Spy High (39 page)

“I’m okay.” I rolled over slowly,
wincing. Miraculously, my Glock was still clutched in my hand, my
fingers aching in a death-grip. The phone’s earbud trailed from my
pocket, and I reached in to hang up on my redundant connection with
Kane. “Thank God I landed in the pea gravel,” I mumbled. “How many
did Arnie get?”

“How many down?” Kane relayed the
question before replying, “Three.”

“Three more down,” I told Skidmark.

“Moonbeam took another out, but he got
a piece of her,” he replied. “One hostile still at large, likely
retreating to the truck. Rand is hit. Karma is working on him. If
there are any bodies by the west door, clear them now. I’ll take
the members out through that route in about five minutes. Tell Kane
and Helmand to hunt down that last hostile and then start
collecting bodies and dumping them in the truck. You stay there.
Moonbeam’s incoming; needs first aid.”

I hauled myself to my feet, discovering
I’d twisted my ankle in my fall. I limped over to prop myself
against the wall while I relayed the message to Kane, blurting,
“Orion’s hit…” before remembering I was purportedly getting radio
instructions from Orion himself. “…uh, but he’s still conscious,” I
added, hoping that was the truth. “He says there’s only one guy
still alive, probably heading for the truck. He needs you and
Hellhound to get the last guy, and then start moving bodies to the
truck. We’d better move the ones outside the door right away. Who
knows how much longer they’ll meditate in there and we don’t
want…”

I trailed off, thinking better of
mentioning the children, but fortunately Kane was already barking
instructions to Hellhound. He finished speaking and turned to me.
“You’re hurt. Stay here. Guard the members. I’ll drag these two
bodies into the woods so they’re out of sight until we can move
them to the truck. Where’s Orion? We’ll check on him before we do
anything else.”

Skidmark must have either overheard or
anticipated the conversation. He was already speaking in my ear.
“Rand’s hidden under the south end of the bridge. Shot in the leg,
probably a broken bone. He can’t walk. Karma’s stabilizing him.
Tell Kane and Helmand to concentrate on the last hostile and the
bodies.”

“He’s hiding under the south end of the
bridge,” I relayed, editing as I spoke. “He’s shot in the leg but
he says he’s stable and he wants you to concentrate on getting that
last guy and then cleaning up the bodies.”

Kane nodded, kissed me once hard, and
lunged out the door in a crouch.

I held my breath, but no gunfire
greeted him. In a few moments he had dragged the bodies out of
sight and kicked fresh gravel over the dark stains they’d left
behind. Then he vanished into the forest without a backward
glance.

I drew a deep breath, visualizing a
shield of protection around him and Hellhound.

Let them be safe.

Please let them be safe.

“West door is clear,” I muttered to
Skidmark.

“Signalling them to come out now,” he
replied. “Cover their six.”

I limped to the door and slipped
outside, flinching with the expectation of muzzle flashes and
bullets.

All was silent, and I hurried across
the open space to hide in the undergrowth facing the door. My ankle
protested mightily for the first few steps before settling down to
a sullen throbbing, and I drew a breath of relief. Probably not too
serious.

I had just ducked behind a tree when
Aurora and Zen came out the door followed by the members, their
expressions beatific. The children filed out in an orderly row,
their little faces grave with the import of the Calling.

A slow shudder worked its way from my
head to my toes. Somewhere in these dark woods, a killer still
lurked. A single shot, and a precious life could be
extinguished.

And with an assault rifle…

My stomach clenched. So far I’d only
seen them fire three-shot bursts. But what if they could go fully
automatic? One deranged man could mow down an entire column of
innocent people…

The last of the members filed silently
into the woods, and I whispered, “They’re in the woods now. Should
I follow them and cover?”

“Negative.” For the first time
Skidmark’s voice held worry. “Moonbeam is incoming. She won’t say
how bad it is, but she’s moving slow. Take care of her, Storm.” I
heard him swallow, and suddenly he sounded like a frightened old
man. “Take care of my lady.”

The knots in my stomach tightened.
“Tell me which way to go. I’ll meet her.”

His voice steadied. “Northwest, a
couple hundred yards. I’ll tell her you’re coming so she doesn’t
try to take you out.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, and half-hopped,
half-jogged northwest as fast as my ankle would permit.

