Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

Recoil

Part 4-4: To Kill a Mockingbird​

Gladys and I had been dropped off somewhat outside Heartbreaker's estate, which meant that we had a bit of ground to cover. There were two perimeters to penetrate; the first consisted of the forces of law and order, and the second was made up of Vasil's private army of security personnel.

The RCMP maintained a perimeter watch on the estate, because although they couldn't go in and get the man, they could do their best to watch any comings and goings, and try to prevent people from entering the area. Unfortunately for this aim, there were several roads in and out, and many smaller tracks, and the manpower they had assigned to the situation just couldn't be everywhere at once.

Lisa had explained to me that they currently had him down as a 'cult leader'; his parahuman powers were suspected but not known for certain. This put him, legally, into a grey area, which he exploited to the fullest. The PRT, which may have assisted in cutting the Gordian knot, didn't have jurisdiction in Canada, and the Protectorate was still working to cover the continental United States. Canada's homegrown parahuman team, the Guild, was still finding its legs, and the lack of absolute proof of parahuman activity was tying their hands in any case. After all, non-parahuman cult leaders had done this, and more, before now.

Even worse, the mere suspicion that his victims were being Mastered was enough to force the Mounties to keep their hands off; if it were true (which it was) then even the security personnel were innocent victims, quite literally under his control. If Heartbreaker's people left the compound and committed crimes under his orders, they were arrested and imprisoned to keep them from returning to the fold, but they also were also given therapy to try to break the grip that he held over them. Results from that were still pending.

Those of his followers who left on other errands could be detained and questioned, but if they were not wanted for specific criminal acts, they could not be held for any length of time. Complicating this (Lisa had told me) was the fact that there were law enforcement officers within both the RCMP and local police who were under Vasil's control; doing their jobs, but also reporting back to him.

Of course this was all immaterial to me. What mattered was that, over the next few years, my reputation as a high-end PRT analyst would spread, and Heartbreaker would decide that I needed to belong to him.

I was aiming to make sure that this never happened, by the simplest and most direct method possible. Kill him before he ever heard of me.

-ooo-​

We heard the helicopter approaching before it came into sight, and I drew Gladys into the cover of a thick clump of bushes.

“Why are we hiding?” she asked, even as she crouched beside me. “Don't tell me he's got choppers too.”

“Not as far as I know,” I told her. “But the Mounties do, and they patrol his boundary. If we're seen, we'll be stopped and questioned.” I nodded at the rifle case that she'd laid on the ground. “And as much as they might personally agree with what we're about to do, their rules won't allow them to let it happen. We'd be taken into custody and questioned. If we're lucky, we'd simply be deported.”

The helicopter blades racketed closer, and I stopped talking; we both hunkered down, eyes to the ground, resisting the urge to look up at the oncoming aircraft.

They were flying low; I felt the vibration as much as heard the sound as the chopper went almost right over the top of us. The dirt underfoot shivered; small twigs and litter drifted down from the leaves all around us as the thunderous whup whup whup passed overhead. I waited for it to stop or circle around, but it didn't; the helicopter just kept on going. As it passed over the next hill, the sound of the rotors dropped away dramatically.

“You mean, I'd be deported,” she told me. “You'd be handed back over to the PRT and questioned some more by your own side. And probably kicked out.”

“Or put under much more severe oversight,” I agreed. “I do not want to go there.”

She nodded to me. “So let's not.” Picking up the rifle case and slinging it over her shoulder, she nodded to me. “Shall we get along?”

I shrugged the spotter scope case back on to my shoulder. “Let's go.”

-ooo-​

About a mile farther on, I slowed to a halt. Ahead of us lay a simple road; nothing more or less than a pair of wheeltracks, going from left to right. I pointed at it, and kept my voice down when I spoke. “See that?”

“It's a dirt track.” Gladys' voice was as quiet as mine. “It's important?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Other side of that is Heartbreaker's estate. We step on to that land, we're in enemy territory, in every sense of the word. If they even suspect we're on their land, they'll stop at nothing to find us and capture us. If we're caught, the best thing that's going to happen is that they kill us.” I lowered my sunglasses and looked her in the eye. “Last chance to back out.”

I had to give her credit; she didn't hesitate for more than half a second before she shook her head. “Hell with that, Taylor. I've come this far.”

It would have been insulting to let out a sigh of relief, so I didn't. Instead, I clasped her forearm; she did the same with me. We shared a slight smile; the old team, together again. I nodded to her. “Okay, let's do this.”

Taking off her cap, she settled her hair more securely under it, and pulled it down firmly. “Let's go kick some ass.”

-ooo-​

From there on in, we moved a lot more circumspectly. Far from simply tramping along a barely-visible path through the forest, we went from cover to cover. Each of us watched the other's back; our hands were on the pistols more often than not.

I had done quite a bit of this in Boot, but that had been merely putting the finishing touches on what we'd learned in JROTC and ROTC. The college-level military training had done Gladys the world of good; it had given her confidence in her own abilities, helped her develop her physical capabilities, and she had picked up a useful set of skills in the process.

From the point of view of someone who had gone through Boot, I could see where she was lacking, but that was more a matter of scale rather than incompetence. She obviously hadn't had much in the way of practice since college; but then, since leaving Boot, I hadn't done much tramping through the mud either. However, it was coming back to the both of us.

-ooo-​

Even so, we nearly walked straight into the first patrol of Heartbreaker's men that we encountered. I was in the lead, making for a patch of cover, and I heard a twig crack from up ahead; frantically, I dropped and rolled under a low bush. Gladys had not been far behind me, and I devoutly hoped that she had gotten the message.

