Brainrush 05 - Everlast 02: Ephemeral (8 page)

J
AKE
RUSHED DOWN
the smoke-filled corridor, leading with his MP5. He kicked
open yet another door to find two empty sets of bunk beds.

“Damn it!”

He slammed open another door but that room was also empty.
He turned and dashed toward the far end of the hall, where the final row of
dorm rooms waited around the next corner. Sweat stung his eyes. The smoke was
thinning so he ripped off the mask and tossed it aside.

“There!” a man shouted behind him.

Jake veered around the corner, took a knee, and spun about
as pounding boots approached. He yanked a grenade from his belt, looped his
finger through the pin ring—

His headset crackled. “Francesca and the children aren’t
there!” Lacey said. “The building is rigged to blow. Get out now!”

The information stunned him. Even as a distant part of him realized
that the clear reception suggested Lacey and the others had cleared the
stairwells and made it safely outside the building, another part of him
rebelled. He switched off his radio, pulled the pin, cocked his wrist—and time
slowed with the realization he didn’t want to flee. He wanted to kill those
men, to see them bleed, to risk it all to save his loved ones.

But they’re not here...

And he wasn’t a ground-pounder, he thought, slowly lowering
his arm. He’d never trained for this kind of action. He was a pilot, for God’s
sake. There could be a dozen trained men coming after him. What was he
thinking?

And that’s when it dawned on him. He
wasn’t
thinking.
He was in the midst of a lunatic’s version of autopilot—another indicator his
brain functions were deteriorating.

After spinning on his heels, he took off like a kid fleeing
a demon. Halfway to the end of the corridor, he glanced into an open door and a
familiar pair of pink slippers confirmed his fears—he’d already searched this row
of rooms. He’d been running in circles like an idiot.

He kept moving, still gripping the grenade, risking a glance
over his shoulder just as the first of the guards turned the corner. The man
pointed, charging forward. Three others followed on his heels. Jake leaned into
his sprint, darted around the corner, and nearly tripped at the sight of shadows
emerging from the thinning haze ahead of him.

“Southwest corner. Twenty-second floor!” the lead man from
the new group yelled into his radio.

Two more strides and Jake dodged into the stairwell, leaped down
the steps, spun around the first turn, and smacked into a guard. The man flew
backward, his fall cushioned by the two men behind him. Jake caught himself on
the rail, the lurch nearly yanking his arm from its socket. One of the men
yelled, raising his weapon.

Jake dropped the grenade.

It clattered down the steps and the guards dove out of view.
Jake turned and sped up the steps two at a time, his legs pumping on pure
adrenaline. He passed the door to the twenty-second floor just as it began to
open. He was turning the next corner when the concussion from the grenade blew
him off his feet. Sound disappeared, and he found himself propped against a
corner, his legs twisted beneath him. He reached for the handrail, pulled himself
up, blew out several huffs in an attempt to clear his head. Silence turned to
ringing in his ears, then muffled cries from below. He shook his head and
staggered up the staircase on all fours, each step a challenge. Angry shouts
urged him to his feet and propelled him forward, past the twenty-third
floor,
the twenty-fourth...  

He stopped at the door to the top floor, only then realizing
he’d lost his MP5. He pulled out his pistol and gripped the door handle, his
mind focused on finding a path that would allow him to flank his pursuers and
exit down a different staircase. He cracked the door open.

Son of a—

Two more guards were rushing his way. Out of options, he turned
and raced up toward the rooftop. He shouldered through the door just as a
thunderous explosion shook the building, knocking him onto the deck. A rumble
echoed from the throat of the stairwell. He rolled to one side as a blast wave
blew the door from its hinges and propelled it into the night. Superheated air
jetted past him, singeing the hairs on the back of his neck.

Just as fast, the negative pressure of the blast asserted
itself, sucking the air back into the building, whistling as it crowded into
the narrow doorway.

Jake pushed to his feet and darted toward the fire escape on
the far side of the building. He was halfway there when he saw the flames climbing
over the edge. He swiveled but it was the same everywhere, the surrounding flames
climbing higher with each breath he sucked in. He spun around and saw that the
zip line was still in place, well above the flames. He took off toward the
equipment shed. Steam hissed all around and cracks in the rooftop sprouted
hungry flames. By the time he reached the access ladder, it felt as if the
soles of his boots were melting. He clambered up the ladder, skirted the hang glider,
opened the equipment pack, and grabbed an automated sport ascender. He grabbed
the zip line—and snapped his hand back as the hot wire burned his palm. His gaze
followed its track; it was engulfed in flames.

