Tabula Rasa Kristen Lippert Martin (26 page)

hope that Hodges is ground paste beneath a steel beam or
 pile of concrete, but I hope it anyway. Of course, I know
 that the crane also may have destroyed the medicine locker.
But last chances, first chances, only chances—they’re all
 the same. A chance is a chance.  
I open the door between the walkway and the main
 building. There is snow blowing in through the roof, but
 oddly, sections of the floor are completely unscathed. I
 need to go up to the sixth floor, and I don’t dwell on the
 insanity of rushing headlong into an unstable, half-crushed
 building toward a woman who’s determined to kill me.
My shoulder is definitely dislocated. My arm hangs
 limp as dead meat on a hook. I don’t care what I’ve done
 to my legs or my knees. They must work. I make this clear
 to them and ignore the pain crawling up my shins like fire.    
The layout of this floor is no different than the oth-
 ers. There’s a large, open center area where the partially
 destroyed nurses’ station is located. Patient rooms ring the
 rest of the floor. Stairwells positioned at opposite ends. I’m
 sure the one at the far side has been obliterated by the crane,
 but the nearer stairwell looks passable—as far as I can tell.
I go up the stairs, heavily, noisily. It feels like I climb for
 an hour, but I’m sure it can’t be that long. At the top, the
 sixth floor is open to the sky. The crane is wedged into the
 building, its giant metal carcass motionless.
I hear a grinding sound. Then moaning.
I find a soldier pinned on his side under a long piece of
 metal—one of the support struts of the crane. The riveted
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metal bar sticks through the soldier’s abdomen, protruding
 through his back.
The soldier has very dark skin, dark eyes, a heavy set of
 brows grown nearly together. His gaze is focused but lacks
 emotion. Maybe he’s assuming I’m going to kill him and
 he’s simply waiting.
He has one of the voice translators. Maybe he doesn’t
 speak English. I pick the translator up and speak through it.
“Where is she?”
The language that comes out is unrecognizable to me.
I’ve heard it before, but I don’t know where in the world
 he’s from. I hold the translator against his face and wait for
 his response. He says nothing, just reaches out feebly with
 his fingers. I now see that his rifle is near my foot. I kick it
 across the floor and the handle falls off. A few other parts
 come away as well.
I don’t understand how you can pay a man to be this
 loyal. His injury is grisly and he’s in agony, and still he’s
 trying to kill me?
I hold the translator up and tell him, “Your rifle is toast.”
Who knows if toast will translate? I don’t really care.
At first he pushes the translator away. He keeps saying
 the same thing. He looks at me, pleading. I put the transla-
 tor to his mouth again.
“Please. Shoot me.”  
He says it over and over again. I now know how to say
“Please shoot me” in whatever language he speaks.
He points down toward his boot, and I see that he
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has an ankle holster with a small handgun in it. I take the
 gun out. I will not shoot this man, even if it would be a
 mercy to do so. Of course, he doesn’t know that.
I put the translator to my face and say, “Tell me where
 she is, and I’ll shoot you.”
It’s strange to say this to him. It’s like we have this situ-
 ation all backward. I’m supposed to be threatening him to
 tell me something or else I’ll shoot him.
“Director’s office.”
“Who’s with her?” I ask.
“The computer hacker, four soldiers, the boy.”
Thomas. This could complicate things.
I take the soldier’s radio. I may need it. He closes his
 eyes and waits for me to pull the trigger. Instead, I walk
 back toward the stairwell with the gun in my hand. When
I reach the stairs, I bend down and slide the gun across the
floor. It skitters to a stop against his body and he puts his
 hand on it. I won’t shoot him, but he can shoot himself if
 he wants.
As I descend the stairs, he does.
Although I’m still in pain, still limping, my head still filled
 with holes and my memories little more than  shadows that
 lurk just beyond my grasp, I’m feeling lighter. And I know
 why.
I am extremely pissed off.
I don’t know why, but I feel anger like I’ve never felt
 it before. It’s pure, crystalline, freeing. It feels like power.
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How can anger feel so good? Because it’s anger without
 hate. I don’t understand it, but it’s true.
I press the button on the radio as I walk up the third-
floor hallway. I start with a simple pleasantry.
“Hello.”
Hodges responds almost immediately.
“Not a very nice trick, trying to crush us all to death.”
“I wish I could take credit, but I can’t.”
I continue walking down the hallway into the dark-
 ness. I know where I am. I don’t need a map or even light.