Mere seconds later, four sets of boots tramped by my impromptu hiding place; I lay there cradling the spotter scope, as they stopped a short distance away. Two of them unzipped and I heard urine hitting the leaf litter; thankfully, nowhere near me. Then I heard the sound of cigarette lighters clicking, and smelt tobacco smoke.

Fuck, they've stopped for a break, right where we are. This was unbelievable. Why couldn't Heartbreaker be more stringent in his instructions to his men? Their very laxity might actually save his life; if it wasn't so very irritating, it might even be funny.

I wasn't so much worried about myself; I had my hand on my pistol, and figured I could get at least three out of the four before they reacted. Gladys was good enough to get the last one, but I was concerned that she might choke, might freeze, given real combat after so long out of training. Worse, if it came to shooting, that would almost certainly draw attention, and we did not need that.

I was just beginning to regret not having requested suppressors for the pistols when there was a faint crackle; they had, as I had suspected, radios.

“Patrol four, moving along,” murmured one of them, and they moved off, boots crunching on the leaf litter.

I waited as long as I dared, then rolled out of cover. In the same movement, I went up on to one knee, Glock out and tracking in a half-circle. But there was no trick, no ambush. No assault rifles pointing back at me.

“Gladys?” I called softly.

“Taylor?” I heard in return; to my astonishment, it came from above. I looked up, to see my partner in crime lowering herself from a tree, rifle case still slung over her shoulder.

“Seriously, how the hell did you get up there?” I asked, as her boots landed on the ground.

She shook her head. “I have absolutely no idea. All I can say is, I'd like to find that son of a bitch who put us through all those climbing drills in ROTC and give him a big wet kiss.”

“You and me both,” I marvelled, looking up at the tree. “I am seriously impressed.” I took a breath and checked my watch. “Fuck. We're getting close to time. We have to move.”

“What, we're actually on a schedule for this?” she asked as we set off again.

I nodded. “Yeah. We get exactly one chance to pop him today, and still get back to the lake before Kinsey raises the alarm. After that, I have no idea when and how we can get back out here without causing suspicion.”

She frowned. “Taylor, where exactly are you getting this information from? Because it sounds pretty damn specific to me.”

“It is pretty damn specific,” I agreed. “But I can't tell you. Operational security.”

“But Andrea knows, doesn't she?” She looked hard at me, observed my total lack of reaction. “I was right. She knows.”

I took a deep breath. “Can we do this later, please?”

Gladys shook her head. “I just have trouble getting over the idea that you're telling Andrea more than me about what you're doing, just because you're sleeping with her.” The hurt in her voice was plain to hear.

Fuck. I have to nip this in the bud, right now. I stopped and turned to face her. “Okay, you want to do this now? We can do this now. Andrea's in on the stuff that you aren't because I need someone to be. If I didn't, she wouldn't know anywhere near what she does, girlfriend or no. Also, because I need someone to do what she's doing. If anyone knew what she was doing for me, it could get very dangerous for her. So it's me and it's her who know what she's doing. No-one else.” Except you.

She frowned. “So what's she doing for you that's so dangerous?”

I waited, not speaking, for her to work it out. It didn't take her long; Gladys was never a stupid person. Just very, very stubborn.

I saw her face change as she realised. “Holy shit,” she gasped. “The mercenaries?”

Slowly, once, I nodded. “And more, but yes.”

“Holy fuck,” she muttered. “I would never, not ever, believe that of her.”

“And that's why it's her and not you,” I assured her. “Because no-one would believe that of her. Whereas you … “ I tilted my hand back and forth. “Maybe, yeah.”

Pleased despite herself, she snorted in amusement. “Okay, fine, you've convinced me. She's the best person for the job. Not that I'd really want it.”

“Good,” I stated. “Now, we have to get going, or we're going to be behind the curve, really soon.”

She nodded. “Gotcha.”

We moved off again.

-ooo-​

As we got closer to our destination, the patrols got thicker on the ground. However, paradoxically, avoiding them became easier. Further out, they could pick and choose their path through the forest, and could avoid making a beaten track. Closer in, there was less room to move in, so the paths existed, and we could ensure that we didn't linger too long near them.

Even easier was the second ring-road that we found; we heard a vehicle approaching, but we were across the road and well into cover before it ground into sight, rolling along in low gear. Gladys and I crouched in the shrubbery and watched it go past; we both noted that the driver and the passengers were looking outward, not in.

“Good thing we crossed over,” she murmured to me. “I think that one guy's using infrared gear.”

I nodded fractionally. “Yes, he is.”

She paused for a long moment. “You know something? I'm not even going to ask how you knew that.”

“PRT Intelligence,” I replied with a grin. “We're good for something.”

A snort. “Yeah. Right.”

The vehicle ground out of sight; I nudged her shoulder. “Let's go.”

-ooo-​

Jeanette Dubois was a native of Quebec. Young, pretty, in her twenties, she had been an up and coming lead on a local soap opera. Her agent had been full of praise for her talents; he'd been angling to get her into the national circuit.

This had all changed the day she met Nikos.

She had been out on an errand when he stepped in front of her and introduced himself. Within seconds, she had been captivated by the man; within minutes, she had agreed to come away with him.

She had never questioned the impulse that had led her to sell her most prized possessions, to drain her once-thriving bank account, to throw over her boyfriend, all for Nikos. She had been happiest when in his presence, in his arms. Once, her ambition had been to see her name in lights. Now, it was merely to make Nikos happy.