He dropped the ascender, whirled toward the glider, and
emptied his lungs.

Final hope...

He ducked into position beneath the wings, bringing up the
memory of Skylar’s movements. He clipped into the frame and hoped like hell he
could steer the damn thing, assuming he could get off the ground at all. He was
only fifteen feet above the rooftop and the wall of flames surrounding the
building was double that. One way or another, it was gonna be a hot ride. He unclipped
the tie-downs and fought to hold the rig in place in the swirling winds. With a
quick glance up at the thin fabric, he shook his head and took off running.

The instant his feet cleared the edge, the glider’s nose
dropped. His stomach lurched just before the superheated air grabbed hold of
the wings and leveled it out, his body barely clearing the clutter of ducting
and equipment as he sped across the rooftop. Embers puckered his face and hands.
The wind changed and suddenly he was headed directly toward the roof antennae. He
shifted his weight and the glider banked sharply, skirting the tower, the wing tip
dipping too low. He swung back, overcompensating, and the glider S-turned in
the opposite direction, streaking toward the raging inferno at the edge of the
building. His speed was up, but his pilot instincts told him there was no way
he had enough lift to clear the flames. Then a portion of the roof collapsed at
his two-o’clock and a geyser of hot air rushed from the opening. His body
reacted without thought, his weight shifting, steering the craft toward the
rising shaft of heat.

The glider hit the plume, shot upward, and pierced the upper
licks of the flame wall.

“Yes!” he shouted. He banked toward the street fronting the
building and looked down to see the flashing lights of dozens of emergency
vehicles, and hundreds of people moving this way and that. He spotted the herd
of uniformed teens he’d seen earlier. They jogged en masse away from the
structure, the frontrunners pointing toward a smaller group that was already a
block away.

Marsh saved them all.

He adjusted his heading and switched on the radio.

“Look! Up in the sky. It’s a bird, it’s a plane, no, it’s me.”

Pete’s voice sounded over his headset. “Tallyho, ye jammy
weasel!”

“Jake!” Lacey chimed in. “Thank God.”

Skylar said, “Uh, I hate to rush you, Mr. Man of Steel, but
you’re trailing smoke.”

Jake craned his neck to see embers eating away at the rear
edge of the left wing. Scanning beyond the point where the teens were headed,
he said, “There’s a park a block down the street. Meet me there.”

“On our way,” Pete said.

Shifting his weight forward, he dropped the nose and
increased his rate of descent, passing over a crowded street market
crisscrossed with overhead streamers and illuminated by banks of neon signage.
Beyond, street lamps shone in the park, which was anchored by a lone tree in
its center, one side demarked by walking paths, and the other by a city-block
stretch of open lawn that the first group of teens was already walking across.

Jake lined up his approach, passing over the larger gang of
teens. He swept between two high-rise apartment buildings, where crowded
balconies of onlookers gaped and pointed as he flew past. The glider picked up
speed as the embers ate through the fabric, making the nose drop. His course
drifted and he leaned his weight to correct, but the craft failed to respond. It
veered farther off course, banking sharply. The big tree loomed in front of
him. He yanked his torso to one side, realizing too late he should’ve pulled in
the opposite direction.

The glider flipped.

J
AKE
LAY DAZED
, sprawled faceup in the upper branches of the tree, the torn glider
wing twisted in the limbs beneath him.

“You owe me a new glider,” Skylar said, her head poking
through the branches. She pulled herself onto a limb and squatted beside him.
“Anything broken?”

He sucked air and blew it out slowly.

“My ribs seem okay,” he said.

“How ’bout your arms and legs?”

He shifted his weight and checked his limbs. “They seem
fine, too.”

“Marvelous. Maybe you
are
the Man of Steel.” She
grabbed his harness and yanked him to a seated position. The branches cradling
him bounced.

“Hey, careful!” he said, grabbing for a branch.

“My hero,” she said. She unslung a rope from her shoulder,
looped one end around a limb, and dropped the other through the branches below.
He saw they were nearly thirty feet above the ground. Pete and Feng stood
beside an ambulance, staring up at him.

“Is he okay?” Pete yelled.

“Massive bruises to his ego, I expect,” Skylar said with a
wink.

“Ouch,” Jake said, unclipping the glider risers from his
harness.

She fastened a descender clip to his harness, looped the
rope through, and handed it to him. “Down you go, big boy. Don’t get your cape
caught in the branches.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. He tested his weight against the
rope, nodded, and lowered himself. Just before he touched the ground, Skylar
dropped from a limb to land beside him.

