Chapter Forty-One
✭
The explosion was followed by complete silence.
The debris from the broken ceiling filled the apartment with a thick dust that hide their forms. And ours. Like ghosts, Nat and Yelena slipped away, the glowing red vials disappearing into the gloom, and I had to listen hard for their footprints to follow where they were going.
I found myself backing up into the gun pantry. Most things in here too loud for me to use right now, but no point in wasting the chance to grab a pistol and a couple ball grenades for later. You know, just in case. I could hear at least two sets of footsteps emerging from the living room, the whispering line of two bodies dropping from above on ropes. I didn't have to ask to know what they were.
Widows.
But which kind? Dreykov's, or the Red Room's?
I supposed it didn't matter either way. They were here to kill or capture us. Or both.
I heard Nat slipping down the hallway, the creak of a knob turning. Without warning, the light sconces in the hallway exploded, filling the apartment up with more foggy gas with a noxious order.
It created enough of a distraction to allow Nat and Yelena to escape out the front door, chased by bullets fired randomly through the haze. I was pinned in the pantry, unsure if they even knew I was there. I didn't think Yelena would wait for me; perhaps Nat thought I could handle myself.
Whatever the case was, I kept my back pressed against the wall, head turned to watch as the Widows slipped past my door, following the trail to the outside corridor. They didn't hear me slip in behind them.
Only at the last second did they realize someone was behind them. The first jolted, turned around sharply, her rifle up. I grabbed the muzzle before she could aim it at me, slamming my boot into her chest and knocking her away, gun still in my hand.
She went flying.
The second Widow was quicker on the ball, but only enough to get a shot off, which was absorbed by my shield in my other hand. She recoiled in alarm, but didn't have time to consider between throwing down her gun for a short-range weapon or to continue firing, before I swept the rifle across the air between us. The butt clocked her across the temple and she dropped.
The first Widow was already getting to her feet when I dropped the gun, and threw my shield. It was a tight space, but enough for a good hit she couldn't avoid. The shield bounced off the ceiling and struck her in the chest, before ricocheting back into my arms. She stayed down.
Quick, easy, efficient. I didn't even break out into a sweat.
By the time I managed to get out of the apartment, Yelena and Nat were trapped in the corner of the staircase, hiding behind a window as shots fired from outside broke the glass. I saw movement below, catching up to them just as Yelena lobbed a grenade down the steps.
Two Widows who had been racing up had to dive back to avoid getting blown up. Plaster rained from the walls and ceiling. I could hear screaming from the other apartments, but none of them dared tried to leave when all the action was happening outside.
"What did you do back there?" Yelena demanded, yelling over the gunshots.
"Uh," I thought about the destruction I just left behind, and Nat's warning about letting her fight Widows. Did those other women count? "Don't worry about it!"
"Where are we trying to get?" Nat demanded as she flinched away from a bullet that hit too close to her head.
"Motorbike! East side of building!" Yelena darted around me, starting up the steps.
"One bike isn't going to be big enough for all three of us!" Nat told her as Yelena raced up to the next flight of stairs. No point in trying to escape to ground level from here.
"We can steal another one, who cares!" Yelena snapped, wringing her hands in agitation. "Keep moving, slowpoke!"
Despite being faster than both of them, I brought up the rear. I wasn't sure if I really needed a motorbike, I might be able to run fast enough on my own. But there was no time to discuss details right now when we were running for our lives.
I'd counted at least six Widows so far — two in the apartment, two coming up the steps, two in the outer courtyard. A small squad just for Yelena, perhaps, but I quickly learned that wasn't all of them. "How many are there?"
"Too many!" Nat called back down.
We used a window to jump down onto a lower rooftop, but that wasn't safe either. As we took off across slippery slating, I caught a glint out of the corner of my eye.
I had just enough time to duck the sniper bullet, not even able to raise my shield in time. The bullet, and the two that follows, slammed into the wall behind my head, sending sharp shards of plaster into my face. I recoiled, and on the slanted slippery roof, lost my balance.
I landed hard on my shoulder, the shingles cracking beneath me before instantly giving away. I was already sliding by the time I tried to reach out — Nat trying to lunge to catch my hand — before I tumbled over the edge.
I yelped once before I hit the cobblestones below.