Rene had tracked her down; despite all the police, all the Mounties could do, he had come to the compound and pleaded with her to come back with him. Nikos had turned to her, where she stood barefoot and wearing a simple shift, and asked her what she wanted. “You can go, if you want,” he had told her. “I will return all your money, all your worldly goods to you. Go, with my blessing.”

But she loved him, and she knew that he wanted her to stay, that he was merely testing her. She had opted to stay, had told Rene that she never wanted to see him again.

The last she had seen of her boyfriend was as he was marched off by Nikos' security men, to be escorted from the property.

It was a little sad, she supposed, but Rene would get over her. After all, there was no-one but Nikos in her eyes now, so there was no point in doing anything else.

Carefully, she laid Cherie down in her crib, so as not to wake the sleeping infant. It had taken assiduous exercise and diet on her part to get back down to her original weight after having Cherie, but it was worth it. She tiptoed into the bedroom, and slipped out of the light shift, leaving her naked in the semi-darkness.

Despite her care, she heard him stir and wake. “Who is it?”

“It is only me, beloved,” she told him, crawling on to the bed in her most seductive fashion. “And I have a little surprise for you.”

He took her in his arms, and she surrendered to his love.

-ooo-​

“Well, here we are.”

Gladys looked around. “Where?”

I pointed. “Those two hills? The compound is just the other side of them. You'll be taking your shot from between them.”

She glanced up at the two hills; they wouldn't measure up to Captain's Hill, back in Brockton Bay, but they were of a reasonable height. “Why not from on top?”

“Because he's got men encamped up there, just in case someone tries exactly that,” I explained. “In between is still higher than the surrounding terrain, and there's a line of sight into the compound.”

“So wait,” she interrupted. “I'll be taking my shot from between two hostile forces?”

I nodded. “There's no other way.”

She stared at me. “You're fucking nuts.”

“It's that important,” I stated flatly. “If I left him be, in a couple years, he'd come after me. The PRT's keeping things quiet about me, but word's starting to get out anyway. I'd be a prize for him. And if he gets close enough to me, I won't be able to resist. Hence, we take him out now.”

She grimaced. “And our chances of survival once I take the shot?”

I shot her a grin which bore no humour whatsoever. “Let's just say, it'll be a good opportunity to brush up on those escape and evasion tactics.”

“Fuckin' wonderful.” She slid the rifle case from her shoulder and cradled it in her arms. “Okay, let's do this thing. And then, let's never call on me for anything, ever again.”

“Deal,” I agreed. “Of course, on the upside, if I get killed here, I don't have to worry about Careers Day. Win-win.”

She gave me a dirty look; I chuckled, and led off.

-ooo-​

“Mmmmm.”

Jeanette lay back as Nikos rolled off of her, and stretched like a cat. “That was wonderful, mon cheri.”

He snorted to himself. Of course it was wonderful. I could be the worst lover in the world, and they would still say it was wonderful.

She seemed to want to cuddle; he shook her off and sat up on the edge of the bed. “You say your period was just two weeks ago?”

She lifted herself up on one elbow and smiled. “Oui, mon cheri. I am always regular like the clock.” She patted her belly. “My little Cherie was made at this same time. You have perhaps put a son in me?”

“A son would be good, yes,” he agreed. Sons to carry on the Vasil line. Turning, he kissed her perfunctorily. She had gotten him one girl child, and was possibly pregnant once more; she deserved the reward. The surge of power he gave her at the same time put her on her back, smiling in bliss as she gazed dreamily at the ceiling.

He stood and pulled on his pants, then shrugged a shirt on over his lanky shoulders. He would keep Jeanette coming back to his bed occasionally, but he had recently acquired a new girl, an eighteen year old truck stop waitress called Nicole. As with all of his girls, she was anxious to show him what she could do for him.

Tonight, I shall give her the chance.

But right now, he was in a better mood than normal. Jeannette had birthed a strong baby in Cherie, and if she was pregnant again, the chances were that she would once more add to his brood. And if it were a son …

-ooo-​

The hollow in between the hills was densely wooded. Gladys and I pushed our way through it, doing our best to keep quiet.

"There's no sight lines," she complained. "I don't even know which way this damned compound is."

She had a point; if we went any farther downslope, we risked losing crucial elevation. I glanced at my watch. Twelve minutes till go time. We were getting down to the wire.

"Trust me," I replied. "I'm just going to have to take a minute."

Settling down with my back to a tree, I closed my eyes and prepared to drift off.

"Wait, what?" she hissed. "You're doing that here? Now?" She paused. "Anyway, I thought you needed music."

"Not any more," I murmured. Eleven minutes thirty. "Hush, please."

Drawing a deep breath, I let it out slowly. In, out. Relaxing my body, relaxing my mind.

I drifted.

-ooo-​

I was standing on the Boardwalk, leaning on the back of one of the bench seats, looking out at my memory palace. Lisa lay back on the bench in front of me, her head up on one of the armrests. She was giggling sporadically, apparently highly amused by the trade paperback that she was reading. The image on the back of the publication was, bizarrely, a large playing card with my face in the centre.

"Oh, hey," she greeted me, looking up. "Pushed for time?"

I nodded. Yeah. We can't find the sight line.

"Ah. Right." There was a tablet resting on her stomach; she picked it up and held it up toward me. The glow of the screen intensified, before it became a holographic image, projected above the device. It showed the area we were in, with the trees rendered in a translucent format; I saw myself and I saw Gladys ... and I saw where a sight line could be had. There was more information, which I assessed and memorised, but right now the sight line was what we needed.