“Slowpoke.”

He shook his head, then saw Lacey backing out of the rear of
the ambulance, supporting Marshall as he stepped onto the ground. A bandage was
wrapped around his skull, but otherwise he seemed uninjured. He locked eyes
with Jake and the two exchanged tight nods.

Marshall pointed up at the tree as he approached. “I thought
you could fly anything with wings?”

“Shut up,” Jake said. He wrapped his friend in a hug. Beyond
Marshall’s shoulder, he spotted the main crowd of teens making their way toward
them from across the park. Glancing in the opposite direction, he saw the first
group of six teens just exiting the far side of the lawn. In their haste to
distance themselves from the building, they hadn’t noticed his glorious landing.
“Glad to see you, Marsh.”

 “Glad you came lookin’,” Marshall said. His gaze took in
the others. “All of you.” He pulled back when a teenage boy and girl stepped
from around the truck. “Dolphin, Shamer, meet my best friend, Jake Bronson.”

The two kids bowed, smiled, and pointed up at the twisted
glider. “Nice flying,” they said in unison. Pete scratched his chin and nodded.

“What is this, a conspiracy to beat down my ego?” Jake said.
Leave it to Marshall to lighten things up when the going got tough. Jake
appreciated it, though thoughts of his family made it impossible to relax. He managed
a smile.

Pete motioned toward Dolphin and Shamer. “It was thanks to
them that we were able to warn you in time.”

Marshall added, “And it’s also thanks to them that we know
where Francesca and the kids have been taken.”

Jake spun toward them. “What? Where?”

That’s when the screams rang out.

They all turned toward the far end of the park and saw the six
uniformed teens on the ground, some writhing and squirming, tearing at their
wrists, shrieking in pain, some unmoving.

 “BlackFlag!” Shamer screamed, her face twisted, her hand
raised to her mouth.

Jake took it all in at once—the horrifying screams, Shamer’s
reaction, Dolphin coiling to sprint toward them, Marshall grabbing the boy’s
wrist, the pulsing green glow beneath the kid’s skin, the same glow on Shamer’s
wrist, the girl sprinting away.

“Stop her!” Marshall cried. Jake’s feet were already moving.
He caught her in three strides, wrapped an arm around her torso, lifting her off
her feet, then carried her back to the group. Her body heaved with sobs and her
arms were outstretched toward her friends on the ground. Pete and Marshall had hold
of either of Dolphin’s arms, restraining him.

“What’s happening?” he cried out. “My friends!”

The main group of teens appeared from the shadows, and Jake
saw the wide-eyed expressions of the ones at the front of the pack. A few
started running toward their fallen comrades. Marshall grabbed Dolphin by the
shoulders and said, “If you trust me, you must get them to stop. Otherwise, they—will—die.”

Dolphin’s face paled but he didn’t hesitate. He cupped his
hands around his mouth and shouted in Chinese at the top of his lungs. Shamer
joined in, and the running teens lurched to a stop. They slowly turned back to
join Jake and the others.

Marshall still hadn’t released Dolphin. “We need a medical bag.
Quick,” he said.

Pete motioned to Feng, who disappeared into the ambulance.

“Lay him down,” Marshall said to Pete. “Hold his wrist.”

Dolphin kicked and twisted. “What? No!”

“Don’t hurt him!” Shamer sobbed. The other teens watched.

Skylar and Lacey rushed to help by bracing the boy’s
shoulders and arms. Feng crouched beside them and opened an expanding tackle
box of medical gear.

“What are we doing?” Feng asked, snapping on a pair of blue medical
gloves.

Marshall pointed to a scalpel. Feng nodded, grabbed it, and
removed the sterile wrapper. Marshall leaned down and captured Dolphin’s gaze.
“I need you to be brave, pal. We’ve got to get that chip out of you. It’s going
to hurt.”

“But only a pinch,” Feng said. He plunged a prefilled
hypodermic into the boy’s wrist, his movements swift and professional. Marshall
gave him a questioning look.

“EMS tech,” Feng said. “Need one on every shoot. This’ll numb
him up good.” He dropped the empty hypo into the case, grabbed the scalpel, and
pressed it to the boy’s skin. “Feel that?”

Dolphin’s eyes were saucers and his voice leaked out
tentatively. “Uh, nooo... ”

 Twenty seconds later, the glowing chip lay in a baggie, and
Feng was stitching the wound closed. He looked over at Jake and Shamer. “Next.”

Shamer fainted.