I spotted the pale oval of her face
first. Hugging her left arm, she picked her way unsteadily through
the undergrowth. The flowing caftan was gone, revealing a slim
figure clad all in black with a holster at her shoulder and a large
knife strapped to her thigh. A moment later I realized the caftan
had been sacrificed to wrap her injured arm. A slow dark trickle
ran from her fingertips.

Already pinched with pain, her brow
furrowed more at the sight of my unsteady gait. “She’s injured,”
she snapped, presumably to Skidmark. “You said she was all
right.”

“I fell off the roof, but I’m okay
except for my ankle,” I explained, and offered her a hand.

She shook her head and tottered
forward. “No, dear, I’m fine. Don’t overtax that ankle.”

“Let me see your arm.”

“When we’re inside, dear,” Moonbeam
insisted. “Keep moving.”

I blew out a breath of frustration and
limped beside her.

By the time we reached the building her
face was paper-white, sweat glistening at her temples. I made for
the west door but she stopped me with an outstretched hand.

“No; the north patio, directly into the
kitchen,” she commanded. “I don’t want to bleed across the main
hall.”

“For shit’s sake…” I began, but she was
already navigating around the side of the building, swaying
precariously and steadying herself against the wall.

I hurried after her. As we rounded the
corner, my throat closed at the sight of a black empty space where
one of the windows should have reflected silver moonlight like its
neighbours.

Oh God, had the last terrorist broken
in?

Nichele was in there.

I drew my Glock and ran, ignoring the
pain in my ankle.

Ducking below the level of the windows,
I scuttled to the door. Still crouched, I wrenched it open and
snapped a glance around the room, my gun sights tracking across the
woodstoves. Nichele still lay in the corner on her blanket, the
abandoned bucket and cloths beside her. Nothing moved.

I switched to thermal, but saw only the
angry glows of the woodstoves.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when
Moonbeam spoke softly behind me. “Go. I’ll cover you.”

When I looked up, her pistol was
rock-steady in her right hand. Her left dangled at her side. The
dark trickle was faster.

Beyond fear, I switched back to night
vision and hurried across the room. My lips and hands and feet felt
icy; numb and tingling at the same time. Massive adrenaline
overdose. Soon the uncontrollable tremors would start and then I’d
be useless.

And if I had to fight the terrorist in
that condition, shortly afterward I’d be dead.

As if on autopilot, I ducked into the
main hall, gun at the ready. Scan and sidle to the next door. The
empty meditation room. Scan.

Then the storage room…

Moonbeam sagged in the doorway of the
kitchen. Her gaze still followed me, but her gun dangled by her
side as if the weight of the weapon was too much to support.

When I cleared the last room and turned
back to nod at her, she slid slowly down the doorjamb to slump on
the floor. A broad streak of crimson smeared the white wood,
marking her path.

Heart clenching, I hop-jogged into the
kitchen to snatch one of Nichele’s blankets before hurrying back to
wrap it around Moonbeam. She let out a half-sigh, half-moan, and I
eased her down to lie flat. Grabbing the corners of the blanket, I
towed her across the floor to the stove next to Nichele, avoiding
the scattered shards of glass.

With a short but fervent prayer that
the remaining terrorist was nowhere in the vicinity, I lit one of
the propane lanterns. Even in its warm light Moonbeam’s face was
stark white. Her eyelids drooped half-closed, but her gaze still
followed me while I dragged a chair over and elevated her feet.

When I unwrapped the caftan from her
arm at last, my stomach twisted at the sight of a slice from wrist
to elbow. Blood still welled from the wound, and I rapidly cut and
folded the caftan into bandages and bound the pads of fabric
tightly.

Her pulse was rapid but strong, and I
drew a breath that might have been relief if I hadn’t been so
terrified.

“Aydan here,” I said to Skidmark.
“Moonbeam has a bad cut on her left arm. It doesn’t look as though
any arteries have been cut but she’ll need stitches and she looks
like she’s going into shock.” As I spoke I dumped some wood into
the stove and put the kettle on. “She’s conscious so I’ll get some
hot chocolate into her but she’ll need to go to the hospital as
soon as possible.”

Moonbeam plucked at my pant leg and
shook her head feebly, but I gave her a stern look and she
subsided.