It wasn't a long fall, maybe only forty feet, but long enough so that I could twist my body around behind my shield, and let it absorb the worst of the falling impact. The stones crunched beneath me.
By the time I got up, three Widows were already closing in.
"Oh, great," I muttered, glancing back up the way I'd fallen. There was no easy way to climb back up there. Not in any way that wouldn't leave me exposed, at least.
So a fight it was.
The three Widows were nothing alike except for their identical suits, Black Widow gear that faintly resembled what Natasha usually wore on missions. But newer, with different materials, and not nearly armed enough to be facing me. They were of varying heights but all lithe, moving in that same catlike manner, smooth and unwavering.
They attacked as one, spreading out so they struck from three different sides. My shield absorbed one blow, I ducked another, and I struck out with my fist, slamming it into one Widow's solar plexus.
She flew back, but the other two closed ranks while she recovered. They were fast, but perhaps taken aback, not expecting either my shield or my strength. Or the fact that I, an unexpected variable in whatever mission they had, wasn't afraid of them.
At least, not completely afraid.
I kept moving, pushing my advance forward. None of them would have the strength to physically hold me back, even with the hits they did land. Each time they tried to pull out a pistol I either deflected the shot or disarmed them, either twisting their wrists or ripping the weapon straight from their hands. I didn't want to kill them, but they weren't leaving me a lot of choice.
I winged one with a bullet across the arm, took a fist to the face, grabbed the knife out of the hand of the other. A quick swipe across the back of her leg had her dropping down to one knee, and I kicked her hard in the ribs, sending her rolling away in a heap.
Above, I heard a gasp. Looking up, I spotted Yelena as she stumbled mid-sprint on the other side of the courtyard, gaping at me. Her voice, though distant, still echoed as she called out to Natasha.
"Your friend! Sh-she fights like — like him!"
"It's a long story!" Natasha shouted back, having to stop and turn to grab Yelena's arm, hauling her along. "I'll explain later! Now come on!"
One widow caught me distracted, and managed to tackle me, climbing up onto my shoulders with her thighs around my neck, and slam her fist, gauntlet engaged, into my skin. I cried out at the electric sting before whipping around, trying to shake her off. And then, remembering how I did it last time with Natasha, I backed up hard, slamming the Widow into the wall behind us. I heard the crack of her head against brick. She cried out and toppled off me, crumpling to the ground.
A blow like that could kill a person, or at least break a lot of bones. And none of these Widows felt enhanced to me. Their physical blows were precise, disabling strikes — or, at least, they would be, on someone who wasn't me.
A pinprick in my neck. I recoiled, hand reaching up to pluck a tiny needle from my jugular, a little red capsule attached. I looked over, the last widow still standing, arm raised to fire another tranq at me. This one caught my shoulder, the needle long and thin enough to go straight through several layers of clothes. I felt the sting, little more than a pinch.
I ignored that one — trying to take me down like a damn dog — and charged at her.
Her eyes widened in panic, and continued to fire more tranq darts at me, scrambling backwards as she did so.
But none of it stopped me. It didn't even slow me down.
I felt nothing at all, not until I slammed into her at full force. It wasn't elegant, it wasn't clever, it wasn't even a particularly skilled maneuver.
But it worked.
The impact sent the widow flying.
I didn't wait to see how she landed.
I took off running in the opposite direction, passing through an archway between buildings. In trying to find my way back to the street, wondering which side of the building Yelena and Nat had landed on, I came across a body lying on the ground in the middle of a back courtyard.
Her leg, broken. Her chest, still. Her face, a mess of blood and burns, eyes staring out into nothing.
A Widow.
I paused only for a moment to make sure she was really dead. But there was no one else around, no sign of a fight. It looked as though she fell. And then… burned herself?
Ahead, I heard the gunning of an engine, and realized they must have already started their motorbike. Following the sound, I raced into the back alley just in time to see Yelena speeding off on a bike, while Nat was bent over another, hotwiring it and kicking the stand, the engine guttering to life. She turned to me and jerked her chin, "Get on!"
I didn't think the bike could take me — it wasn't a full size motorcycle like I was used to seeing in New York, but a barebones motorbike with a frame so skinny and tires so narrow I was afraid I'd crush the whole thing when I sat down.
