Reality Echo (19 page)

Kane’s walking stick crashed across Cilain’s face, and it broke into splinters and chunks of useless wood. Still, it had jarred the Fomorian woman enough that she released her victim.

Cilain shook shattered wood out of her hair, then glowered at Kane. “Trying again?”

“I don’t like bullies, witch,” Kane returned.

Cilain reached for Kane, but this time the Cerberus
warrior was ready for her strength and speed. Her fingers clutched only empty air, and Kane powered a kick into her midsection. Both Kane and Cilain were surprised that the blow actually lifted her off her feet, Cilain because she was aware of her five-hundred-plus pounds of weight and Kane because it felt as if he’d kicked an armored blast door. The Fomorian woman toppled to the dirt and cursed loudly as she rolled into the campfire.

Other scouts had come, alerted by the sound of battle, but Erik, his arm dangling uselessly, threw himself between the Appalachians and the battling pair.

“It’s not Epona!” Erik called out.

“Protect me!” Cilain shouted. “This madman—”

Kane knew that he needed more concrete proof that Cilain was not what she appeared to be. That meant he had to go as savage as possible. He hurled himself at the Fomorian impostor feetfirst, both of his boots crashing into her face. The effect was threefold. First, it shut Cilain’s mouth. Second, it made Kane feel as if he’d taken a hammer to his own knees. And third, when almost two hundred pounds of man drop-kicked a woman who looked to be half his size in the head, and he bounced off as if he’d struck a wall, the mountain scouts shouted in dismay, drawing their rifles.

“She’s Fomorian!” Kincaid, a second scout, spit in dismay.

Cilain rose to her feet, glaring at Kane. “You miserable little monkey.”

“Shoot her!” Erik shouted.

“No!” Epona shouted from the edge of the forest.

Kincaid lowered the muzzle of his scout rifle, looking at the real Epona in confusion. “But—”

“No shooting,” Epona hissed.

Cilain chuckled. “The Fomorians are tracking you, and if you start a gunfight, they’ll home in on us.”

Distracted by Epona’s arrival, Cilain was unprepared for Kane’s next attack. If guns were out of the question, and she’d taken his best kicks and still could walk, it was time to return to a more primitive assault weapon. Kane jammed his AK bayonet hard into Cilain’s throat, putting every ounce of his weight into the stab. The tough steel blade tore the Fomorian woman’s skin, creating a three-inch cut, but the force of the blow bent the knife. Coughing, Cilain backhanded Kane, hurling him to the ground.

“When’s it going to be my turn to have my density increased?” Kane grumbled.

“How about I just crumple you into a ball the size of an orange, Kane?” Cilain asked, walking toward him.

Kane speared his feet between the Fomorian impostor’s shins and rolled, using leverage to knock her off balance. She crashed into the dirt and Kane continued his twist, untangling his legs from hers and jamming the heel of his boot into her right eye. The blunt, hard sole provided more of a cushion, and since the impact was farther from her neck and shoulders than the previous drop kick, it actually snapped her head back. Skin tore and Cilain screamed as she felt her eyeball burst under the pressure of the impact.

Kane tried to withdraw his foot, but fingers like iron talons wrapped around his calf. It would only be a moment before the Fomorian witch would brace his foot and proceed to snap his leg like a twig. Kane folded and shoved the barrel of the AK deep between Cilain’s breasts, the spoon-shaped muzzle spearing into her skin. Kane hoped that Cilain’s body would absorb most of the noise from the rifle’s muzzle-blast as he pulled the trigger. The weapon wanted to jump under recoil, but snagged in superdense flesh, it was pinned solidly. There was no flash of light, no crack of thunder, only a gurgling growl as thirty steel-cored bullets punched through a chest wall of solid muscle and reinforced bone. It took the first third of the magazine to shatter enough of Cilain’s toughly armored flesh and sinew to get into her internal organs.

