Creed? You got promoted because you got too sloppy in the field, Bryant. Don't get in the way of the professionals or you just get people shot."
"Is that a threat?" he asked, his voice menacing.
"That depends," she replied, her eyes narrow, slitted, catlike, golden.
"You are on suspension," he said slowly. "You will be inducted into the next intelligence training course at the Camp, off duty for six months."
"You son of a bitch," she said softly. "You know not what you do."
"Any more insubordination out of you," he said, "and you'll find yourself back where you started. This audience is over." He turned his back and walked out of the room. She sat and stared at the window, not seeing it, turning things over in her mind. She briefly wondered where Creed was hiding.
