Generation 18 (Spook Squad 2)

“Put down your weapon,” the security officer repeated, “or I’ll be forced to shoot.”

There was no understanding in the officer’s dour features, no realization of the evil he was letting loose. All he saw was an agent firing at a superior officer. She had no doubt he’d shoot if she fired her gun again.

She dove for the hall anyway. As she hit the ground, she sighted on the fleeing form and fired. The shifter jerked, her squawk decidedly unmanly as she stumbled into the wall. Then a laser burned into Sam’s body and agony swept her into unconsciousness.

—

Gabriel paced the confines of his prison for the umpteenth time. There had to be some way out of this box. There had to be. He couldn’t let Rose get into the system and find the new addresses for the adoptees. She had to be stopped!

He had no doubt that she would get into his office. The SIU, for all its security, hadn’t really considered the problem of multi-shifters taking on the form of their operatives. His only real hope lay with Sam and her odd ability to sense the evil in people.

Only he’d pissed her off so severely lately that she was likely to avoid him—especially given his lack of reaction to her none-too-subtle seduction attempt.

He punched the wall in frustration and it buckled under the force of his blow. Hope stirred, and he leaned forward for a closer look. Several of the rivets were missing in the strips holding the metal sheeting in place. Daylight gleamed through the small gaps.

This section of the refrigerator must have been built on top of existing walls—walls that had once been plasterboard. Over the years of abandonment, the plaster must have disintegrated, leaving only the insulation and the metal sheeting of the refrigerator itself.

This was his escape. He stepped back a pace, then booted the wall. The pinpricks of daylight became brighter. He kicked it again. A fist-sized gap appeared along the left-hand side.

But as he raised his leg for a third try, pain hit him, flashing fire down his leg. He grunted and dropped to his knees, clutching his thigh and trying to regain his breath.

Fire hit again, this time his shoulder and side. Agony seared his brain and burned through his body. Then it was gone, leaving him shuddering and gasping for breath.

Sam had been hit. How or why he didn’t know, but she was hurt, and badly. He had to get out of this damn prison.

He climbed slowly to his feet. The wall gave way after half a dozen more kicks, peeling back like dented butter. The room beyond was small and dust-laden. The two small windows to his right were barred, though the glass had long gone. Not even his hawk form would fit between the bars.

He climbed through the wall and walked to the door. It was locked. He stepped back and kicked it. The lock broke after the fourth boot, and the door slammed open. The hallway beyond lay wrapped in dusk. Light filtered in from the strip of glass high above, and dust, stirred by the door opening, danced lazily in the sunbeams.

He couldn’t hear any movement, but the sudden prickling sensation along the back of his neck suggested he was no longer alone.

Rose was back. He had to move.

He ra

n to the end of the hall and cautiously opened the door. It led into the factory proper—a huge space filled with little more than dust. A roller door dominated the wall to his left. Beside it was a second door. From where he stood, it was impossible to tell whether it was locked or not.

His footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. Though he could hear no other sound, the sensation that Rose drew close burned. Keeping near the walls, hoping to be less obvious in the dust-laden shadows, he made his way around to the door.

The handle turned when he gripped it. He opened the door and looked out. The room beyond was a loading bay. A second roller door at the far end stood open. Beyond it, he could see thunderous skies.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Though he couldn’t see her, Rose was close. Watching. Waiting. It didn’t matter. He had to take the risk. He had to try to escape while he still could.

He shifted shape and flew toward the open roller door. Movement caught the corner of his eye. Rose stepped out of the shadows, weapon raised.

He pumped his wings, flying as hard and as fast as he could. He felt rather than saw the report of the laser, felt the heat of the shot burn toward him. He flicked his wings, soaring up and sideways.

The shot sizzled past him, burning a bullet-sized hole in the metal wall. He arrowed through the door and into the freedom of the storm-clad skies. Footsteps raced behind him, and then a second shot burned through the air.

Again, he dove away, this time to his left. He wasn’t fast enough. The shot tore through his wing, exploding through flesh and bone as easily as it had the metal wall. Agony fired through his brain. Then he was tumbling, careening out of control, back to the earth and Rose’s waiting arms.

—

Footsteps echoed through Sam’s brain, the rhythm of barely restrained anger. It was a beat accompanied by a muted throbbing in her shoulder and leg. Waking was not something she wanted to do—not if the throbbing was any indication of the pain that awaited on the return to full consciousness.

But she had little choice. Someone was shaking her good shoulder, demanding that she wake.

She forced one reluctant eye open. A woman’s face swam into view. It was a strong face, a pretty face. A face that would take no shit.