Seeing my wincing face as the suspension squeaked under me, Natasha just said, "Just be glad it's not a scooter!" Before taking off.
Neither of us had helmets, and I lurched forward, wrapping my arms around Nat's waist as we skidded around a turn at full speed, narrowly avoiding taking out a pedestrian. Because of my greater weight on the back wheel, the motorbike fishtailed wildly with every shift in direction.
"Are you sure I shouldn't be the one driving?" I called over the wind. I was also afraid that if I squeezed too hard, or pulled back too much, I might actually hurt or yank Nat off of the handles.
"Not a chance!" Natasha yelled back, and her braid whipped me in the face. "You drive like your father!"
"Do not!" I protested, only to get a mouthful of red hair. "Pleh!"
We caught up to Yelena in no time, though I had no idea how Nat knew how to follow her. I chalked it up to knowing Budapest better, maybe they both had some inner GPS map in their head telling them the quickest route to whatever destination that hadn't been divulged to me.
"The woman, back there —" I started, but a car honking as we sped through a red light cut me off.
"What?" Nat called, barely turning her head for fear of missing any obstacle that crossed her path.
"The dead widow —!" I tried again. "Was that you?"
"Can't hear you!" Natasha yelled back, and we barreled a straight line through a traffic circle, tearing a great gouge through the grass center.
We had almost cleared the vortex of traffic before something pinged off my shield. I ducked my head, whipping around to look at the black motorcycle — sleek, slim, ultrafast — that just took out a cyclist in the bike lane; the rider had one hand on the throttle and the other upraised, firing her pistol. The thick black helmet revealed little but killer eyes lined in kohl.
Sexy and terrifying.
Nat, hearing the gunfire, glanced back only once before gunning it again, and my soul nearly evacuated my body as she cut between two cars passing each other in opposite directions in the next intersection. I felt the rush of wind, in front and behind, going left and right. A second too fast or two slow and we would've been pavement grease.
The move halted the Widow for only a few seconds, before she whipped through a gap and more bullets pinged off my shield. I couldn't shift it off my back, and if I turned to fire with my own ill-begotten pistol, I'd just expose the both of us.
"She's getting closer!" I called as the Widow managed to close the distance within a few short moments.
"Take her out!"
Easier said than done.
When the Widow tried to sideswipe us, I kicked out my leg, trying to knock her away. That nearly threatened both me and Nat to go toppling.
With her close enough like this, though, there was no point hoping the shield would protect us. I pulled the gun from the holster inside my jacket ("Mia!" Nat admonished) and fired at her.
The Widow apparently wasn't expecting that. She hit the brakes hard, and my bullet went into the side of the building behind her.
That got her to back off at least.
Unfortunately, I didn't see the door in time.
A lorry truck parked too far into the road, the door on this side swinging open, high enough on the ground that when Nat ducked, she and the bike passed under it neatly.
I, who had my head turned, did not.
The door caught me across the chest and I went flying backwards before I even knew what hit me — off Nat's bike, and straight into the Widow directly behind us.
We both went down in a bundle of metal and sparks.
My unplanned disembarkment almost unbalanced Nat, as she skidded back and forth to remain on op of her bike — whipping sideways to a stop, she turned and called, "Mia! Are you okay!"
"F-fine!" I stammered, a little dizzy as I stumbled to my feet. On one side was the fallen bike, the once sleek black chrome now scratched to shit. On the other, the broken door of the truck lying torn on the ground, with a nice Mia-shaped dent on the lower half. The driver, peering out of his cabin, shouting Hungarian swears and shaking his fist.
The Widow took longer to recover, not that I gave her time. She was just starting to shift on the ground when I went over and gave a sharp kick to knock her out again, before starting back towards Natasha.
Only the sudden roar of more engines had me turning, and saw two more Widows in identical suits and helmets, on identical bikes, swinging around a corner and coming right for us.
Turning back to Nat, I shouted, "Go! I'll catch up!"
At the same time, I picked up the Widow's fallen bike. No mirrors, lights busted, seat too small for this ass, but the engine was still running. Finders keepers.
Nat looked reluctant, but offered no argument before she kicked off the ground and took off again. For a split second I was actually excited to be able to ride, before remembering I was now racing to catch up to two much more experienced bikers.
And Yelena definitely wasn't waiting for me.
