Spellbound (48 page)

When he’d struggled against the OCI before, he’d discovered that they were a hardy lot, but it didn’t matter how tough you were with your eye gouged out or your throat crushed in the first few seconds of an engagement. He reasoned that he could take one, maybe two of them quickly, then it would be a struggle to defeat the remainder.

The room was only ten by ten, slightly more spacious than fighting inside an elevator car. There would be little room for maneuvering, another advantage to the numerically superior side. There was a single light source in the room. If he could put it out, the darkness could add to the confusion. It was a useful possibility.

However, even if he made it past these men, there would be many more, and he was unarmed, had no Power, and did not know the layout of the facility at all. He would more than likely be gunned down, but it would be worth it if he could cause a distraction to aid his fellow knights.

Most men would have been frightened, but not Heinrich Koenig. It was about time he’d finally be able to have some excitement around here. Being a prisoner had proven to be terribly monotonous. Worst case scenario, the OCI would damage his body to the extent that they would no longer be able to utilize his corpse in their secret scheme. Sometimes, spite alone was worth dying for.

He could hear the men unlatching the door, but there was something faint in the background . . .
What is that noise?
It was like . . . wind? But it was coming through the chain hole leading to the cell that Francis had occupied.
Interesting.
There had never been a breeze any other time that door had been opened, though it wasn’t quite right, as there was something other than simply the whistling of wind . . . It was almost a
suction
noise.

But there was no more time to ponder on the sound. The door opened.

“Time to go,” said the leader. Heinrich recognized him from the split lip. He had been one of the guards Heinrich had fought on his last escape attempt. The leader and two other burly types entered the cell while a fourth stayed in the hall. That one had a small orange box in hand, and stroked it as nervously as an old nun with a rosary. Of course, there was a large nullification field over the entire prison, but they would have to be bringing along some smaller ones to keep him and Francis under control while they were transported. “Let’s get you to the scene of your crime. It’s gonna be a bloody night.”

“You disgust me. You filth would murder your own people to advance your cause?”

“Literally, our own people,” said the man on Heinrich’s right. “Buddy, you got no idea.”

Heinrich didn’t know what he was talking about.
Who was the target?

“Shut up, Deych. The Coordinator’s plans are solid. Sometimes you’ve got to break some eggs.” The chief OCI man was a thick-necked, dark-haired slab of meat, with a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. “Grab him.”

“Alright, Sharps. Never mind I said anything.” Deych took one of Heinrich’s arms. The second pulled a ring of keys from his coat and reached for the shackles.

“What’s that noise?” asked Sharps, hearing the whistling wind for the first time. He put one hand to a cauliflowered ear. “You boys hear that?”

“Yeah—” But the man didn’t get to finish, since Heinrich punched him in the throat with two rusty nails. He kicked Deych in the knee, and as he lurched away, the open shackles fell to the floor. Heinrich scrambled to his feet.

“What the fuck?” Sharps took in his men, one hopping on one leg and the other clutching his bleeding throat. “How’d you get loose?”

Heinrich charged, but Sharps surprised him. The OCI man was remarkably quick on his feet. He sidestepped and threw a hook into Heinrich’s ribs. The blow was fearsome, and Sharps followed that up with a nasty punch to the side of his head. Heinrich tried to hit back, but Sharps simply blocked the shot and put one of his fists into Heinrich’s eye. Heinrich realized as he crashed into the far wall that he’d drastically underestimated the fighting skills of this particular OCI agent.

The man in the hallway drew a pistol.

“Stay out of this. The German is mine,” Sharps ordered. “Well, shit . . . Look at that. I messed up his face. Look what you made me do.”

“He can’t look too roughed up,” Deych said. “The Coordinator will be pissed.”

“The Coordinator didn’t think he’d have already escaped either. I’ll try not to mess up that pretty face, otherwise Stuyvesant will have to do. Stand back, boys, and Greg, see if you can’t get Tom’s neck to stop bleeding all over.”

Blood was running down Heinrich’s face. He’d cut his scalp against the rough wall. Hopefully it made him look more injured than he really was.

Sharps cracked his knuckles. “You’re a clever Jerry, but you picked the wrong man to tussle with. Nick Sharps. Heard the name?”

