Dawnbreaker: Legends of the Duskwalker - Book 3 (2 page)

Wick shook his head, but Able produced two from his pack and held them out.

“Throw to the far side,” Cass said, pointing to places where the line of Weir was thinnest. “One there, the other there. After they go off, I’ll open up, then move. Bounce to a new position, fire, move again. If I can stay ahead of them, maybe it’ll be enough.”

“If
they
get ahead of
you
, we’re not going to be able to do anything to help.”

“Then don’t let them get ahead of me.”

Wick unlatched his sling and held out his short-barreled rifle to her. “It’s set on burst,” he said. “Fire two, then move. Two bursts max. Don’t wait around for a third.”

She nodded and took the weapon, its sleek metal cold to her already cold hands. It’d been years since she’d fired anything bigger than a pistol, and she’d never run anything quite like Wick’s weapon before. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. It had a single-point sling attached to the stock, which she slipped over her head and shoulder and then cinched. Wick quickly adjusted it for her so it would hang properly. He handed her two extra magazines.

“Thirty rounds each. Don’t try to reload on the run. When you’re running, just run. You can reload when you get there. Unless you’re dry, then just–”

“I got it, Wick,” Cass said, cutting him off. “Find me some places to set up.” She squeezed his shoulder, and then Able’s arm, and then crossed the empty space to the back side of the building where they’d first climbed up. When she reached the gap in the wall, she forced herself to stop and scan the street below for five deep breaths to make sure it was clear. Satisfied that it was, she crouched low and hopped over the edge. The twelve-foot drop barely registered when she hit the pavement. She crouched again in the moonlit alley and ran her eyes and fingers over the controls on Wick’s weapon; fortunately all the essentials were in familiar places. Cass dropped the magazine out of the rifle and swapped in a fresh one, then did it again just to make sure she could. She shouldered it, and snapped the muzzle back and forth between a couple of arbitrary pieces of debris down the alley, gauging the weapon’s weight and getting a sense of the sight picture. She knew her way around guns, but they’d never really been her thing. Not as smooth as Wick. She could get the job done well enough... she hoped. At least she was about to get a lot more practice.

An internal ping showed up in her vision, a digital landmark only she could see, off to the northeast. Wick’s first point of attack. She took another deep breath to steady herself, and headed out, hunched low but with quick, careful steps. Whether she could see residual heat or some wavelength beyond the normal spectrum, she didn’t know, but the night’s darkness posed no trouble for her Weir-enhanced eyes.

Cass approached the end of the wide alley and slowed as she reached the corner. Wick’s first waypoint was only about thirty yards on the other side of the road. She edged forward and leaned out just far enough for one eye to get a view of what lay down the street. It was empty, except for the raging noise that cascaded down the channel created by the buildings on either side. Cass ducked her head and dashed straight across, forcing herself to keep her eyes fixed on her destination. Once she’d crossed, she slipped around behind a four-story structure, passing a gaping hole in the wall that exposed a skeletal staircase coated in concrete dust and debris. She glanced up at it as she went by and saw that whatever those stairs had led to at one time was gone now. The final steps had sheared off and hung out into space.

Just past the building she paused at another corner, and then covered the remaining ground to the waypoint. As she closed in, though, it vanished. Cass glanced around looking for a good vantage point, but as far as she could see there wasn’t anywhere that had a sightline to the Weir. A few seconds later, a second waypoint appeared, further east, maybe thirty yards. Again, she made her way to it and again, as she neared, the waypoint vanished. The position seemed even worse here. Still no clear lines of attack, and even the roar from the Weir seemed dulled. What was Wick doing?

It occurred to her now that she had no way to communicate with him directly. She hadn’t thought to ask him to patch her in to the team’s secure channel, the low-frequency, low-profile method they used to communicate in the Open without attracting the attention of the Weir. She didn’t dare risk a pim to him, knowing the signal would surely reveal her. Maybe he’d misunderstood. Or... was he leading her back towards the tunnel? Trying to send her out of harm’s way?

