From behind: "Soledad…"
Soledad turned to Eddi.
"Kill one for me."
Soledad pulled open the door, went into the hall. Behind her she heard the door get slammed, the lock get thrown.
The hallway was fifty, maybe just more than sixty feet in length. The dark made it seem twice that. A blind run was the temptation but wasn't the smart choice. Moving fast would just keep Soledad from seeing what killed her. So Soledad eased forward. Going slow gave her time to look, to think, to listen. Adjust to whatever waited for her.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Something definitely waited.
Something would happen.
Nothing.
Maybe, she reconsidered, she should make a run. She'd already been there. She knew: Getting caught up in the hall was no good.
Nothing.
Maybe she should—
Something. Something happened quick. The only warning: the cry of stretching metal. One of the walls spontaneously generated a spike that drove pistonlike at Soledad. She moved. Moved with speed. Faster even than she thought herself capable. But potential death's got a way of putting a rush in you. Jerking down, to the side, pressing a hand to the floor and using it to help her spring away. In the middle of all that she had to twist and move again. Another spike, this one formed at the ceiling, plunged down for her.
Rolling now, forward. Always moving forward. No stopping. No pausing. Behind her was killer metal. Ahead, a chance, no matter how slight.
Each move she made was like tripping a wire. Spikes sprang, shot, materialized all around her. They cut, slashed, whipped at her head. Jumping up, she grabbed one, used it to flip over another that tried to cut her down at the feet. An airborne swirl, laying out as yet another spike jabbed itself across her abdomen. Soledad, the living metal that tried to cut her down: They were a blur of motion. A funky ballet.
Soledad's feet touched ground, sent her tumbling, braked her.
Straight ahead: A sharpened metal finger raced to spear her.
Weapon raised, she fired. The bullet, the explosion, shattered the finger, sent metal shrapneling around, slashing at her skin, as she launched forward. Always forward. Alwa—
"Daaaaah!"
Midmovement, Soledad's left thigh went white-hot with a flash-fire. Through the meat, just missing the bone, she'd been impaled. Stuck like a butterfly pinned to corkboard; immobilized, held for the executioner's blow. It came, and came as overkilclass="underline" a pair of skewers moving for her from front and back to do to the vitals of her body what the other spike had done to her leg.
Except there was the gun, there were the bullets.
Soledad fired in front. The bullet hit, the metal disintegrated.
She twisted. Full-on pain.
She fired at the skewer that held her in place, blasted it from its anchor and freed up her leg.
She dropped, both to avoid the spike and because the blinding hurt in her leg told her to. The pain got amped ten by ten when Soledad gripped hard and ripped what was left of the metal from her thigh. Intense to the point of almost blacking her out. But to go out was to die. That thought alone kept Soledad functional.
Yards from the door. The spikes came, urgent, as if with their animation-owned intelligence: If she makes the door, she's safe. The corridor was bloated with the sounds of slashing, grinding metal. Limbs independently formed and reached and moved to kill. Soledad felt her skin shorn by the tips of the spikes, torn by their edges. From above, an entire section of the roof swept down to guillotine her. To the left and right fresh-formed blades swatted at her side. All were avoided, barely and with a minimal loss of flesh and blood. What couldn't be dodged was blasted to pieces.
Four bullets left.
Three.
The door just ahead.
The metal-morphing freak would have to do better. It'd have to come up with something else if it wanted to stop Soledad.
It did.
With the door just before her, just beyond her reach, there rose one last creation that coiled and twisted and hissed no different than a virtual snake getting ready to strike. It seemed to balloon and swell, seemed to draw up as much mass as possible in deference to the tiny, mighty woman before it. It, by way of the freak, knew she was formidable. It, by way of the freak, knew if it couldn't stop her where she stood, maybe there was no stopping her at all. The thing had one chore: slaughter the woman.
Soledad, knowing all else was just foreplay, stood her ground, stood resolute. She stood ready to destroy or be destroyed.
In anticipation the thing hovered and tensed. Reared back, shot up, then forward, speeding for the kill.
Aubrey took his hand from the metal wall. In his mind he couldn't see the woman, the police lady, no more.
Blood for blood. That's what Vaughn had told Aubrey. When Aubrey was scared, after he'd heard about the cops who'd killed themselves, knowing it was Vaughn who'd done the killing. Blood for blood, Vaughn'd told Aubrey when the others had come for Vaughn. When Vaughn did what he did to them, killed them, he'd told Aubrey blood for blood. Vaughn really bad wanted the blood of the police lady the others called Bullet. No matter he should have run—no matter he wanted to—Aubrey'd promised to help Vaughn.
Vaughn and Michelle had always been there for him. Shouldn't he be there for them; for what Vaughn was doing in Michelle's name?
That's what Vaughn had said anyway.
Blood for blood, he'd said.
Aubrey knew he wasn't smart like Vaughn. Not as powerful. Not nearly. But with Vaughn's help he had been able to do some hurting. With Vaughn's help he had been able to see the police people. Through the sheet metal of the building he'd been able to send his energy, make his little things that did his hurting for him. They'd done some good hurting. One of the cops was dead. One was chomped up. Aubrey liked the little chompy things. Before… before the president said he couldn't use his power no more, couldn't make things, Aubrey liked to make little things, little pets to play with.
But he didn't used to make them hurt people before.
Before.
Blood for blood.
And then there was the police lady called Bullet. Aubrey was going to kill her for Vaughn. For Michelle. Was going to, but she wouldn't die easy. Aubrey sent his little chompy things after her. She shot his little chompy things up. Aubrey tried to jam her with his pointy points. One got her in the leg. That's it. Not enough. So Aubrey sent that big snaky thing to cut her up just like Vaughn said he should. He made the snaky thing, and the snaky thing struck, and right when it did… Aubrey couldn't see the police lady no more. Aubrey couldn't hear Vaughn thinking in his head no more. Aubrey didn't know if the police lady was alive or killed. Why wasn't Vaughn talking to him? Why wasn't Vaughn telling him what to do? Why wasn't…
Because maybe the police lady, Bullet, wasn't dead. Maybe she had gotten past Aubrey's most excellent snaky thing. Maybe she had gotten to Vaughn. Maybe Vaughn was…
Aubrey bit at his thumb, began to shuffle, back and forth, one foot to the other. A low tone seeped out of him: "Unnnnnnnnn…" A sound he made a lot; a frightened little noise.
If Vaughn was gone, if the police lady had gotten him— Couldn't've. She couldn't've. Nobody could stop Vaughn. But if, if she had… then what was going to keep her from getting him?
"Unnnnnnnnn…"
Rat-trapped-in-a-maze-terrified, Aubrey started to stumble around the room, bumped into a car door frame that slid from the table it was leaning on. It clattered, loud, to the floor and kicked some hubcaps when it landed there. The sound of it all made Aubrey jerk, jump. He was afraid. All that metal around he could control and shape and bring to life. All the metal in the building that he could touch by conductivity, animate by exceptional ability, and he was afraid of one woman.