Heinrich pulled himself up. His ribs were on fire. The big man was only a few feet away. “Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Heavyweight contender few a years back, until some tiny little Active punk near killed me in an exhibition bout. You know what that does to a man’s fighting career? It’s like losing to a kangaroo. Embarrassing regular folks just ’cause you can. Your kind ain’t shit without fancy magic tricks to back you up.” Sharps lifted his scarred fists. “You got no idea how much I’m gonna enjoy this. Let’s see how good you Actives are in a fair fight.”

Heinrich had lost the nails. Which was rather unfortunate, since Heinrich was of average size while his opponent was nearly the size of Jake Sullivan, but Heinrich had grown up fighting zombies, and thus had no concept of the words
fair fight
. Heinrich mirrored Sharps’ boxing stance, though he had no intent of duking it out with this monster.

Sharps stepped up to swing, but Heinrich immediately dove at his legs, wrapped his arms tight around the bigger man’s ankles and drove all of his weight against the knees. The OCI man bellowed as they crashed into the dust. Heinrich rose enough to punch him in the crotch a few times, then rolled away, managed to get up first, and kicked Sharps in the back of the neck.

“Lumbering oaf!” Heinrich shouted as Sharps tried to get up. He stabbed one thumb into Sharps’ eye and used his other hand to try to rip his ear off. “I’ll show you how we do it in Berlin!”

“Get him off!” the OCI man cried.

So much for fair.
The other two rushed him. One was still bleeding badly from the neck punctures, so Heinrich concentrated on him first, and managed to strike him repeatedly on the face before Deych caught a handful of Heinrich’s shirt. So Heinrich bit a chunk out of Deych’s forearm. Then Sharps got up and joined in. It was a blur of motion as the three of them crashed and blundered about the tiny cell. The Fade was dwarfed by his opponents, but he fought like a cornered animal. Something hit the light and sent it swinging. Wild shadows added to the confusion.

They had not been expecting this level of savagery. Heinrich mentally congratulated himself for that as he jerked a knee into someone’s face, but then a flailing fist smashed his nose flat. He managed to hook his finger into a snarling mouth and fish-hooked Sharps until the man’s face split open. There was an incoherent cry of pain, and that just spurred Heinrich on. Each one of these men was larger than him, and all of them were tough, but he never quit moving, striking, punching, and kicking. He’d been hoping that one of them had been stupid enough to bring a gun into reach, but they’d not given him that opportunity.

Thirty seconds later, Heinrich was in one corner, back to the wall, bruised knuckles raised before him. His shirt was hanging in tatters, one eye was swollen shut, and he could taste blood and feel the grit of broken teeth. Heinrich was not sure if the noise he was hearing was from all the severe blows to his head or if the whistling noise had actually turned into an obvious howl.

The OCI men were standing at the far end, bleeding and shaking. The room was so small that one step would put them back into striking range. The OCI with the new neck piercings leaned against the wall, then took a slow, dazed seat on the floor. He was done.

“So much for not damaging the merchandise. Kid’s a scrapper. Forget this . . .” Sharps gasped. He may have maintained some of his striking abilities, but he no longer had a fighter’s wind. “Shoot him, Clark.”

The man in the hall coldly lifted his gun, pointed it at Heinrich’s face, and
exploded
.

The concussion smashed Heinrich against the wall.

It took him a moment to blink himself back to coherence.
What was that?
The hall was painted with blood. The gunman, now flat on his back, raised one arm that now ended in a stump and began to scream.

The explosive hadn’t been very large, so it must have been on the OCI man’s person . . . There wasn’t time to think it through. His opponents had been knocked down as well, but Sharps was already getting back up. Then Heinrich noticed that the light bulb had been knocked out, but somehow he could still see, though the illumination was very odd. The white of Sharps’ shirt glowed bright, as did his teeth and eyes, but everything else was lit by some sort of black light that was coming from . . .

“Scheiss!”
A small bit of crackling black light had appeared in the bottom of the wall that separated them from Francis’ cell. Dust motes were swirling around the strange spot as if it was some sort of vortex. Inside the strange light was
nothing
, and the nothing was
growing.
The circle inched forward, and as it did so, the bricks around it crumbled into dust and disappeared into the vortex.