Excellent! I leaned over the back of the bench and kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood and, for some reason, caramel sundae. Love to stay and chat, but -

-ooo-​

"- gotta go!"

Gladys started as my eyes flicked open. “Gotta go? What? Who were you talking to?”

I shook my head as I came to my feet. “Can't talk. No time. Sight line … this way.”

With Gladys right behind me, I pushed through a stand of younger trees, trying not to make too much noise in the process. Abruptly, we entered a small, cramped clearing. Here, some time ago, one of the larger trees had fallen. It had fallen outward, taking some of its unlucky siblings with it … and incidentally, clearing the sight line toward the compound.

“We walked past this bit three times,” Gladys groused as she laid the rifle case down and opened it. “How did you even know it was here?”

“Not the time for this discussion, Gladys,” I replied absently, extracting the spotter scope from its case. “We have … seven minutes to get set up and ready.”

This was not as easy as it sounded. There was no clear ground, and no time to clear it. With a couple of false starts, Gladys lay down along the tree trunk itself – not the most comfortable of resting places, but the best we could manage – while I held the rifle. Once she was settled, I set the rifle down in front of her, breaking off a couple of small branches that got in the way. The bipod unfolded, I wedged the feet into niches in the bark. Hopefully, the tree would not move when she fired the damn weapon.

She snuggled the butt into her shoulder, laid her cheek on the rubberised section, and let her eye fall into line with the scope. I busied myself with getting the spotter scope out of its own case, and lining it up with the compound. There was no place for me to rest it, unless I literally placed it on top of Gladys, and me with it, but I could hold it in my hands for a few minutes while I leaned against the tree trunk to steady myself. A few minutes was all we had, anyway.

“Got a sight picture,” she murmured. “Compound. Rectangle with empty courtyard in the middle. Vehicles off to the side. Guards inside and outside compound. Range?”

I steadied my spotter scope as the information rose into my consciousness. Thank you, Lisa. “Range is six thousand four hundred feet,” I replied, just as quietly. “Elevation three hundred fifty feet. Bullet will drop almost exactly five hundred inches. Aimpoint is three inches to the left of the crosshairs.” Strike screwed up the zeroing, or maybe there's a breeze out there today.

“Flight time?”

“One point six one seconds.”

“For that range?” she queried. “That's not right.”

“High-powered Tinker-tech ammo.” Taking my eyes from the scope for just a second, I glanced at my watch, then brought the scope up again. “Twenty seconds till go time. He'll walk into the courtyard from the left. Tall, lanky guy, wearing jeans and an open shirt.”

I breathed in, then exhaled, letting myself relax, become one with the spotter scope. I could not get the jitters, or I might lose the whole sight picture. “Ten seconds.”

I couldn't look at Gladys; my entire focus was on the image of the compound, quivering ever so slightly. I didn't even want to move, in case I shook the tree and joggled her sight picture.

“Five seconds.”

Gladys exhaled; I felt it rather than heard it, her entire body going limp, relaxing, except for her finger on the trigger. Just brushing it, stroking it. Keeping a tactile contact.

“Now.”

And then Heartbreaker walked into view.

-ooo-​

He pushed open the door and walked out into the morning sunlight. His guards, all loyal to a fault, were spread around the interior of the compound. He knew without a doubt that there were more outside; each time someone probed his defenses, he got more guards, all loyal, all carrying information about their previous employers' plans.

He nodded to the nearest guard. The man's name escaped him; it didn't matter. The man would not be offended. He wouldn't be offended if Nikos spat in his face.

“It appears that I might be a father again,” he observed, letting the sunlight fall on his face. “Perhaps even a boy.”

“Sons are good, sir,” the guard replied, never ceasing his vigilance.

“Indeed,” Nikos agreed, and turned to go back inside -

-ooo-​

“Target?”

“Target,” I agreed.

Gladys's shoulders made those infinitesimal movements that indicated that she was placing the crosshairs where they needed to be. Without urgency, I murmured, “Moving in eight … seven … six … five … four … three ...“

She fired on 'two'. The report of the rifle was deafening; we were now living very much on borrowed time.

-ooo-​

Thunder smote Nikos' ears; a hammer-blow struck him across the shoulder and slammed him to the ground. He lay there, winded, wondering what had just happened.

“Sir!” shouted the guard. “Are you all right?”

“I … yes,” he replied muzzily. “What ...”

“Sniper!” the guard exclaimed, pointing at the verandah support farther down; it had been struck by something and nearly torn asunder, spraying a mass of splinters everywhere. He bent over Nikos. “Sir, we have to get you inside, now!”

Dazedly, he felt himself being lifted; the guard kept his body, with the Kevlar armour, between himself and the direction of the sniper. They began to move toward the door, even as the other guards began to run in their direction.

-ooo-​

We both saw Vasil tumble to the ground, saw the guard leap toward him.

“Target down!” Gladys exulted.

“No!” I snapped. “No blood! That's a miss!”

“But he's down!” she insisted. The guard was at his side, lifting him, obscuring our view.

“Shockwave,” I explained succinctly. “You came close, but didn't hit. Breeze must have kicked up. Hit him again before he gets inside!”

“Fuck!” she snapped. “Can't get a clear shot!”

“Shoot through the guard,” I retorted.

“He's an innocent!”

“It doesn't matter!”

“It does to me!”

“Gladys, just fucking shoot him!”

She fired. Again, the tremendous report rang in our ears.

