“No, I’m talking about all of this. Everything.” Dylan hesitated, surprised by the increased rate of her heartbeat. “Ryder’s discovery is earth-shattering. Everyone on the planet will be affected by it. An otherworldly encounter with Earth was always a possibility in view of my existence, but a threat from interdimensional means is something that can possibly affect both my mission and my very presence here. I’ve experienced several bizarre encounters in the time I’ve been on this planet, but evidence that any of them originated from beyond this world has been—”
“Dylan?” Chip’s voice crackled with alarm. “Look out for the—”
Dylan’s brief distraction cost her. An armored Humvee swerved in from her blind zone, slamming into her SUV with the force of a runaway freight train.
Safety glass shattered into glittering cubed shards, floating across the confined space. Dylan increased her reaction rate, body going limp to absorb the impact. The entire right side of the vehicle crumpled with an agonizing metallic groan; airbags simultaneously deployed like exploding popcorn kernels. The safety belt dug into her flesh as her body swung to the left, her head struck the driver’s side window, shattering the glass from the force of impact. The world turned upside down, over and over as her SUV flipped until it skidded to a halt somewhere near the edge of the median after leaving a trail of wreckage in its wake. Blaring horns and screeching tires were the only sounds as other vehicles reacted to the crash. The scent of heated rubber and scorched metal smothered the air.
Dylan hung upside down, held in place by her seat belt. Her body throbbed, pulsing with the agony of her damaging wounds. Her left leg did not respond, her ribs were fire, and every breath took extra effort. Punctured lung, broken ribs, fractured left fibula was the initial analysis, minus the less-threatening bruises and lacerations. She felt the surge of adrenaline as platelets multiplied at an accelerated rate to speed the healing process, allowing her body to immediately begin repairing the damage.
“Chip?” Her voice was barely audible against the ringing in her ears. The coppery tang of blood laced her injured tongue, creating another check on her list of agonizing sensations. There was no response from Chip. Judging by the crash, both her Bluetooth and the vehicle’s smartphone receiver sustained too much damage for a valid connection.
The pain was too distracting. Her quantum core responded to her mental command, identifying the sensory receptors sensitive to pain and dulling them to the point of near-nonexistence. The throbbing sensation faded quickly, allowing her to better focus on her predicament. She stretched, pulling a short knife from the sheath strapped to her leg. Slashing through the seat belt, she fell on her back, neck bent awkwardly. Her hands began a blind search for the metal box which had been lying in the passenger seat.
Voices became audible as the ringing in her ears lessened. The shattered windshield registered kaleidoscopic images of movement. She was barely able to identify urban camouflage pants and military boots running toward her ruined vehicle.
A squad leader’s authoritative baritone barked out orders. “Make sure she’s finished, then check the vehicle for personal effects. Double time it so we can blow this soup sandwich.”
The movement drew closer. Dylan’s hand found the field kit, snatching it from under the crushed passenger seat. Inside were her firearm and a few other necessities. Her free hand snatched out the frag grenade. Pulling the pin, she flung it directly at the approaching unit. Their alarmed shouts were punctuated by frantic feet running the opposite direction before the inevitable explosion. Not bothering to assess the damage, Dylan snatched the H&K VP9 handgun out of the kit and crawled out of the driver side window, dragging her ruined leg.
Opposing lane traffic had gridlocked the intersection of Market and Octavia as onlookers stopped to stare at the chaos, the mid-day traffic at full swing before everything went to hell. Dylan ducked as she limped across the opposite lane, heedless to the shouts of passersby offering help or asking questions. They became insubstantial blurs as she gauged her surroundings, mentally calculating the quickest route to escape her pursuers.
A young man in an Oakland Raiders cap stared at her, mouth open. “Lady, you look like shit! You wanna—” His sentence was cut off by a bullet shredding his neck area. Blood spattered his face as he toppled with a shocked expression.
Dylan turned in the direction of the shot, spotting the sniper lying on the roof of the Humvee. She dropped to the pavement before his next shot shattered the car window behind her. People screamed and tires squealed as cars careened into one another in their haste to escape the firefight. Bullets whined overhead as her assailants unloaded, shredding the car Dylan used for cover. It rocked from the impact of the shots, showering her with shattered glass.
The brief respite gave her the time to calculate her response and reassess her damage. Her re-inflated lung made breathing easier, and her ribs felt less quivery as well. The leg fracture was mending, but the progress was hampered by her movement. She switched her focus on her counterattack.
Another mental command allowed her to manipulate the nerve impulses that translated sound to the circuits in her brain. Background noise filtered out, allowing her to clearly focus on the retorts of gunfire. Mapping out the trajectory of the shots based on the sounds allowed her to predict the position of the shooters. Her retaliation projections were accurate to ninety-eight percent, making it relatively easy to roll, rise, and get a shot on the sniper before he could react. His body jerked as her shot shattered his rifle scope and exited out the back of his skull.
Dylan had already turned, firing twice in a continuous motion. Two more soldiers toppled before their comrades could react. She dropped, staying low as the remaining two assailants responded with panicky response fire. She accelerated despite her injury, the burst of adrenaline propelling her faster than their reaction rate as she dove behind a large Mercedes SUV.
“Who the hell is this bitch?” one of the soldiers shouted. His neck snapped back as Dylan’s next shot took him out. His body went limp, lost to sight as a stream of running bodies blocked her view.
The last soldier ducked behind a bullet-riddled car. His voice nearly broke as he screamed into his radio. “Repeat: my unit is down, the mission is fubar, and where the hell is my backup?”
The chaos spread to the surrounding city blocks as people fled their gridlocked vehicles for the safety of nearby buildings. Wailing sirens announced the presence of emergency vehicles approaching the scene. Dylan stayed low, blending in with the fleeing crowds. The woman beside her shrieked hysterically, eyes wide with panic. Dylan seized her by the arm, using the woman’s broad body to conceal herself from view.
The black BMW that had tailed her earlier screeched to a halt, ejecting four near-identical dark-suited men wearing sunglasses and toting submachine guns. Their heads swiveled as they surveyed the scene. One of them gestured, and they broke into teams of two. Shoving people aside, they swept through the crowd.
Dylan released her unwitting partner as they passed an alley between buildings. Limping forward, she advanced as quickly as possible. Her leg had nearly knit itself back together, but the tendons were still tender. She estimated she had a seventy-two percent chance of making it to the end of the alley and before her pursuers could make it through the throngs of fleeing people.
“There she is!”
Her percentages were off. The new squad was better than the previous one. She turned, kneeling in the same motion to throw off their initial shots. She would be able to at least take the first team down, but not without sustaining major damage. The second would surely overcome her. It was too bad. She had rather enjoyed being Dylan Plumm.