Geekomancy (33 page)

She turned, looking for Eastwood, then aimed down, firing a burst at his feet. The geek held up a handful of gaming cards, and her shots ricocheted off of a dome that flashed with their impacts and disappeared. One of the cards shredded in his hand, but he still held a dozen.

Eastwood raised his blaster in his other hand, and Ree ducked behind the stacks and resumed running.

Well, crap.
She grabbed the first thing off the shelf, hoping it would serve her better. It was a plush dragon with green fur and a red felt tongue. Ree had no idea what it did outside of being cute.

Yeah, no.
She tossed the dragon over her shoulder and circled around toward the door, praying that her backup would show up and
soon
. Behind her, a plume of flame shot ten feet in the air.

Too late now.
Ree kept running.

Eastwood’s voice echoed through the room. “If you stop now, I’ll let you stay here while I finish, Ree. It doesn’t have to go down this way.”

“Can you hear yourself? You’re one step away from monologuing while holding me over a pit of sharks.”

She saw Eastwood halfway down a row of stacks as she dashed by. He had the blaster in one hand, his cards in the other. And he looked pissed.

He fired down the row at her, the shot hitting the wall behind her. She kept running down two more aisles, then stopped and ducked, crawling along looking for another weapon. She crawled past a large box marked B
OWLING
B
ALLS—
M
ARVEL
and another one labeled C
ABBAGE
P
ATCH
D
OLLS
and D
ANGEROUS
. Then she found a mannequin with a Wonder Woman outfit, complete with lasso and bracelets.

Score.
Ree grabbed the lasso and looped it over her shoulder before pulling the bracelets off the mannequin. She crab-walked on her knees down the row as she slipped on the bracelets. She thought a prayer to her favorite Wonder Woman as she checked over her shoulder to look for Eastwood.

Dear Lynda Carter,

Please be with me in my hour of need. Especially if I don’t have to twirl around to get my powers.

Big fan,

Ree

She felt the power hum in the bracelets and lasso in response. Ree rose to her feet at the end of the row and threw her voice to the other side of the room. “Come and get it!”

She listened and looked for Drake, but all she heard was the clomping of Eastwood’s boots a row to her left. She pulled the lasso free and gave herself a couple of yards of slack, her left arm up to deflect shots with the bracelet.

Eastwood appeared around the corner of the stacks, and Ree threw the lasso, trying to loop it around his head or at least one of his hands. Eastwood saw the golden lariat coming and dove into a roll, firing as he went.

The bracelets moved on their own on Ree’s wrists, intercepting the blaster bolts, which deflected up and away to scorch the concrete walls. Ree jumped forward, lashing out with a roundhouse kick to where Eastwood’s head would be as he came out of the roll. Eastwood brought the knife up to cover his face, and Ree twisted on her planted foot, turning the roundhouse into a sidekick, striking him on the side of the head. Eastwood’s roll continued, and he caught himself on the wall.

Ree whipped the lasso out again, and it looped loose around Eastwood’s knife hand. Ree stepped back and tightened the rope, shouting, “Got you!”

Eastwood didn’t stop. He raised his blaster and shot Ree point-blank in the chest. The bracelets twisted her hands, trying to stop the blast, but they were too slow.

The red blast hit the quilt-mail T-shirt she’d forgotten she was even wearing . . . but didn’t pierce it.

Still, Ree felt like she’d been hit by a battering ram. She crashed to the ground, hard, and dropped the lasso. Her lungs were empty, and she gasped for air, instinctively curling into a ball.

Owfuckshitowgoddamnbraceletsow.

The quilted shirt-mail had saved her from becoming a geekabob, but her chest still hurt like a mother. When she opened her eyes, Eastwood stood above her, blaster aimed at her head.

“Nice shirt. I’ve got a trick of my own for these artifacts.” Eastwood held up a green lantern power ring. “It’s Rayner’s, not Jordan’s.” He shook his head. “Weakness to yellow. How stupid. You stay in here until I’m done, and you’ll thank me when I bring your mother back to you. If you try to get up and fight, the deal is off.”

Eastwood was huffing, and his hand shook as he held the blaster. His power ring let off a green trail of energy, buzzing. At this distance, it wouldn’t matter if the ring could negate her shirt. He could take a head shot and he’d never miss, even as fast as she could dodge.

“Get it?” he asked.

By way of response, Ree groaned in pain.

“Good.”

Eastwood twisted a knob on the blaster, and the last thing Ree saw were blue rings of light accompanied by a familiar sound.

Chapter Eighteen

Did You Get The Name of That Truck?

Ree woke to a swimming, foggy feeling wrapped around her head and set to Shake.

Ow.
She risked opening her eyes and saw that she was still in Eastwood’s Dorkcave. She tried to sit up and met resistance. She looked down and saw that she’d been tied to one of the shelves with the Wonder Woman lasso. The bracelets were gone. As was her quilted shirt.

Ree twisted in place to feel for her cell phone. The fog kept rumbling around her head, but she squinted and saw her phone on Eastwood’s desk.

Ree mumbled to herself, “Okay, what now?” And then realized that talking hurt, hearing hurt, and everything in between hurt.

I need something, something to cut with. And where’s Drake?

Ree turned her head slowly and looked around the room.

She saw that the stacks were on lockdown. She hadn’t known they
could
lock down. The shelves were covered by metal panels that she assumed collapsed up or down when Eastwood wasn’t keeping former protégés from foiling his plans.