A third waypoint appeared for her, northward, though still with an eastward bend. She stood for a moment, uncertain of his intentions. After a moment she resolved to go to the third point and evaluate. If by then she wasn’t seeing a place to ambush, she’d make her way back and hope she got there fast enough before Wick and Able did whatever it was they were really planning to do.

Cass upped her pace to a trot. The third point was slightly elevated, and she had to scramble up and over a low wall to reach it. She didn’t like that wall, given the need she was going to have of a quick, direct path out. There was a single-story structure there, some kind of old storage facility she guessed. It had a sloping roof that was only about four feet above the ground in the back and angled to maybe twelve feet in the front. Wick’s waypoint hovered midway up the roof. Cass hopped up on to it, dropped to a crouch, and made her way up. She had to move a few steps ahead of the waypoint to get a view on the Weir, but once she did, she realized Wick hadn’t led her astray. Far from it. Cass couldn’t imagine a better position from which to launch a surprise assault.

Two rows of low buildings separated her from the host of Weir, but the gentle rise of the terrain and the way the buildings lined up gave her a clear field of fire. When her first rounds found their mark, the Weir would most likely turn their attention to the buildings closest to them, giving her plenty of time and cover to make it to the next point.

Cass settled in and tucked the rifle stock tight into the pocket of her shoulder. Sighted in, took a deep breath, held, released. On target, she slipped her finger inside the trigger guard and lightly rested it on the trigger. She wondered briefly how much recoil the weapon had.

And then, as if her thoughts had summoned it, the attack began.

Able’s first grenade made a pop Cass could barely hear above the clamor, but there was no missing the flash. Lightning-bright, it made her flinch reflexively even from that distance. The Weir closest to the detonation scattered blindly, and Cass took advantage, sighting in again and firing three bursts in succession at the clusters of Weir gathered on either side of the blast. Able’s second grenade went off twenty feet from the first, with similar results. Except this time Cass didn’t flinch. She ripped off two, three, four more bursts as the line of Weir rippled and broke open near the blast points. Wick had warned her not to fire more than twice from the same location, but her vantage was so good and the chaos so complete, she couldn’t miss the chance to take down as many Weir as possible at the height of their confusion. This first strike was critical.

Cass sighted in on a tight cluster and let off a burst, then snapped her weapon to a second group and fired again. Some Weir stumbled, others fell. Whether they could tell where the shots had come from or not, Cass didn’t know. By then, she was too busy leaping down from her perch and dashing towards the low wall. She’d pushed her luck as far as she’d dared. As she scrambled up and over, a new waypoint appeared. Cass sprinted for it.

Five, seven, ten seconds. Each one felt like a potential loss of momentum, a possible unraveling of the plan. Forty-four seconds after her initial attack, Cass slid on her knees into the new position Wick had marked for her. This one low, with a narrow line to the courtyard. Not knowing how many rounds she’d expended, she dropped the magazine out of the rifle and slapped in a fresh one. Then without hesitation, she shouldered Wick’s rifle and fired two quick bursts into the thin sliver of the teeming crowd she could see. Her fire was accurate, but she didn’t confirm whether or not her targets were dead. Kills were a bonus; chaos, the goal. Already the next waypoint was waiting for her, and speed was of the utmost essence.

Cass vaulted up to a full run, north and west, circling behind a row of squat cement structures. She was only fifteen feet away when the first Weir surged out of a darkened entryway into her path. The creature hesitated for a heartbeat. It was enough. She fired a burst directly into its center of mass, and then leapt and brought her knee high. She caught the creature just under the jaw and rode it to the ground, then rolled and let the momentum carry her back to her feet. The Weir managed a ragged, gurgling howl, but Cass didn’t bother to look back. The adrenaline was flowing. She was too fast now. Far too fast. The entire world seemed to have slowed around her, for her,
because
of her.

She reached the waypoint, dropped to a crouch, fired, moved on. She had to stay one step ahead. Two, if possible. But Cass was forced to restrain herself; it was several seconds before Wick marked a new position, and she had to loop back to reach it. Speed was critical to keeping up the illusion, but if she outran Wick, she might end up in a place she couldn’t get back out of.