It was then that Cilain’s spiteful growl turned into a torrent of bright red blood pouring from battered lips. Her grasp on his lower leg loosened and she slumped in the dirt.

Kane dragged himself away from the Fomorian woman, his calf throbbing from the pain of the enormous pressure of her fingers. He had to test his toes and ankle to be certain that she hadn’t fractured his shin with only the strength of one hand.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to stand up, and despite a searing ache in his calf muscles, his leg didn’t fold beneath him.

“Did it make a noise?” Kane asked.

Epona looked, shocked, at her slain doppelganger.

“Did the rifle make a sound?” Kane demanded.

“No, it was muffled by her body,” Kincaid said. “It was hardly a rustle.”

Kane nodded, sighing in relief. “Epona…”

The Appalachian witch knelt by Cilain’s body. “Sleep well. Your torment is done, sweet sister.”

Kane grimaced, not in the pain inflicted by Cilain’s fists, but in regret over Epona’s loss. Somewhere in the past, the two women were friends, family. He’d taken away any chance of reconciliation, and he could feel that his victory and survival had taken on a dark, hollow shame.

“Do not blame yourself,” Epona said, her voice rough with sadness. In the firelight, he could see her cheeks glistening with tears. “Cilain brought this on herself. She danced with the devil, then slept in his bed.”

Kane frowned. It was with sick reluctance that he had to break the silence. “We have to get ready for the Fomorians. They still are a half an hour behind us, and Balor is with them.”

Kincaid and Erik looked at each other in horror. Kincaid spoke up. “We could try to run, but Balor is faster than any horse, even over this terrain.”

“And to fight…how many are there?” Erik asked, his words raspy with pain.

Kane tore his gaze away from the mournful Epona. He wondered how he could minimize the impact of his words, but he couldn’t. He only had the truth. “All of them.”

Erik clenched his eyes shut. “We can’t fight that.”

Kane strode over to Erik’s rifle and picked it up. “Then I’ll slow them down so you can get away.”

Kincaid shook his head. “That’s suicide.”

Kane worked the bolt on the rifle, checking to see if it was loaded. Satisfied that the weapon was ready for war, he leaned it over his shoulder and regarded the Appalachian men before him. “No. That’s saving your lives. I don’t intend to die. I intend to stop Bres.”

Cerberus

With the redoubt blacked out, operating only on emergency lighting and its communications systems completely disabled, Brigid Baptiste knew that she was running a fool’s errand as she pursued Thrush-Kane through the hallways. Cerberus staff was either working to open locked doorways, or wandering in confusion. No one had been shot, though Thrush-Kane had no qualms about inflicting injury on people who interfered with him.

Brigid wished that she had time to run to the armory, but those doors were probably locked, as well. Still, given that the doppelganger showed no discomfort even after injuries that would have left even the strongest man hobbled over in agony, Brigid had no idea what kind of weapon could rob the false man of his ability to do harm. A bullet to the forehead only produced annoyance, and not even from discomfort.

A soft squelch vibrated up Brigid’s jaw and she paused, touching her Commtact plate.

“Brigid, are you there?” Bry asked.

“You’ve got the radios up!” Brigid exclaimed with relief. She broke into a jog again, following a trail of bewildered Cerberus staff, and pried open doors. For now, it appeared that Thrush-Kane had been taking a random path through the redoubt, more to lose Brigid than approach someplace directly. “Bry, tell Grant and the others that we have confirmation that Thrush placed an infiltrator in the redoubt.”

Bry sighed on the other end. “What gave you that hint? The communication blackout, the power-down or the blast doors isolating entire sections of the base?”

“Any of that could have been done from the outside,” Brigid replied.

“So how did you confirm it?” Bry asked.

“Bitch shot me in the forehead,” Thrush-Kane interrupted. “Yammering biological trash!”

Brigid couldn’t resist a smile at the frustration evident in the impostor’s voice. “Party line, Bry. Can you cut him out of the loop?”