I saw the hole appear in the guard's back, and they both went down. This time, there was a gratifyingly huge spray of blood across the verandah behind them. Vasil's body was almost hidden under the guard's. I searched for movement, couldn't see any. The other guards were getting close.

“Don't know if I got a kill shot.” Gladys' voice was subdued.

“Left leg,” I snapped. “Shoot him in the thigh.” It was the only part of him that we could see properly. “Even if you don't get the femoral artery, hydrostatic shock should do the job.”

She didn't argue; barely half a second later, she fired again. I saw Vasil's left thigh dissolve in an explosion of gore. Unless they had a top-flight trauma team right there at the compound – and even if they did – Nikos Vasil was a dead man.

I released a long sigh. “Good. Now the vehicles.”

She didn't need any more prompting. In any case, Vasil's body was now invisible behind the crowd of guards. One after another, she sent rounds through the engine blocks of the assembled vehicles. The Barrett clicked dry before she got them all.

“I'm out,” she reported, her voice sounding thin and quiet after the racketing thunder of the fifty calibre rifle.

“That's fine; we're done here,” I told her. “We only have a few minutes before company arrives. Put your rifle in the case but do not close the case.” As I spoke, I was packing the scope away in its own case.

“These will slow us down,” she objected, clearly torn; the Barrett was a beautiful rifle in its own right.

“No, they won't,” I told her. “We're leaving them behind.” Pulling up some of the rubber padding in the scope case, I revealed a metal tab, which I pulled. Carefully closing the case, I clicked the latches shut. “Bottom left hand corner. Do what I just did.”

Wonderingly, she peeled up the padding, pulled the tab, then latched the case shut. “What's that do?”

“Makes it into a bomb. Don't touch it, don't even move it now. We've got to get going.”

“Yeah,” she retorted, some of her snarkiness reviving. “No shit.”

-ooo-​

Gladys and I crashed through the wooded area, ignoring minor concepts such as stealth. At this moment, staying quiet and moving carefully would do us no good at all, and would just delay us long enough for the vengeful guards to catch up with us. And even if Vasil was dead – and I sincerely hoped that he was – if the guards caught us, death really would be the better option.

“Why – going – this – way?” panted Gladys, keeping up with me. The question was a good one; instead of heading directly downslope, away from the two hills, I was leading her at an angle, across to the left.

“Guys on this side -” I replied, “ - coming down to check - the shooting site. Other side - trying to cut us off. Going between.”

“How the hell -” she began, before shaking her head. “ - forget it.”

A shot sounded from behind, followed by several more. Most went wide, but something whipped between us with a sound like an angry bee. We closed our mouths and concentrated on running.

Now that we had been seen, I curved back around so that we could retrace our inbound tracks. Finesse was out the window unless and until we could break contact with these bozos. Right now, our best ally was the ability to run like hell.

Fortunately, both Gladys and I were good at that.

-ooo-​

It's amazing how fast ground can be covered when stealth is not an issue. Where we had spent the best part of half and hour gradually working our way up to the hollow between the hills, we covered the same ground going downhill in less than ten minutes. Part of it was due to the fact that we were actually going downhill, but most of it was due to the even more pressing fact that there were a lot of very angry people chasing us.

A loud explosion reached us, or perhaps two in very quick succession; a welcome sound, as it meant that there were fewer people after us than before.

Once we reached the flatter ground, we slowed down a little as we dodged through the trees. I wasn't worried about our specific path; if we kept heading away from the hills, we'd leave Heartbreaker's domain soon enough.

Of course, there was no guarantee that they'd stop chasing us once we got out of the area, if we didn't lose them beforehand. In fact, I was fairly sure that they'd keep pursuing us to the ends of the earth, if that was what it took.

“Ambush, maybe?” panted Gladys, proving that she was thinking along the same lines that I was. “Slow 'em down?”

“Won't work,” I replied. “Won't scare 'em.” They would pour themselves into any ambush zone, I meant, swamp us with bodies. Their lives didn't matter to them, so long as they got us in the process.

“That devoted?” she asked. To Heartbreaker, she meant.

“That devoted,” I confirmed. “More. Willing to die.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Fighting people like that was scary. They couldn't be reasoned with, couldn't be intimidated, couldn't be scared off. It was why Masters were seen with such suspicion and dislike. Why Canary had been Birdcaged. Why I had packed Valefor's eyeballs with maggots. I had been sending a message. Don't try this shit in Brockton Bay.

-ooo-​

We kept going, still running well, but pacing ourselves now. The pursuit behind had slowed a little, but it was more spread out now; others had joined the group. We couldn't duck to the side and evade them that way. The occasional shout, and the occasional shot, could still be heard, but no more bullets came as close as before.

And then, ahead, we heard the sounds of four-wheel-drive vehicles. Not driving along the ring-road, but crashing through the trees. They had circled around, using the road to outdistance us, and were now moving in, flushing us back toward those following. They were horribly close; through a thin spot in the trees, I saw a dark shape moving, the reflection of a windshield.

“Fuck,” I muttered, and turned sharply to the left. Gladys turned with me, then let out a sharp cry of pain. I turned, and she was down, clutching her ankle.

“Fuck!” I repeated, quite a bit louder. “Shit, Gladys, are you all right?”

She wasn't; that was obvious. I helped her to her feet, but she only managed to take a couple of steps before her leg gave out again.

With her leaning on me, I glanced one way, where the oncoming men were vaguely audible, but not yet visible, and then the other, where the off-road vehicle was chuntering its way toward us through the undergrowth.