Bullets pinged off my back. Gritting my teeth, I squeezed the throttle as hard as I could.
The motorcycle had way more horsepower than I anticipated — not knowing what I was doing, I accidentally threw myself up in a wheelie as the bike took off like a rocket, front wheel lifting in my own instinctive pull.
Behind me, the Widows skidded back and forth, startled and slowing to avoid collision. A bullet richocheted close to my knee.
Bam. Front wheel came down, and I was off.
All things considered, I could've just ran. Much less brain cell usage trying to figure out how to command a motorcycle, too much motorcycle for my too big body. At this size, I was probably more of a Harley-Davidson kinda girl.
But somehow I managed to keep my balance with this tiny pony between my legs. And what a little beast it was, its engine screaming as I powered through traffic like a bat out of hell, the Widows hot on my heels. Hair whipping back, half-standing on the bike because my legs were too long to sit, I felt like a psychotic kindergartener on the way home from school.
Unfortunately, in both my endeavor to stay on the bike and trying to lose the Widows, I inadvertently forgot to keep track of where Yelena and Nat were going.
The next attempt I looked for them, and I couldn't see either one in front of me. Not close by, and not in the distance. I turned a corner, and realized I was absolutely, completely lost.
"Shit!" I wanted to kick myself. And then I remembered I wasn't alone.
A bullet nearly took off my hand, flashing off the handle. I whipped it away, then grabbed it again and took off once more. "Shit!"
I didn't know Budapest well enough to figure out how to get my way back to them. I could make my best guess and just pray.
It was all I could do to navigate the streets, not hit anything or anyone, and try to stay ahead of the Widows, who doggedly followed. I weaved to and fro between cars and trucks and buses — then one wrong turn through what I thought was a clever side alley turned out to be a rather long, steep stairwell.
My bike bounced once, twice, three times, before drumming down hard on the last steps, before I skidded out into the street below.
It had been a hairpin turn above. I'd hoped it would throw the Widows off my tail.
I stopped, looked up, and saw them looking back down on me.
One took off and disappeared, apparently deciding the stairs weren't worth it. turned and threw herself and her bike down the steps after me.
Heaving a groan, I kicked off again before she had time to catch up.
Yelena and Nat had to be making for the highway, I figured — it would be the fastest way out of the city on wheels, and much more room for our bikes. I could barely push forty on these streets, which hardly justified being on the bike when I could run faster than that. Once on the highway, I could make better use of the speed I had in my hands.
Then, as I sped through streets, making my way to the highway with the traces of a map I had in my head, I came across signs of a car chase. Parked cars with dents and bullet holes. A crash at an intersection where three cars attempted to avoid some obstacle at the same time. People stopped in place, watching, screaming, pointing as lights started to flash in the distance.
But something wasn't right. With the way some of the cars were shoved out onto the sidewalk or crushed into each other, it seemed like something a lot bigger than just a couple motorcycles had crashed into each other.
I weaved my way across the streets parallel to the highway, hoping I'd catch a glimpse of Nat and Yelena. All the while, the Widows tailed, trying less hard to kill me, I thought. Maybe hoping I'd lead them back to their true targets.
Well, shit. I didn't want to do that, either.
Luckily, I found my solution. Or rather, it found me.
I'd taken a few sharp turns through some narrow walkways, slowing down to lessen the noise of my bike and trying not to take anyone out. I popped out on the other side into an empty market street, alone and quiet.
I stopped there, partly to reorient myself after going through narrow paths with tall buildings on either side, and partly just to catch my breath. My body ached and burned in several places, mostly from being knocked off Nat's bike, but partly from the previous fight with the Widows, too. I really had to get out of here.
The ground shook beneath me.
I turned my head.
I wouldn't have thought to look for it, otherwise I would have been more careful. But when a giant goddamn tank on wheels exploded up the rounded hill of the market street, and straight into me, I didn't know what else to do.
I didn't even have time to scream before it hit me.
I hit the ground hard, remembering to roll at the last moment. My shield hit first. It softened the impact just enough so I didn't get serious road rash, but still.
Rough.