The next waypoint was at an intersection of alleys, and Cass slowed her pace just enough to squeeze off three accurate bursts as she crossed. It took her less than two seconds. And even as she resumed her sprint, she found she could see it all so clearly in her mind’s eye; the sight picture the weapon presented, the impact of the rounds, the uncomprehending expressions on the faces of the stricken Weir. Like still frames, each instant perfectly preserved. Like when she’d boosted on quint.
Like
, but not the same. This was clearer somehow, cleaner.

Out there, in that courtyard, the clamor of the Weir was changing, shifting. Cries and howls transformed from savage mockery into anger, confusion, pain. And above it all, an eruption of gunfire. Cass couldn’t see the building where Gamble and her team were pinned, but she knew they were fighting now. Not defensively, not conserving ammo. Counter-assaulting.

There was another delay before her beacon showed up, longer this time, and when it finally appeared, it was so close Cass almost overran it. She skidded on the concrete-dusted asphalt as she took the hard corner towards the newest destination. This position was in a tight alley, and Cass was startled by the number of Weir just at the other end. Wick was taking her much closer to the Weir.

No, not closer. The crowd was breaking up, turning outward. Searching. Seeking.

Two Weir were hunched down, sweeping their heads back and forth in measured movements. Hunting. The waypoint blinked away as she brought the rifle up and on target.

She felt it somehow, just before.

A dread presence, like someone standing too close behind her.

Cass whirled–

Too late. The barrel caught, her burst of fire stitched the wall. The world went sideways.

The impact blacked her vision for an instant, something heavy atop her. Even as her mind swam and fought to recover her scattered senses, her body was in motion, reacting. Automatic. Her claws rent her attacker before she could even see it.

As her vision cleared, she swept the dying Weir to the side with one arm. Still on her back, she arched up and brought her weapon above her head, the world momentarily upside-down as she fired into the two Weir that were now charging at her. One twisted and tumbled into the wall, but the other took the hit and kept coming. Cass rolled to her belly and squeezed the trigger again. Her rifle only clicked. Empty.

She scrambled back on her knees, but didn’t have time to make it all the way up to her feet. She let the rifle drop free, trusting the sling to carry it out of the way as she reached out her hands. Time stretched in that final second before contact. The Weir was wounded. Two dark blotches in the upper abdomen. Its right hand was sweeping in, claws extended, aimed at her eyes.

Cass intercepted the creature’s wrist with the palm of her left hand, lifted it up just enough to pass it over her head. In the same instant, she stepped up and drove forward with her right shoulder, planting the strike right in the Weir’s wounded midsection. It folded over her with a shriek and she continued upwards, using the creature’s momentum to carry it off its feet and send it flying face first into the hard concrete. It squawked once as it impacted with a wet slap, but Cass spun and stomped down on the back of its neck before it could recover.

Another group of Weir skidded around the corner, further down the alley, back the direction she had come. They were starting to home in on her. Four of them, thirty feet away and closing fast. Cass swapped the spent magazine for her last one. Fifteen feet. Cold, savage fury rose within her and spilled forth as she advanced to meet them. Her burst of fire killed the first two at nearly point-blank range, and she swept the third’s attack aside with the rifle, spinning between the last two as she did so. The Weir seemed sluggish, unable to match her speed or predict her movements; she was behind them before they reacted. She slammed the butt of her rifle into the base of the third Weir’s skull, sent it headlong into the fourth. Two bursts into the confused tangle. Then she was off again, at a full sprint.

This was the most dangerous time; the Weir were like hornets, frenzied by the attack. The tight mass of them had begun to break, with many individuals scattering in wild search for their tormentors. A single Weir would be nothing to her, and even a handful could be overcome. But if they got a lock on Cass’s position, they would surely kill her with their thousand stings. She’d burned through her ammo much faster than she’d expected to.

And where was the next waypoint? Had she missed it? Was it back the other way? Cass scanned all around her as she ran, searching for her next position. She risked a quick glance back over her shoulder; when she looked forward again, another Weir was just flashing out of an alley ahead and to her right. She touched the trigger but the instant before she squeezed, instinct stopped her. There was only one; ammo was low.