“We’re not doing this through central communication,” Bry said. “Just booster antennas.”

“Like you think you can stop me?” Thrush-Kane asked.

Brigid slid to a halt at a corner and saw the tall silhouette of the infiltrator standing in the shadows. She held her tongue, knowing that the false Kane not only was at least as strong as the original, but was armed with a handgun. Brigid hadn’t even picked up a butter knife from the cafeteria.

“Just counting all the invasions we’ve had here at Cerberus,” Bry chided. “An Annunaki armada. A Tuatha de Danaan utilizing an ancient weapon glove. Energy beings. We’re still here, Tinkertoy.”

“But why would you want to stop me?” Thrush-Kane asked. “I’m here to go after Enlil. You’ve got my vast intellect and obvious physical superiority to lead you once and for all in a campaign of extermination that will rid the Earth of the Annunaki threat.”

“Extermination,” a deep voice boomed over the Commtact web. It was Grant. “Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot for thinking you could be the real Kane.”

Thrush-Kane sighed. “Grant, welcome to the conversation. Now shut up and let the people with brains do the talking.”

Brigid sneered at the cyborg’s dismissal of her partner. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the means to wipe the arrogance off Thrush-Kane’s face. Grant snorted in derision, and Brigid whirled to see him moving stealthily up the hall.

“Right,” Grant answered the cocky impostor. “I’m the dumb one. You couldn’t even hold on to your disguise for an hour after we physically cleared you.”

Grant reached into his gear bag and handed Brigid her .45 pistol and holster. Brigid nodded in thanks for the weapon and slid it into the shoulder harness. The big ex-Magistrate handed her a Copperhead submachine gun, as well, and the archivist took the compact weapon. No need to assume it was unloaded—Grant was a pro
fessional, and responding to a crisis in the depths of Cerberus. All Brigid had to do was work the safety switch on the side of the Copperhead, and that was a silent click.

“What else could I do?” Thrush-Kane asked. “You were going to jump out to the Appalachians and find the real Kane. But that’s the joy of this plan. I’ve broken up your perfect trinity. He’s fighting for his life against Bres and sixty rampaging mutants, and you’re trapped in this redoubt with me.”

“We’re trapped with you?” Grant asked. He was sub-vocalizing as he bantered with Thrush-Kane, so his voice wouldn’t carry around the corner. The big man had his Sin Eater out, ready to launch a torrent of thunderbolts against the cyborg. Brigid shook her head, then pointed to her forehead. Grant raised an eyebrow as Brigid made a gun with her fingers, pantomimed a shot and tapped her forehead hard.

Grant nodded, understanding her. “Thrush, you’re outnumbered, outgunned and surrounded.”

Thrush-Kane threw back his head in raucous laughter. “Come out from behind the corner, you pretentious ape! You think I’m so stupid that I couldn’t notice you and Baptiste skulking there?”

Grant stepped around the corner, but instead of getting into a face-off, he leveled his Sin-Eater at Thrush-Kane and opened fire. A 6-round burst ripped out of the machine pistol, heavy-core 9 mm slugs chopping into the impostor’s chest. Divots of skin and
muscle exploded beneath the fake’s T-shirt, spattering it with more blood, but Thrush-Kane’s only reaction was to stagger back a couple of steps. The false man’s shoulders jerked in a spasm of repressed laughter as he looked down at his gore-smeared shirt.

Grant tilted his head, then took aim at Thrush-Kane’s forehead. The doppelganger jerked forward in a blur of motion that caught the ex-Magistrate off guard. His rounds missed the impostor’s head, and the powerful construct slammed a palm strike into Grant’s own broad chest. His 250-pound frame was lifted off his feet and he sailed several feet down the hall.