We had trained for this sort of thing; I could carry Gladys for a short way, but not fast, and not easily. There were no convenient streambeds with overhangs that I could stash her in while I led the pursuit away. My gaze flickered back and forth while I thought, calculated, ran plans in my head.

Gladys was still on my wavelength. “You'll have to leave me,” she gritted against the pain in her ankle.

I shook my head. “Not leaving you to them. Not ever.”

“Then shoot me and leave me,” she insisted. “But do it fast, or you won't get away either.”

I stared at her. This was Gladys saying this. “Not killing you,” I muttered. “Franklin would never forgive me.” I would never forgive myself.

My eyes were still searching for a way out; there was a tree just a few paces away. “Can you climb?” She had hidden in a tree once before.

“I can try.” We tried, with me boosting her. The pursuit was getting terrifyingly close.

“Ah!” she cried out, collapsing at the base of the tree; her ankle had betrayed her again.

They were too close now; even if I ran, on my own, I wouldn't make it.

“Fuck,” I muttered, and shinned up the tree myself.

-ooo-​

The four-by-four ground on to the scene just moments later; Gladys was making a determined effort to get away anyway, but she had only gone a few yards from the tree. Men jumped down from the bed of the vehicle; she pulled the pistol from the shoulder holster, but one man struck her across the face, and she dropped it. She dropped him, too, a moment later, with a right cross, but two more were on her, and her arms were dragged behind her back. A third stepped up and slammed a fist into her solar plexus; she doubled over.

I saw all this from my concealment in the higher branches. They hadn't seen me when they drove up, and they didn't see me now, all caught up in the excitement of catching one of the assassins. They didn't hear me when I climbed down a few branches, and they didn't see me dropping into the bed of the truck.

As I dropped, I had the borrowed Glock in my left and, and my 26 in my right. Firing two-handed is not a trick conducive to accurate shooting, but I had enough range time to not particularly care.

There were still two men in the back of the truck; I dropped them both with head shots from my left hand gun, at barely a yard of range. My right hand gun was tracking on the men holding Gladys; I gave them just enough time to realise what was happening, before I shot all three of them, head shots all. The man on the ground was reaching for his own gun, so I shot him a moment later.

There were two men in the front; the one in the passenger seat was just opening the door when I shot him in the back of the head with my pocket pistol. At the same time, I treated the driver the same way, through the rear window of the truck, with my personal weapon. As he died, the vehicle jolted forward and stalled.

Vaulting down from the bed of the truck, I opened the driver's side door and hauled the dead man out. Throwing my pistols on to the seat of the truck, I climbed in; Gladys was already on her feet and hobbling for the passenger side door. I got the engine running again, just as she hauled herself into the seat.

She barely had the door closed when I rammed the vehicle into gear and, leaning out the window, due to the windshield being covered in brains, pulled a hard one-eighty and started getting us the hell out of there.

“You okay?” I asked as we bucketed through the rough terrain.

“Nosebleed,” she replied almost casually. “Had worse. Had worse from you.”

“Hah, kitten scratch then,” I replied with a grin; she'd once compared my punches to a kitten batting at her face.

“Some kitty-cat,” she responded. “Fuck, Taylor, I never knew you could shoot like that.”

“I've kept in practise,” I told her. “And sorry for abandoning you like that, but it was the only way I could think of to get us both out of it alive.”

“Well, it's working so far,” she agreed. “Touch wood.”

At that moment, I swung too close to a tree on her side, and lost the rear-view mirror.

“Well, I didn't mean it like that,” she protested.

“Sorry,” I responded. “Oh, shit, hang on!”

I had just seen another four-by-four roaring toward us, aiming to T-bone us from the left. I rammed my foot down on the accelerator and gave it all the power it had. This did not improve the ride at all; the only reason I stayed in my seat was due to my death-grip on the steering wheel, and Gladys was having to brace herself against the ceiling of the cab.

The other truck hit us a glancing blow, sending us up on two wheels momentarily, but then we crashed down again and stayed the course. We didn't seem to have suffered from the impact, but the other vehicle fell in behind us; a bullet smashed through the rear window and out through the windshield, making two holes in total.

“Smash that out!” I yelled to Gladys; driving was hard enough without having a direct line of sight ahead. And right now, sticking my head out the window was inviting someone to blow it off.

"Gotcha!" she replied; bracing herself as best she could with her arms, she reared back and drove the heel of her boot against the nearest bullet-hole. The windshield shattered and starred in a crazy network of cracks, but it held together and stayed in place. She did it again, this time forcing part of it from its seals. The third time was the charm; her kick dislodged it altogether, sending it forward on to the hood of the truck, from where it slid off on to the ground.

This freed up a lot of my attention for driving, rather than just avoiding obstacles; I swerved around a tree that would have stopped us dead (in every sense of the word) and accelerated dramatically. The inrush of wind through the front of the vehicle was no great problem, though the small branches that occasionally whipped in through the opening were an irritation; soon, Gladys and I were both covered in twigs and leaves.

"Where are we?" I yelled.

"You're asking me?" Gladys yelled back.

"We should've crossed the outer perimeter by now!"

"I thought you were the one with all the answers!"

There was a loud bang and we both instinctively ducked; a large ragged hole had appeared in the roof of the truck cab.

"Still back there!" she reminded me, mostly unnecessarily.

"I know! Crap!" Through the trees ahead appeared a pair of wheel-tracks; I stamped on the brakes and spun the wheel. Tires drifting and shrieking, throwing up an even larger cloud of dust than normal, I got us on to the road, such as it was.

