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Markovic laughed. “Dekka Talent. Shade Darby. Malik Tenerife. Well, well. Here to commit murder for a good cause, are you? Playing hero? Saving the world?”
“No one will die if you—”
“Don’t be naive,” Markovic snapped. “None of us get out of this alive. They have to kill us. Do you imagine for one minute that Washington will allow the existence of a girl who can run straight past security and poke a sharp stick in the president and then disappear? Please. We’re all on a hit list, and you must know it!”
What Markovic was saying in his slow-as-drying-paint way had some resonance with Shade. It would have resonance with anyone who’d been at the Ranch. And anyone who’d seen tanks blasting their way down the Las Vegas Strip.
“What makes all of you the heroes and me the villain? How many died at the Ranch be
cause of you, Shade Darby, the self-appointed hero? Hmm? What about you, Malik? The pain you caused? You broke people’s minds, there are people in psych wards thanks to you, hero.”
Markovic saved his harshest venom for Dekka. “And then we have Dekka Talent, FAYZ survivor. I read the book. Saw the movie. The actress who played you was good.” He nodded. “All of you FAYZ people, you PBA crowd, you managed to sell yourselves as the good guys, but oh—my, my, you’ve taken lives, haven’t you? You, Dekka: you’ve killed people. And were there perhaps a few innocents who died along the way? Eh? Hero or villain depends on who’s telling the story, Malik; that’s the problem with your three-part taxonomy.”
Markovic moved toward Dekka. She held her ground. Shade tensed, ready to . . . to do what, exactly? Use her speed to crush thousands of insects?
A can of Raid might be useful.
“Here’s my origin story,” Markovic went on. “Minding my own business, got sprayed by asteroid fragments, the government grabs me, takes me to a field, and murders me. Now the government has sent a hit squad of mutants to kill me. You. The six of you. The Rockborn Gang, indeed.”
Shade blurred away, yanked a duvet from the nearest bedroom, zipped back and threw the blanket over Markovic, and was gratified to hear Dekka slow-mo shouting, “Run! Run!”
Francis grabbed Malik and Armo by their hands and blinked out of the 3-D world.
Shade yelled, “Hold on!” which of course no one could hear as anything but a half-second buzz, threw herself at Dekka, hit her like a linebacker, and propelled Dekka and herself through the shattered glass door and over the balustrade.
Could Dekka survive a fourteen-story fall, even in morph?
Francis, Malik, and Armo snapped back into reality on the sidewalk below, and Shade saw that there was a real chance of Dekka crushing one or all of them.
But as she and Dekka fell, Francis looked up and spread her arms wide. Dekka landed on Francis and the two of them seemed to disappear into the concrete of the sidewalk.
Shade landed hard—she had a body built to absorb shock, but fourteen floors was no joke. She hit the ground, heard the sound of chitin snapping, like someone clipping a toenail, fell on her back, and began to de-morph even as Francis and Dekka reappeared.
Safe. All but Detective Williams, whose voice followed them down, screaming in agony.
“Williams,” Shade said.
“I know!” Dekka snarled.
“We can’t leave him like that. You know what we have to do, Dekka. I would but . . . wrong power.”
Dekka swallowed hard and shook her head. “There must be some other way, some other thing we can . . .”
Cruz said, “Shade, we can’t just—”
“We can’t just do nothing,” Shade interrupted. “That man helped us; he doesn’t deserve to be left to scream in hell!”
But Cruz just shook her head, and Armo fixed his gaze on the ground.
It was Malik who decided the issue. “Look, I’ve been there, I know about pain that will drive you mad and make you beg for death. None of you know, not really. I do.”
“And?” Dekka asked.
“We have to be compassionate,” Malik said. “We can’t leave him like that.”
Dekka’s face was a frozen mask; she said nothing and did nothing but breathe as everyone waited on her. Shade knew what the answer had to be. But you don’t bully or rush someone into taking life.
Finally, Dekka looked at Francis and in a voice so deep and so low it was almost inaudible said, “Francis? Can you give me a lift to the hallway outside the apartment?”