I count my strides the way I used to count the tiles on the
floor.
“I don’t want any more of this nonsense. Just get your-
 self down here so we can finish our transaction. I should
 warn you that I’m in a much less generous mood now that
 you tried to drop a crane on my head. That five-minute
 start is now off the table. I’ve sealed off all the exits. Bring
 me the data. Now.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“For you, not a thing, but I would be willing to save
 your friend’s life.”
“Your son’s life, you mean.”
There is a long pause before she answers, “Whether he’s
 my son or not is none of your business.”
“I don’t have the data,” I say calmly, like I’m telling her
 that we’re out of the soup of the day. “Can’t help you.”
“Your friend here says you do.”  
I’m about to deny it again, but then I put my hand into
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the front pocket of my coveralls and sigh. That boy and his
 stupid sleight of hand.  
“Turns out he’s right.”
“Hurry up, then. If you don’t come promptly, I may
 send a few men to escort you here.”
“I see. Well, in that event, I’d like to apologize,” I say.
“Oh? Why?”
“I am coming to get you, but if I need to deal with your
 soldiers first, I might be a little late.”  
I throw the radio out the next open window and make
 my way downstairs to get some supplies.
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CHAPTER 38
’m now reaping the benefit of the excruciating boredom
Iof my previous existence. All those days of counting
floor tiles and doorknob handles, of scoping out which
 doors are the supply closets and where they keep the
 linens. I have the home-field advantage now. These sol-
 diers—they’re on my turf.
The building has again gone dark, but it doesn’t mat-
 ter. I know my way around. I put Thomas’s headlamp on.
Not to give me light—the battery has pretty much given
 out—but for luck, I guess.  
I head for the east side of the floor, to the surgical pro-
 cedure rooms. I stop at the medical supply closet and, as I
 reach for the doorknob, remember that I need to fix my
 dislocated shoulder first. It’s a very painful prospect but
I get it done. Once, I was climbing a fence and fell off. I
 remember the nurse at the free clinic resetting my arm.
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Then she winked at me. I think she knew who I was.
I find some useful things—a stethoscope, surgical tub-
 ing, tape—and use it all to fashion a slingshot. I’m ready
 now.
Speed is my advantage here—actually, not so much raw
 speed as uninterrupted motion. I don’t need to stop and start
 and move with careful deliberation. I feel myself speeding
 up or the world around me slowing down. Whichever it
 is, my thoughts, my actions, are nothing but sure, swift
 movement. Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, I pile
 as many blankets and pillows as possible on top of a gur-
 ney and push it in front of the stairwell door. Obviously,
 it won’t stop the soldiers, but that’s not what I’m trying to
 do. I just want to obscure their view when they open the
fire door.
I hop up onto the nurses’ station counter, the slingshot
 in my lap, and let my feet dangle like I’m sitting at the top
 of a steeple. The soldiers have reached the landing, and
 they’re about to find out that body armor can sometimes
 be a disadvantage.  
I hear the doorknob turning, and begin kneading a
 burn charge in my hand. Then I put it into the slingshot
 and release it. I hit the first soldier square in the chest as
 he pushes the pile of blankets out of the way. I shoot a
 second charge, this time onto his upper thigh. He looks
 down and realizes what is sticking to him. He tries to bat
 at the intense white flame, tries to push it off of him, but
 he knows it won’t work. He steps backward, blocking the
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guy behind him, and drops his rifle. If he’s quick enough,
 he may get his body armor off before the burn charge hits
 his skin, but he’ll be preoccupied while I get rid of his
 companion.  
I swing my legs over the counter and drop to the floor
 as the second soldier bursts into the room. I only have two
 mines left, and I already have plans for at least one. I need
 him to follow me. Predictably, he sprays the nurses’ station
 with bullets, but I’m already almost around the corner.
He doesn’t see me at first, so I stand up and wave. “Hey
 there!”
He aims, and I run down the hall into one of the proce-
 dure rooms, holding the door open with my foot a moment
 to make sure he knows where I’ve gone.
Seconds later he kicks the door in. Here I am, standing
 in the middle of the empty room, out in the open. I put my
 hands up. He’s got me.
“Put your hands behind your head,” he says.
I do.
I guess he speaks English, because he doesn’t use his
 translator when he barks at me.
After two steps he lurches clumsily to the left. He shakes
 his head. He looks dizzy. I tilt my head, like I’m concerned,
 wondering if he needs help. He keeps walking, but his
 body is growing heavier with each step.