Heinrich had no idea what that was, but the way it was devouring the bricks made him very uncomfortable. It was time to
go
. He leapt for the exit.

Again, Sharps was too quick. He caught Heinrich and threw him violently back. Heinrich bounced off the far wall and slid to the floor.

“Fool. Look at that!” Heinrich pointed desperately at the slowly growing . . .
whatever
it was. “Run!”

“Stinkin’ Fade.” Sharps had his fists up again. “No more of your tricks.”

“What is that?” Deych, too, had seen the anomaly. “We gotta get out of here.” The blackness had now taken up the bottom half of the wall and a few feet of the floor.

“Not now, Greg. Not ‘til he’s dead,” Sharps growled as Heinrich pushed himself back up. The OCI man had wised up this time, and his approach was methodical. When Heinrich rushed him, the gigantic fists fell like rain. Heinrich managed to latch onto Sharps’ coat, but the big man just kept punching him in the side. Heinrich’s knees buckled, but before he could fall, Sharps cocked back one arm and smashed a mighty overhand right into Heinrich’s skull. The hard floor rushed up to meet him.

“Sharps! We’ve got to go!” Deych shouted again, the fear obvious.

The OCI man that Heinrich struck in the neck had passed out from blood loss and was slumped on the floor. As the edge of the darkness touched one of his outstretched hands, he was simply pulled into the vortex without a sound, almost as if something had taken hold and dragged him inside. Within a second, his feet disappeared into the black light and he was gone. Deych swore and ran for it. Heinrich tried to crawl for the door, but Sharps kicked him in the side hard enough to lift him off the ground.

The howl turned into a scream as their air was consumed by the void. Heinrich could hardly see the devouring blob through his swollen eyes, but now he could feel it. The void was fueled by magic, and the OCI’s nullifiers were pushing against it. Only this thing was so powerful that it laughed at the dampening effect and pushed back. This time the explosion came from above, and it was far stronger. The entire building shook to its foundation. Boards broke and dust rained from the ceiling. It was like being at the receiving end of an artillery bombardment.

It all came flooding back. For the first time in days, Heinrich could feel his Power burning hot, and despite his injuries, he felt very
good
. He had never been deprived of his magic before, and very much hoped that he would never have to do without it again.
Oh, how I have missed you.

“What was that?” Sharps shouted, confused. Then he noticed the spreading nothingness and froze.

Filled with magic and anger, Heinrich stood up and spit out a wad of blood. “Now it is my turn.”

Sharps turned, surprised to see Heinrich still moving. He swung, but lurched as his fist flew cleanly through his target as if Heinrich was made of smoke. He struck again, but it was like attacking the shadows. Sharps’ eyes grew wide. “Oh shit.”

Heinrich was a Fade, and as such, could make his body insubstantial enough to pass through solid objects for a brief time. He could also take someone else with him. He made himself solid again, reached out, grabbed Sharps by the throat, then Faded them both. Sharps thrashed as they began to sink into the floor. Heinrich let go, and then altered himself just enough to step out of the ground before becoming solid again.

Sharps screamed as the molecules of his feet and ankles fused with the earth.

It was a terrible way to go, with all of those severed nerve endings screaming, trapped, while some horrific darkness came to eat you, but Heinrich wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. “Good day, sir,” and then he hobbled out the door.

Deych had barely made it into the hall before the explosion had gone off overhead. It appeared that a large chunk of the ceiling had fallen and struck him down. He was stunned, but alive. Heinrich grabbed Deych by the collar and dragged him away. Sharps kept on screaming incoherently, jerking his frozen legs, and windmilling his arms helplessly.

Heinrich got Deych ten feet down the hall, then slapped him until he began to stir. Deych had been hit pretty hard by the debris and it took a moment for his eyelids to flutter awake.

Talking was very painful and Heinrich wondered if they’d managed to crack his jaw. “The attack you are framing us for. Where is it?” Deych looked back at the darkness. It had consumed most of the cell and its edge was spilling into the hall behind them. It was growing faster now. Sharps’ screams grew more desperate. “Where? Or I feed you to it!”