Brigid triggered the Copperhead submachine gun at contact distance from Thrush-Kane. A blazing fire of 4.85 mm rifle rounds chopped viciously, carving up the false man’s centerline before the last cartridges in the magazine discharged into the cyborg’s bloody face. The submachine gun ran empty after its 40-round payload, and for a moment, Brigid thought she’d actually inflicted harm on the infiltrator.

Thrush-Kane lurched, turning back toward Brigid, half of his face hanging off a shimmering pink skull in tatters. “Baptiste, Baptiste, Baptiste.”

“Oh, this is going to suck,” Brigid growled as she swung the rifle hard at him. Thrush-Kane blocked the stroke with his forearm, and Brigid grunted as the impact of the Copperhead’s frame sent vibrations rattling up her slender but well-muscled arms.

Thrush-Kane straightened his arm, fingers wrapping
around the receiver of the gun. With a squeeze, he compressed the metal box containing the firing mechanism of the Copperhead into a crumpled mess of mangled steel. Brigid let go of the rifle before the cyborg could toss the weapon aside. “Yes, this is going to suck. You killed the flesh shell wrapping around my skeleton with your antics.”

Grant rose to his feet, glaring at Thrush-Kane from down the hall. “But you still manage to talk and talk. Whatever happened to the good old days when you put a bullet into an asshole and they shut up and died?”

“Welcome to a whole new world, Grant,” Thrush-Kane responded. “My skeleton may not look like the other Thrush androids or cyborg constructs, but it’s every bit as effective and powerful.”

Grant growled and charged at the bullet-riddled impostor. Thrush-Kane braced himself for the charge, fully aware of the incredible strength of the largest of the Cerberus prime team. What the infiltrator hadn’t been anticipating was that all of that physical power was guided by a savvy mind and years of experience. Knowing that he was going up against a superior foe, Grant didn’t tackle the Thrush cyborg head-on, but crashed into his adversary across its thighs and knees. Thrown off balance by the impact, Thrush-Kane howled in surprise as he slammed face-first into the floor, leaving behind a smear of blood and chunks of torn face.

Grant shoulder rolled to a stop and crouched on one
knee, looking at his foe. Thrush-Kane raised himself off the ground and glanced at the ex-Magistrate.

“Our files don’t do you justice, Grant. You are strong, yes, but no stronger than any other man your size,” Thrush-Kane said. “But it’s how you use that body that makes you truly dangerous.”

“You disregard my brains, and it turns out it’s the strongest muscle in my body,” Grant responded. “All that robot hydraulic power you’ve got in your skeleton might give you the strength to bend steel with your bare hands, but you don’t have a tenth of the talent necessary to make it really dangerous.”

Thrush-Kane chuckled and sank his fingers into the floor, prying out a concrete chunk. “I just haven’t been thinking big enough.”

Grant’s shoulders sagged as the cyborg wrenched a fifty-pound slab of stone over his head as if it were a pillow. With a surge, he hurled the concrete block toward Grant, forcing the ex-Magistrate to dive out of the way. The stone dented the wall behind him, the collision raising a cloud of powdered concrete.

Thrush-Kane’s act of tearing up the floor had peeled the flesh from his fingers, and Grant could see the pink-white artificial bone, semitranslucent in the orange glow of the emergency lights. The ends of the fingers were pointed like claws, and Grant had no doubt that if they lashed out, they’d rend his flesh as if they were the talons of a raptor.

Brigid reentered the conflict, blazing away at the
cyborg with her .45. “Grant! Fall back and get some more help!”

Thrush-Kane flinched as 230-grain slugs sparked off the naked part of his skull. “Foolish little bitch. What makes you think you can damage this skeleton?”

“Kane wouldn’t give up, so neither do we,” Brigid growled in defiance. “Grant…”

Thrush-Kane looked back toward the ex-Magistrate, who had gotten back to his feet. “Keep wasting ammunition, Baptiste. I have to pull your annoying friend’s arms and legs off his torso.”

“Bring it,” Grant taunted.