Ree blinked a few times, trying to push the fog out of her mind. The screens on Eastwood’s wall were off, so there was no chance of emulating anything to get her out of the ties.

Okay, Ree, what are you going to do now? If Drake hasn’t shown up by now, then you can’t assume he will.

She tried to work her fingers up to the bindings and feel what Eastwood was using. It wasn’t cold, so she guessed it was a zip tie instead of a cuff.

Zip ties I can do.
She knew from TV that zip ties were never meant for long-term containment. They’d zip-tie you, then throw you in a squad car and cuff you or lock you in. It was the same thing they did with the folks at the various Occupy encampments. But with no one to stop her, Ree had time to bust them.

First she tried to Hulk them off, pulling her wrists apart and flexing her arms. The ties bit into her wrists, and she felt the ties flex, but not enough. She growled as she pulled, but the ties didn’t budge, so she gave up, exhaling.

Ow.

Wincing, she wriggled her right hand around to feel the other side of the tie. If she remembered right, they worked like the ties for trash bags. Which meant there was some mechanism that grabbed the ridges on the tie itself, keeping it from sliding out.

She stuck out her tongue and shifted her shoulders, changing the angles until she caught part of the tie on a nail. She exhaled and pushed her wrists open. The ties moved, and when the ridged bar of the tie clicked again, she pulled her left arm out, then shook the zip tie to the ground. She undid the tie at her feet with ease, reaching around and pulling the same trick with the pressure bar, much simpler since this time she could see what she was doing.

“TV, motherfuckers,” she said to no one in particular. “Rot your brain, eh?”

Ree pushed herself up and walked over to Eastwood’s desk, rubbing her tender wrists. She had ten missed calls. Nine from Drake and one from Anya. And it was already five-thirty.

Sorry, Anya. Love you, but I don’t even have time to catch my breath right now.

She massaged her head as she hit redial to call Drake, hoping he wasn’t far away.

“Ahoy?” Drake answered.

“Where are you?”

“Ree?” Drake asked. “By the heavens, what happened?”

Ree walked toward the main door leading outside. “Tons. Where were you?”

“Are you quite all right? It’s been hours. I attempted to join you upon your call, but the doors had been barred by some renewed enchantment. I lingered and pursued Mr. Eastwood when he departed. I believe he has noticed me, since we’ve spent the last hour on a fine bout of cat and mouse. But one doesn’t travel with the Mistress for seasons upon seasons without learning that game at the level of champions.”

Ree tried the door and saw that it was locked from the outside.
Crap.
“Where are you now?”

“Bearing east, approaching Miner Park.”

Ree walked to the side entrance, the one that led up to Eastwood’s apartment. “All right. Stay with him, and I’ll call you when I’m closer. Assuming I can get out of this place.”

The side door was locked, too. Ree circled the room again, trying to pick out other exits from her memory, fighting through the cottony dullness that persisted in her head.

Okay. Inventory.
Ree pulled everything out of her pockets as she walked the room, checking her assets. Wallet, money, key cards, credit cards, including one she never used that could work to jimmy a simple lock. Hair ties and the pair of bobby pins she always kept in her hair for weird occasions.
Now we’re getting somewhere.

She tried her jankety lock-picking kit out on the side door, then the front door, and gave up when the credit card broke on the door.
Next time, bring the good kit.

“Okay, what now?” she said, scanning the room.

She saw a glint of fading sunlight and tracked it across the room to a window, peeking out above a row of shelves. Only the very top of the window was visible behind the closed-off shelves, and it was fifteen feet up. So, all she had to do was climb up the shelf, break the window, and avoid cutting herself open as she crawled out. The window would open out to the side street, so she’d have to make that landing, too.

John McClane never had it easy, either.

Ree scanned the closed-up shelves and ran her hands along the nesting plates, trying them for handholds.
Not going to happen.
She hadn’t even thought of rock climbing since middle school, when she was invited to a “leadership” program. She’d since realized it was a “get the shy kids some confidence” program, with team-building exercises and ropes courses.

The program hadn’t made her any new friends, but it had helped some with her fear of heights. After those ten weeks, being twenty feet off the ground didn’t make her seize up with terror anymore. She’d never gotten great at the ropes, but she was an expert fort-builder.

Ree went back to Eastwood’s desk and grabbed his trash can, fan, and a multi-tool from the top of one of his towers. Then she pulled the bungee cords out from where he’d used them to tie down computer cables or suspend a footrest under his desk. She’d thought it was a great idea when she checked out his work desk the first time, and now she was doubly thankful for his ingenuity. Especially since he used the high-grade ones that were rated for industrial use.

She piled everything in the chair and wheeled it over to the corner at the end of the shelf. She took a couple of slow breaths to clear her head, then started stacking. She put the trash can upside down on the chair, then set the multi-tool to its knife and took the bungees in her left hand. She locked the chair wheels in place and started to climb.

Ree stepped up to the top of the chair, one foot on the trash can. She scanned the wall and stepped up to a foothold. Then she stuck the knife into one of the joints between the metal plates, trying to work it open. She grabbed the knife with both hands, twisting back and forth to open a slot where she could stick a bungee hook in.

After a few more seconds of twisting, she tried to slot the end of a bungee into the hole. Not quite. She used the hook as a lever, trying to open the hole wider. Her legs wobbled a bit, and her head spun, and suddenly, she dropped to the chair and all of her tools clattered to the ground.

Come on.
Ree picked everything up and tried again. She climbed up, set her foothold on the wall, and tried the plate. She opened it enough to slide in the hook, letting out a “Woot!” when it locked.