This thing was an utter monster, I thought, as it rolled over me. A single metal-framed hull, no windows besides the front windshield, six massive wheels, front hood wedge-shaped, all like a goddamn tank, and tall enough on its suspension that, when stretched in a single line across the road, my arms tight against my sides, it passed right over me almost harmlessly. My motorcycle, however, got caught underneath the left wheel column, and was crushed by a series of military-grade studded tires. I tried not to think of all that crunching metal being my spine instead.
Then, just before it could leave me there, I reached up and grabbed the chassis.
The speed alone almost yanked my arms out of their sockets. But I managed to get enough leverage to pull my entire body up flush against the undercarriage, hoping whatever maniac was driving this, didn't look behind behind him and noticed the distinct lack of bloody pulp lying next to the shattered motorcycle.
But I was lucky. The tank-truck didn't stop.
And the Widows, who appeared a few seconds later, coming around to flank the vehicle on either side, didn't notice me either. They remained on either side only long enough to receive some kind of direction I couldn't see, before splitting off in either direction, ducking onto the sidewalks and terrorizing the pedestrians so the tank had free reign along the roadway.
It certainly answered one of the questions I had after narrowly missing certain death. You know, somehow, I didn't think this guy could actually be completely unrelated to the ongoing chase I happened to be caught in. I mean, what a coincidence it would be if some psychopath decided to take to the road in this monster and cause an untold amount of vehicular manslaughter on the same day this Dreykov guy sent a kill-squad to eliminate a pair of runaway Black Widows? That also almost turned me into pavement pizza?
Things like that just don't happen to people like me.
But it was nice to know my gut instincts were correct about these sorta things.
With the biking Widows out of the vicinity, I felt safe enough to start upside-down crawling my way to the back of the vehicle. This guy just did not slow down, not when there was crossing traffic, not at red lights, nothing, no sir. I felt every hit, every impact, threatening to jostle me loose as I clambered by way to the back bumper, carefully perching myself on the narrow metal ledge and daring to peek out over the top.
The roof of the tank was flat, allowing me to see ahead and spot what the driver was pursuing.
A blue SUV, careening wildly ahead, already missing its passenger door.
Hm. Yeah. Probably Natasha.
Then, the roof hatch cracked open, and I ducked down again. A figure rose from within, and I decided maybe I wasn't so surprised after all to see Taskmaster's skull mask and hood whipping in the wind. Only the top half of him was visible, standing on some platform within the tank. He withdrew a bow, and started to pull back an arrow.
That seemed about as good a time as any to get moving.
In a sequence of hasty footsteps, boots thumping on metal, I mantled myself onto the roof of the tank and skittered across the top like a tightrope walker trying not to lose my balance.
Taskmaster, hearing the commotion, whipped around. I couldn't see his expression, but he jolted in noticeable shock at the sight of me scrambling towards him like a demented beetle. "What the fu—"
I managed to get to my feet, using Taskmaster's head to steady myself when the tank rolled over a speed bump — before dropping a ball grenade down the hatch with my other hand.
Then I kept going, picking up momentum in a frantic half-stumble-run as I launched myself forward, over the front of the vehicle, and onto the road ahead. As I fell in a front flip, I released another ball grenade towards the right wheel column.
I landed in a roll, got my feet, and burst into a dead sprint.
Behind me, I heard first one blast, then two. The first was muffled, accompanied by a distant shout. The second closer, louder, and shook the ground beneath my feet.
I looked behind me, and was dismayed to find the tank still moving. But it had slowed, listing to one side as clearly someone within had lost control of the vehicle, before its wheels jerked to right itself. Two had been popped by my second grenade. Nevertheless, the tank soldiered on, grinding on its rims and pulling heavily to one side. Still, it powered through.
But it was slow enough now that I could easily break away, reaching top speed here where nothing with an engine could. The tank had major torque, but it couldn't have been going more than forty miles tops in these city streets, slower when accounting for every hit it took.
I was faster, smaller, sleeker. Even the Widows, who'd slowed back to witness what happened, had to race to catch up.
By then, I'd almost reached the blue SUV.
I came up on the passenger side, where the door had been blasted open. Easiest way to get in, I figured, without having to figure out car doors at this speed.
Yelena, with no side view mirror to see me coming, shrieked when I appeared at her side, running full tilt alongside the vehicle.
"Боже мой!" Yelena screamed over the wind, grabbing the dashboard in front as she leaned back in alarm. "She's a fucking Terminator! Nat, drive faster!"