He hasn’t noticed, but I haven’t drawn a single breath
 since we entered the room. I don’t need to breathe. It’s like
I’ve put everything on pause except my heart. I let that
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beat. Once. Twice. Enough to keep my blood moving, but
 only just.
He sways. His eyelids flutter. Down he goes.
I stand over him and think about taking his rifle. I’ve
 done perfectly well without using a gun so far, but I decide
 to take it anyway. It’s nice to have options.
Before I leave, I close the nozzles on the tall canisters
 of anesthetic gas. I don’t take a breath until I’m well clear
 of the area.
If what that dying soldier on the sixth floor told me is
 true, then Hodges is down to two soldiers. 8-Bit’s role in
 all this is still unclear. I don’t know if he’s helping Hodges
 or not, but I have to assume he is.
Back in the hallway, I hear the sound of men shouting.
I stay low to the floor, well below the glass partitions that
 divide the hallway from the rec lounge. I know this lounge
 faces south. That’s what I want. At the end of this hallway
 is another medical supply closet. My last burn charge takes
 care of the lock. Inside I find several oxygen canisters. I tip
 them over and push them into the hallway one by one with
 my foot. They roll noisily along the floor, bumping to a
 stop against the wall near the rec lounge.
I need to get to that set of outer windows. The door to
 the lounge is locked. It always is. The nurses would unlock
 it, let us in, and then lock it again when we left. But this
 will not be a problem, especially since the wall is made of
 glass and I have a rifle.
I can see the outer windows are cracked but still intact.
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I fire at the wall. It shatters. I fire again, taking out the
 windows. The men are coming. I drop the rifle, get a run-
 ning start, and dive through the broken glass wall into the
 lounge. I roll and stand up.
Just as the soldiers arrive, I throw one of my two
 remaining mines back into the hallway. The soldiers raise
 their rifles to shoot me. I clear my throat and point. Then
I watch their faces as they look down and realize that they
 can either kill me or save themselves.
Climbing out the window, I balance momentarily on
 the narrow ledge, then let go and drop. I have no idea what
 they ultimately decide. All I hear is a really big boom.
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CHAPTER 39
 slip eight or ten feet before reaching for the trellis on
I  the side of the building, screaming as I get a handhold.
I never realized that these pretty, fluttering pieces of foil
 are razor sharp. As I cling to the trellis, they spin in the
 wind like a thousand coppery buzz saws. They easily cut
 through the fabric of my pants, and the palms of my hands
 are slashed where I’m trying to hold on.  
I need to load the slingshot, which means letting go
 for a moment and leaning into the rotating razor blades to
 keep myself from falling. Trying to get the last mine out
 of my pocket, I lean too close to the wall and get a nick on
 the end of my nose and one on my cheek.
I can see the helicopter about fifty yards away. The heli-
 pad is free of snow. I guess it must be heated.
The shot I need to make is a long one. If I arc it up into
 the air, the mine may land near enough to the helicopter
 that the magnetic force will pull it the rest of the way. I’ll
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have to shoot the mine immediately after I twist it; other-
 wise, it will detonate in midair. I have no illusions. This
 has little chance of working, but I don’t want Hodges get-
 ting away before I have a chance to kill her.
As I’m setting up the shot, I realize that there’s no
 way I’ll be able to hang on and pull the slingshot back far
 enough to reach the helipad. I’ll have to let go in order to
 get a shot off. And once I do, I won’t be able to grab back
 on again. This shot will be a one-way trip.
 
I can’t waste any more time thinking. Leaning back against
 the trellis, I feel the foil cut into my back and legs in a
 dozen places, but I ignore the pain. I twist the mine and
 quickly load it into the slingshot. Just as I’m about to release
 the trellis, I hear a distant shot, then feel something hit me
 in the side. I drop the slingshot and the mine zooms toward
 the metal trellis and clings there.
My last thought as I watch the ground speeding toward
 me is that I need to flip if I can. The mine explodes. I feel
 bits of metal bite into me. I force my head down and feel
 myself somersaulting in the air. If I land flat on my back I
 may survive this fall.
That’s assuming I’m not already dead by the time I hit
 the ground.
I won’t let myself lose consciousness. I keep my body limp
 as they drag me up the steps and back into the lobby. I’m
 fairly sure my right lung has collapsed. It just feels not
 there, not useful.  
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