"Why are you saying 'crap'?" she asked, as I went up through the gears in record time. "And why are you going along the road? Shouldn't we be crossing it?"

"Because it's the inner road," I told her. "Take the wheel."

"What - why -"

But I wasn't listening. Grabbing up the Glock 26 - the larger one had bounced down into the footwell - I grabbed the door frame and hauled myself partly out the window with my left hand, twisting around as I did so, to face back along the road. My foot was hard on the accelerator, and the engine roared loud in my ears; I'd be lucky not to get some hearing loss out of this episode.

The pursuing vehicle came into view, almost ghostly in the cloud of dust we were throwing up. I pointed my right arm back toward them, my attention on the front sight of the pistol. We hit a bump; I nearly lost my grip on the door frame, and my foot slipped off the accelerator; immediately, we began to slow. The vehicle behind came closer, and more shots began to whistle past us. My sight picture firmed up, and I fired six times in rapid succession, before the little pistol ran dry. Two in the front left tire, two in the front right tire, and two through the windshield, right about where the driver should be.

The vehicle swerved dramatically, then turned side on and began to roll over and over. I realised to my horror that it was going to catch us, as we were still slowing down. Pulling myself back into my seat, I grabbed the wheel off of Gladys, dropped the Glock on the seat, and applied acceleration once more. Something hit the back end with a resounding clang, but then we were pulling away from the ongoing car wreck.

As soon as I could, I turned us off the road again, and headed outbound. So long as we headed straight and didn't stop for anything, I figured, we'd get off the estate eventually.

-ooo-​

"So tell me something, Taylor."

I looked over at Gladys, as she hobbled along, with a roughly-trimmed length of wood to act as a crutch. The four-by-four had given out a hundred yards from the highway - apparently some of the shots that had hit the rear end had damaged something important - but there had been useful equipment on board, including a hatchet to cut the crutch, and a first-aid kit with which to bind her ankle. "What's on your mind?"

She paused to adjust her grip on the crutch, and took a look up and down the highway. Then she looked back at me. "You had the sneaking-in bit all planned out."

"Yeah, I did."

"And you knew there was a place we could snipe from. Even though you'd never been there before."

"That's correct."

"But your exit strategy basically boiled down to 'run like hell'."

I thought about it. "Broadly speaking, yes."

"What the hell, Taylor?" she shouted. "Seriously? What sort of half-assed strategy is that? Especially from someone whose job description is essentially 'save the world'?"

"It would have worked," I told her patiently. "We were well ahead of the guys chasing us. Bad luck happened, is all."

"That truck getting out ahead of us wasn't 'bad luck'," she retorted stubbornly.

"That truck came from the compound,” I told her. “Both of them did. The ones on the patrol circuit, as it happened, were on the far side of the compound when the alarm went off. They would never have responded in time.”

There was a long pause, broken only by the birdsong around us, as she considered this. “Those were the two I didn't disable, because … “

“... because you used three bullets instead of one to kill Heartbreaker, yes,” I agreed.

She frowned. “What if I'd still missed with the first, but gotten a clean kill with the second? We still would have been screwed.”

“Not necessarily so,” I responded. “One truck, not two. They would have had to cover a wider area; thus, a far worse chance of intercepting us.”

She heaved a sigh. “Okay, fine. Say it. I nearly got us killed because I screwed up.”

I shook my head. “Far from it. I wouldn't have been able to make that shot, not like you did. And even if I had, I would have had trouble nailing all those trucks, one after the other.” I stood in front of her, forcing her to stop and meet my eyes. “And I screwed up too.”

This time her frown was one of disbelief. “What, bringing me along?”

“Gladys.” My voice was firm. “You're the best shot I know. No-one else could have hit like that over such a range, with a rifle they'd never fired before. You made the mission succeed. No, bringing you along wasn't my screwup.”

“So what was?” she asked.

“Not checking to see if the vehicles had GPS tracking before that other truck came at us,” I admitted. “Okay, sure, we found it after, but it would have saved us a lot of trouble if I'd checked.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yeah, I'll give you that.”

“So I'm allowed to be a screwup too, okay?” I pressed.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you're allowed to be a screwup too.”

“Good.” I grinned. “Glad we got that settled.” I shaded my eyes and peered into the distance. “And on that note, this looks like our lift coming now.”

“One more thing, Taylor,” Gladys stated as the vehicle drew closer. “Before we return to civilisation. Or what passes for it.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“Remember what I said about not calling on me again?”

I nodded. “I remember.”

“Yeah, well,” she told me. “I meant it. And I still do. What you do might not all be this hair-trigger, skin of the teeth stuff, but it's too rich for my blood. I don't have the training for it, or the temperament. I want to go back to Brockton Bay, go back to teaching, and maybe run for vice principal if I feel like it.” She gave me a long, hard stare. “I don't ever want to have to face a truck full of crazed Mastered cultists, with just a pistol. Ever again.”

I nodded. “That's fair. And I'm sorry you got hurt. If there's ever anything I can do for you or Franklin … “

“No!” She shook her head violently. “No, sorry, but I just want to be friends with Taylor Snow, the harmless, inoffensive PRT analyst, not Taylor Snow, the time traveller who wants to save the world. Call me shallow, call me cowardly, but that's not me. It's not what I want to do. Not any more.”

As the SUV drew to a halt alongside us, I pulled her into a hug. “That's fine. You're not shallow, or cowardly. You're you, and I'm happy to call you my friend.”

“You make it really hard to stay mad at you, you know?” she grumbled good-naturedly as Moose climbed out of the vehicle.