"Are you crazy!" Natasha leaned over Yelena to admonish me. "What the hell were you thinking back there!"
"Just let me in!" I didn't have time to argue my case. Not waiting for permission, or if Yelena was ready, I threw myself through the passenger opening. Yelena yelped upon impact, complaining the entire time as I awkwardly scrambled into the cabin of the vehicle, before finally sprawling out in the backseat, out of breath.
"This is why you shouldn't drive a motorcycle!" Natasha snapped, in an argument I wasn't aware we were having.
"Well, thanks for waiting for me!" I replied, trying not to sound just as angry. But I would've appreciated to know they had gone from bike to car at some point.
"Just keep your head down!" Nat said, as gunfire cracked through the rear window.
Yelena twisted around to gawk at me. "You look like you got hit by a truck."
My reflection in the rear view mirror revealed a busted up face, with what might be a broken nose and at least one black eye. My lip was busted and my clothes were torn at the shoulders, and at the knees. I was covered in blood, dirt, and gravel.
I glared back at her, wishing she knew just how true that was. Twice. "No shit."
"I was really hoping you killed him," Yelena replied, looking up through the rear window again, grimacing. After a moment to stop the dizzying, I stretched up and looked; indeed, the tank was still coming for us. Taskmaster, unfortunately, still alive and standing, with drawing back his bow again.
"Put your seatbelts on!" Natasha leaned back, gripping the wheel, and tensed herself, right before the arrow landed.
I saw the dark shape in the rear view mirror, a slim shadow arcing, then seeming to fall too short of us. Only too late did I realize that he was aiming for the underside of the car.
The blast hit the rear end, slamming us upwards — the floor rushing to meet me, and this time I was all too aware of the car going airborne, ass over teakettle through the streets.
And no. I did not have my seatbelt on.
We landed hard.
I hit the roof, and stayed there more or less as the car skittered back and forth on its hood, the metal growing hot beneath me, surface bristling as friction and gravel tore up the outer side.
Then a sudden gut-lurching drop as the car careened at a downward angle on some sort of slope, and I was aware of people screaming, the sky darkening, the air tasting musty — before we finally screeched to a stop.
Dead silence.
In front of me, Natasha and Yelena were still in their seats, strapped in. My cheek was plastered to the inside of my shield, which had taken the brunt of my downward impact, though my legs and ass were above my head and my ankle was caught in the head rest behind me. My foot hurt, but not too bad, I thought.
Broken glass everywhere. Natasha kicking out her door and tumbling out of her seat. Yelena was dazed, and I smelled blood as Nat dragged her out. But she was still conscious, blinking owlishly as Natasha attempted to reach for me. But the front roof had been crushed down too low for me to get out that way. So I just twisted around in the cramped space and kicked out the back passenger door. One, two, three kicks got the thing out of its crunched shape.
"T-twice!" I spluttered, shaking in shock and outrage as I stumbled to my feet. "Blown up in a car! Twice in one week!"
Furious, I tell you.
"No time!" Natasha said, as Yelena attempted to staunch her bleeding arm with a torn piece of cloth. She was dripping blood everywhere, looking pale and dazed as Nat ushered us both forward. Only now I realized the car had fallen down the steps leading into the underground subway station beneath Budapest. Onwards, towards the escalators.
Behind us, as we flew down the rolling steps, I caught a glimpse of Taskmaster, on foot, descending from the sunlight.
By the time he got to the station proper, it was completely empty. Civilians had already been running when the car came down, luckily no one had been hurt. And no one wanted to deal with the scary masked man armed to the teeth following us.
The trail of Yelena's blood led straight to a floor grate.
We watched from above, inside an old air vent, as he disappeared further below the station.
"That'll keep him occupied," Natasha murmured behind me, a hand on my shoulder as I watched Taskmaster disappear.
"Now what?" I said, as I sat back from the vent, wincing as I adjusted my sore leg. Nearby, Yelena was slumped over, holding her injured arm in the other, eyes half-closed.
"Now." Natasha crouched opposite me, a tired smile on her lips. "Now we sit and wait."
"And we ask questions," Yelena mumbled, slowly coming to a sitting position. She pointed at Nat, "Like how can you be so stupid, and two," She pointed at me, "What the fuck are you?"