“We can’t get past that military
roadblock,” Skidmark said. “They’re still shooting out there.
Karma’s a doctor. I’ll tell him to get over there as soon as he’s
got Rand stable. Any word from Kane or Helmand on that last
hostile?”

“Not yet.” I swallowed a lump of fear.
Apparently I had some emotion left after all.

Tremors were slowly taking over my
body, beginning in my guts and rolling through my arms and legs.
Moonbeam wasn’t the only one who needed hot chocolate.

The mugs rattled like maracas in my
hand while I dug out the spoons and powdered hot chocolate. Then I
sat on the floor beside Moonbeam, shivering in the heat of the
stove.

“Turn off the lantern,” she whispered.
“We’re sitting ducks.”

Dragging myself to my feet again, I
turned off the lantern and put on my night-vision headset. I didn’t
dare sit down in case I couldn’t get up again. Instead, I hovered
over the stove until the water was hot enough.

Mug in hand, I knelt beside Moonbeam.
“I’m going to lift you up enough so you can sip,” I whispered.
“Tell me if you feel faint.”

“I’m fine.” She struggled up on one
elbow. “Sit back to back with me. That will prop us both up and
help keep us warm.”

I set the mugs on the floor and obeyed,
hugging my knees to keep from overpowering her slight weight
against my back. We sipped in silence for a while and my tremors
began to abate, but they seemed to be transferring themselves to
Moonbeam.

I drained the last sugary dregs from my
cup and twisted to eye her over my shoulder. Her hand lay lax
across her lap and when my body shifted she slid sideways as though
unable to catch herself.

“Shit!” I caught Moonbeam’s shoulders
and lowered her to the floor.

“I’m… fine…” she whispered, her eyes
closed.

“Skidmark, where’s Karma?” I
demanded.

“He’ll be there soon.”

“Talk to me, Moonbeam,” I urged.

“Moonbeam… Meadow… Sky. Please.” Her
lips turned up at the corners, her eyes still closed. “Vibrations,
dear.”

“Sorry. Moonbeam Meadow Sky,” I
corrected myself. “Keep talking. Tell me how the vibrations
work.”

“Just basic… numerology,” she murmured.
“Not proper… calculations. I only… dabble… with names…” Her voice
faded.

“Moonbeam!” I patted her cheek, my
heart thumping painfully. “Keep talking. Tell me about auras. Do
you really see them or is that just part of your hippy
schtick?”

Her eyes snapped open. “Yes, dear, of
course I see them. I have since I was a child…” Her eyelids drifted
down again. “Cosmic River Stone… always could, too.”

I gulped and made a mental note never
to lie to Stemp again. Just in case.

“He was… such a lovely child,” she went
on. “My dearest boy… I always wanted... lots of children…”

She trailed off into silence again.

“Why didn’t you and Karma have more
children?” I prompted.

“Oh, he might not be Karma’s, dear.”
She smiled without opening her eyes. “He might be Skidmark’s. We
were never sure.”

“Uh…” I didn’t quite know how to
respond to that.

Fortunately she went on, her voice a
dreamy singsong. “It was the 1960s. Free love… We were young…
Thrown together in the jungle…”

When she didn’t go on, I murmured,
“Tell me about Vietnam, Moonbeam. You need to keep talking.”

“Ah. Yes…” She peered heavy-lidded at
me for a moment before her eyes slipped closed again. “No
contraception, of course. I got pregnant…”

She fell silent and I was about to
prompt her again when she continued, “I was eight months along…
when I was shot.”

Her voice wavered with emotion.
“Emergency caesarian… in a filthy hut in the jungle… I got an
infection, of course… nearly died…” A tear eased from the corner of
her closed lids and trickled slowly into the hair at her temples.
“Scarring… No more babies… for me.” Her voice choked off.

My heart squeezed. “I’m so sorry,” I
whispered around the giant lump in my throat. I took her good hand
and stroked it. “I’m sorry to make you relive it.”

“It’s all right, dear… It was… long
ago…” Her breath eased out on a sigh and she went limp.

“Moonbeam!” I lurched to my knees,
fresh adrenaline scorching my veins. “Moonbeam, wake up!” I patted
the waxen cheeks desperately.

“Yes, dear?” she whispered.

“Oh thank God.” I slumped back down on
the floor. “You scared me. I thought you’d passed out.”