“Ladies,” he greeted us. “I see you got out of the furball intact, or almost so?”

“Furball?” I asked, as he helped Gladys into the back seat.

“Oh, you don't know?” He looked at me. “You just caused the most godawful firefight between the guys on that place and the Mounties. It's why we were a little bit delayed. We've kinda been cruising around, keeping an eye out for you.”

“Why -” I began, as I climbed in after Gladys, and rested her foot on my lap. “Oh, they kept coming, didn't they? Didn't stop at the boundary line?”

He nodded, checking that her foot was not going to be struck by the closing door. “Yeah. And the Mounties called for backup. Then some idiot pulled the trigger, and the Mounties shut them down real hard. Last we heard, they were calling it probable cause to hit the place hard.”

“Probably figured it was okay,” chimed in the guy in the front passenger seat. “given what the prisoners were saying about their glorious leader being dead.”

He must have caught my look in the rear vision mirror, because he pointed at the dash. “We got a police scanner. All sorts of juicy stuff in the last half hour or so.”

“Well, I'm not worried about that,” I replied, “but we need to get to the airport just as soon as you can make it. Also, if you can call ahead and arrange some ice packs for Shooter's ankle, that would be great.”

“That,” declared Moose as he started the vehicle, “would be our genuine pleasure.”

I settled back to enjoy the ride. Despite the fact that I'd nearly gotten both of us killed, I was feeling better about things than I had ten minutes previously. Heartbreaker was confirmed dead; the mission was a success.

Now, let's hope that I can keep pulling off these successes.

-ooo-​

By the time we got off the plane, Gladys' ankle had gone down enough that she was able to walk on it without too much pain. We had left the jackets with Moose and his nameless friend, along with the Glocks and shoulder rigs. I kept my own pistol, of course. I'd reloaded the magazine from the other Glock, and cleaned the pistol on the plane; no sense in alerting Kinsey to the fact that I'd been in a firefight.

Strike was there to meet us. “It's gonna be tight,” he warned me. “Dunno if I can get you back there in time.”

“Do your best,” I advised him. “If we're late, we're late.”

-ooo-​

“They're late,” Kinsey stated flatly. “I said an hour before sunset, and it's an hour before sunset.”

Andrea – he was no longer thinking of her as Ms Campbell, or even 'the Captain's lady friend' – wriggled under his arm; instinctively, he wrapped it around her shoulders, as she snuggled in to him.

“Give them a little more time?” she suggested. “Taylor was really tightly wound when she got in to Brockton Bay. Maybe she just needs to stay out there a little bit longer.”

He frowned. “Hm. Maybe -”

Three distinct pops echoed across the lake, the still water carrying the sound well. He looked up. “That's the Captain's pistol.”

“Is she shooting at something?” Andrea looked concerned.

“Not with that spacing,” he decided. “That's a signal. She's there, she's alive, but someone's hurt, at a guess.” He produced a large automatic pistol. “Cover your ears.”

She did as she was told, as he strode down to the shoreline. He fired three times directly into the water; no sense in having bullets fall to ground elsewhere, maybe hitting someone.

After a long moment, there was a single pop. He replied with a shot of his own. The ripples spread out across the lake.

“Okay,” he told her, as he returned to the campsite. “She knows I heard her, and that I know what's going on. She'll sit tight until I come to get her. Now, do you want to stay here in camp while I go get her, or come with?”

“Well duh,” she told him with a grin. “Come with, of course.”

-ooo-​

Gladys sat at the edge of the lake, her shoe off, bathing her ankle in the near-freezing water.

“How's it feeling?” I asked her.

“Still sore,” she admitted. “But it's getting better.”

Crackling undergrowth warned me that someone was coming; I turned fast, bringing up the small Glock. I may as well have been holding a bent stick as far as Kinsey was concerned, although Andrea looked a little taken aback. I lowered the pistol, crouching to tuck it back into the ankle holster, then straightened just in time to catch Andrea's charge.

“Taylor!” she squealed, setting birds to flight. “Yay!”

I held her tightly, feeling her arms wrap around me. “It's good to see you again too, sweetie,” I told her. “Though you do realise that I've only been hiking around the lake. I haven't been that far away.”

She grabbed my by the face and rubbed her nose lovingly against mine. “I still missed you, silly,” she chided me. “Though James was really good company.”

I glanced over at where Kinsey was examining Gladys' ankle. “He was?”

She nodded, grinning, then whispered in my ear. My eyebrows rose, and I looked again at Kinsey. “Well, well,” I murmured. “Well, well, well. It looks like he took our little talk to heart.”

“Uh huh,” she agreed. “And afterward we got to talking, and he found out that I don't know any of the fighting stuff that you and Gladys do, so he showed me some self defence stuff that people like me can do.”

“Excellent,” I told her. “That's really, really good to know. And I'm glad you two are getting along.”

Gladys and Kinsey were arguing in low tones; after a few moments, Kinsey seemed to win. Effortlessly, he scooped Gladys up in his arms, ignoring her less than thrilled expression.

“Otherwise it'd be dark before we got back,” he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she agreed. “Taylor, grab my shoe, will you?”

“I'll get it,” Andrea volunteered eagerly, and darted over to pick it up. Returning to my side, she captured my arm and held it tightly. “Let's get back to camp,” she told me cheerfully. “We can have marshmallows.”

And later on, I knew, Andrea would want to know all about how the mission had gone down. Which was fine; I was equally interested in knowing how her day with Kinsey had gone.

I was sure we would both learn a lot.

End of Part 4-4

Part 4-5​