Thrush-Kane took one step, then another, starting to close the distance between himself and the brawny Grant. “It’ll be a shame. You actually are a worthy opponent for an—”

A thunderclap resounded in the hallway, cutting off the cyborg’s lamentation. Brigid thought her brains were going to leak out of her ears from the force of overpressure ripping through the hall. However, she saw that the cyborg was knocked off his feet, writhing on the floor.

Edwards stepped out of the gloom, holding his Barrett rifle. “Everyone okay?”

“Next time, slowpoke, you provide the distraction for the superstrong cyborg,” Grant complained.

“Oh, I saw you. You were having the most fun you could with your pants on,” Edwards replied.

Domi and Sinclair had their Copperheads trained on
the fallen cyborg as his limbs twisted and flailed uncontrollably.

“Sorry we were late. We had more trouble with the locked-down doors than we thought we would,” Domi told Brigid. “Is he supposed to still move after a hit in the head from a Fifty?”

Brigid looked down at the cyborg. His arms and legs still writhed, but they had no strength to them, and coordination was reminiscent of a newborn in a crib. Half of Kane’s face looked up at her, lips attempting to mouth words with only a portion of their length remaining. It was a pathetic-looking example of a being that had seemed so cocky and full of confidence earlier. A crushed stump of jacketed lead was lodged in naked skull, cracks emanating from its center.

“It doesn’t look as if the brain was destroyed,” Brigid admitted. “Though the impact of that bullet certainly produced massive trauma.”

“Thank God for head wounds,” Sinclair said, flicking the safety of her Copperhead as Thrush-Kane’s movements stilled. “Looks like a Terminator.”

“Well, he’s not going to be back,” Grant said. “I don’t care if any of the scientists want to break this thing down to examine its guts, we’re stuffing it into a mattrans and dumping it at the bottom of the ocean, provided we have a parallax point that sits there.”

“Even if it’s at the surface, it’ll probably just sink,” Domi answered. She watched the downed cyborg
warily, her ruby-red eyes taking on a darker, angrier glint in the emergency lighting of the base.

“That’s all good, but the infiltrator shut down the computer system. We can’t just dump him somewhere until we get the redoubt back online,” Brigid said.

Grant loomed over the fallen Thrush construct. “Edwards, hand me your rifle, then go find something that can restrain this son of a bitch. Chains, steel cable, something.”

“Got you,” Edwards answered, tossing the Barrett to Grant.

“You’re not going to move from this spot until you’re sure he can’t move under his own power,” Sinclair said. “Good idea. The moment the heroes let their guard down, these crazies always sit up and commence to slaughter all over again.”

Grant smirked as he aimed the Barrett at the downed cyborg’s damaged skull. “You got that damn straight. Funny how life imitates art, if you can call old slasher vids art.”

“One thing that confuses me,” Brigid said as she reloaded her .45 pistol and kept it in hand, staring down at the inert foe, as if expecting it to explode back to life. “He hacked into the computer system, and yet did nothing to restore power to the doors in his path. He just peeled the blast panels aside.”

“Maybe hacking the power back in order would just take too much time,” Sinclair offered. “Yanking doors open is quicker.”

“But where the hell was he going?” Brigid asked, frustrated with the lack of logical motivation for Thrush’s chosen path through Cerberus. “You’d think for all his braying about how he wanted to take out Enlil, he would do something like head to the hangar and steal a Manta or a Deathbird and fly off to hunt down Enlil.”

“Maybe he wasn’t done looking in the computer for Enlil?” Domi asked.

Brigid felt a wave of nausea pass through her as she looked down at the shredded corpse on the floor. “He could wirelessly connect to our mainframe. He was an artificial intelligence. And that means he could inject himself into our computer systems, leaving his body behind…”

Edwards returned with an armload of chains. “Wait, you guys are saying I popped the cyborg in the head with a Fifty, and all I did was give him an excuse to evacuate his body?”