Chapter 5

From outside the elevator, April and I can hear shouts. Instinctively I jump up and grab onto the elevator ceiling with my good hand, while a split-second later April follows suit. And just in the nick of time—the bottom half of the car is ripped to shreds by laser fire from outside. The lasers just miss amputating our feet. They're so close, I can feel their heat stinging my legs.

As the elevator slowly rises, we keep hanging onto the ceiling, even after we're out of the gunmen's range. Because, honestly, there's no telling whether the laser-riddled floor will be able to handle our weight now. I let out a silent sigh of relief once we reach our floor. The doors open, and April swings herself onto the safe, structurally-sound floor outside the elevator car. Just as I'm doing the same I hear her gasp. But it's already too late.

"Drop your weapons!"

Nearly a dozen of Baxter Stockman's agents are standing a mere ten feet away, and all guns are pointed directly at us. I can taste the bitterness on my tongue. We'd gotten so close to reaching the helicopter. Damn it all to hell, I say.

"I said drop them. Now!"

After exchanging a quick glance with one another, April and I drop our guns at almost exactly the same moment.

It's odd. As I stand here, about to die, all I can think about is whether or not Baxter and his henchmen have destroyed anything in my labs. I have too many important experiments down there. The new nanotech weapon. The promising cold fusion project. Not to mention, of course, the temporal accelerator. It would be such a shame and a waste to lose the temporal accelerator.

While I'm pondering this, the lead henchman—a large man whose bald, sweaty pate gleams under the fluorescent lights—steps forward. But he barely glances at me. He only has eyes for April. "Where is it?" he barks at her.

Almost involuntarily her eyes flutter down to her bag. Just for a moment, but the damage is done. The henchman stares at the bag with hungry eyes. Then he takes a step forward, raising his gun.

April involuntarily leans back, eyes wide with fear.

Just as involuntarily, a memory of Leonardo flashes through my mind. Of Leonardo chained and frail and utterly broken.

No.

With a lightning-fast roundhouse kick, I disarm the head henchman and, on the follow-through, grab April around the waist. I throw myself to the floor, pulling her down with me, a second before a flurry of bullets rip into the elevator doors just above our heads. Quickly I dip into my bag and throw a smoke bomb. As the corridor fills with opaque smoke and coughing and erratic gunfire, I place my good hand on the back of April's head, keeping her low to the ground. Then, together, we begin crawling away.

Every move forward sends a throbbing ache through my arm, and I find myself grinding my teeth. She just had to shoot me. Her and her stupid altruism …

Though I feel a little proud about the round-house kick—if Mikey was still alive, he'd be impressed that I can still move that fast—I am rapidly realizing that it was an aberration. I'm simply not as young as I used to be. I'm not as limber, not as strong, not as fast. Reflecting upon this cheerful thought, I come to a decision. We can't keep running and hiding. We're simply too outmatched, and our supply of dumb luck is due to run out any moment now. The time has come to make a stand.

Rifling through my bag again, I search desperately for the one thing that can even up the odds. Choking, I close my eyes against the sting of the smoke. My fingers brush against glass, cool to the touch. Even though I feel like I'm about to cough up a lung, I still can't help but smile in triumph.

I take out the vial. Then the syringe. Now temporarily blind, I go by touch alone, filling the syringe to what I can only guess is the correct level. From far away I hear a voice; it sounds like April calling my name, but I'm not sure.

I jab the needle into my remaining good arm—God damn her—and empty the syringe. There's no turning back now.

"April!" My voice is hoarse and low from all the smoke. "Get ready!"

Adrenaline roars through my muscles, and the virus bubbles in my veins. As my hands begin to shake, I can't keep a grip on my gun and drop it. My gunshot wound throbs a little, then just as the throbbing starts turning truly painful, the pain fades away.

Slow. My mind is slowing down, like a waterwheel suddenly taken out of the river. Panic rises within my breast. So hard … to think … At the same time, my arm hurts less. Thank goodness. I open my eyes. I can see again. I feel blood rush through my muscles, feel muscles … get stronger. Get big—bigger. Get bigger. Very big.

No, it's too soon! Must maintain control. But my brain, so very slow. And the virus … is getting … so strong.

Smoke gone. Men scared. Drop guns, run away. I scare. I smile.

Look down. She scared too. Good. Raise paw—kill. Kill. No! No kill. Why no kill? Must kill! Scared. She scared, me scared. Why no kill? No kill, she …

Family.

No kill. Please, no scared. Pick up her. Run. Run very fast. Forget … go where? Forgetting … Safe place. Must go. Safe place, now. She scream. Still scared. Smell fear. Fear strong. But no kill. No kill family.

Put down, close door. Hide. Hide good. I proud. Hide good. Turn around—men back. I growl. Smell fear. On men now. Men afraid.

Good.

Men have lights. Lights hurt! Loud lights. Growl. Grab at lights. Hands hurt. Look down. Red. Everywhere red. Bite man. Bite more man. Still lights … Wet. Red. Fall down, eyes close. No lights. Still loud. Go 'way, loud.

Hurts. Hurts … dark now … hurts … family … red … wet …

April.

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Author's Notes: Thanks as always for reading. For those keeping track, there's one more chapter after this, then the epilogue.