Ruins

“We have snipers on the upper floor,” said Marcus softly, “bait down there and there.” He pointed along the main hallway, terminating in a clothing-filled department store, and then along a perpendicular hall that led toward a food court. “She took the main hall, probably going after Woolf, since he was the bait in that one, but he’s still talking, so he’s obviously okay. She must have got past him when you showed up and we all started shooting each other.”

“We’ll help you catch her,” said Kira. “We’ve got some questions of our own.” She stood up and jogged down the hall toward the department store, keeping close to the wall with her rifle pointed down. Falin followed close behind her, and she felt the combat coordination flare back to life on the link. Marcus followed behind, running to catch up. “Are there any other exits?” she asked him.

“Two ground-floor doors, but we have people outside both of them.”

“So we won’t go outside,” said Kira. “Let’s keep this among people who’ve already learned not to shoot at us.”

A gunshot rang out from the department store, and Falin muttered, “Tell that to her.”

“Woolf’s in trouble,” said Marcus, and surged forward, but Kira held him back.

“This is the third exit,” she said, pointing to the mouth of the department store. “If we go in there and she gets around us, she’s coming straight back here. Don’t let her past you.”

Marcus nodded. “I’m glad we could have our tearful reunion before I crapped my pants from fear.”

She grinned and slapped him on the back, and he ran to find a good watch position while Kira and the soldiers swarmed into the department store. They walked carefully, watching one another’s backs, clearing each new section and display and rack of clothes before moving on to the next one. The clothes in the store were old, but relatively well preserved; some animals had been in here, and spiders had covered the shelves and corners with gauzy white webbing, but the mannequins still stood, posing proudly, ancient sunglasses perched jauntily on their featureless, yellowed heads.

“Commander Woolf?” Kira called out. “Are you still here?”

There was no answer, and Kira proceeded grimly; the man was either dead or a prisoner. The center of the department store was a tall, open area, three stories of balconies connected by a crisscrossing series of escalators. She caught a flash of movement on the third floor, somebody jostling a rack of suits, and pointed it out to Green. He relayed it silently through the link, and soon the entire group was moving—not toward the escalators, but to the staircase in the back wall.

“The escalators are a death trap,” Green whispered. “They’re long and straight with no cover; she could pick us all off on the first one.” He turned to Jansson. “You stay here and point out any movement you see on the link—our target’s got a gas mask on, so she can’t listen in.” He and Falin and Colin opened the door and moved quickly up the stairs, checking each corner carefully, and Kira followed, still trying to keep up with the rapid link commands. She expected them to bypass the second floor, since the movement had been on the third, but they stopped and did a sweep of that floor as well, leaving Colin to watch the stairs and make sure the shooter didn’t sneak past them on the way down. They were hemming her in, slowly but surely, clearing every possible hiding place and backing her into a final, inescapable corner. They stayed away from the edges of the balconies, but they could still feel Jansson on the link, watching out for them from below.

MOVEMENT ON THE THIRD FLOOR, came the message. She was still up there.

They moved quickly back to the stairs and went up. Kira felt her trepidation grow and was grateful that she wasn’t broadcasting her fear across the link. She needed to be strong. She followed Green out onto the third floor with her rifle up, crouching low to reduce her profile, watching each corner and shadow with her heart in her throat. The gilled Partial assassin could be anywhere, lying in wait for them, cornered and desperate and deadly.

Kira glanced toward the balcony railing and the wide center shaft beyond, looking for the rack of suits she’d seen earlier. There, she said, locating herself mentally. That means I’m facing left of where I was before, and Jansson is over there—