The Space Colonel's Woman (Dragonus Chronicles Book 1) Page 13

  “FUCK!”

  Julia scrambled to stay upright and maintain her hard-won gap in the door with her shoulder.

  Now all she had to do was wedge the doors open long enough to give her time to jump out. The knife would be perfect, but she was bound to need it later. Julia stood between the doors, panting and grunting with the effort of keeping them apart, and skimmed through her limited options; disregarding each in turn until…an armlet. If she wedged it between floor and door she would only have one door to contend with, and she could jump free; thus avoiding being juicily squished.

  Julia braced with her shin and back and slid down to wiggle the armlet’s cuff under the door in front of her. She stood up before easing back her hold on the door. It slid with an abrupt screech of worked gold on alien tile before catching. Julia stood frozen in the gap while her brain yelled at her to MOVE!

  She lunged; rolling out into the corridor in a tangle of chiffon, gold heels, and wild bourbon curls. It took a moment to figure out which way was up, then she scooped up her knife and got to her feet. The blood rushed back to her brain with a prickly sensation that had Julia pressing her thumbs to her temples, while she leaned against the wall.

  “Whew!” Relief surged, leaving her giddy with numb fingertips.

  It was good to know that she wasn’t a horror film bimbo, but an intelligent, confident woman with a plan. Julia gave a regretful sigh and used the blade to slice a new above-the-knee hemline; tied her hair back with the strip of fabric and kicked off her heels.

  She ran on bare silent feet to the end of the deserted corridor. On first glance all the corridors in Phoenix appeared identical, but with the help of her X2 gene the city projected holographic maps at each intersection. All Julia had to do was place a palm on the silver square embedded in the wall and she’d know what level she was on.

  Level ten, the projection displayed in bright red digits above her head. Julia inhaled lungfuls of much-needed air to ease the ache in her chest. She would have to descend five levels, go left, and then right down the corridor to the armory at the end. It would be a piece of cake. Provided she didn’t run into anyone unpleasant along the way. And if she did, she’d just have to make sure she caused enough damage to her attacker, so she could run. There was no way she’d survive a drawn out fight against a hulking battle-trained warrior with blood lust fogging his brain.

  An image of the Arcadians who had attacked her and Mark on the beach, flashed in Julia’s mind and chilled her blood. The key to surviving was to actually survive, and if that meant running, then she was fine with that. Just as long as it wasn’t upstairs into an attic with only one exit, like the buxom starlet who screamed ridiculously as the guy wearing a hockey mask and revving a chainsaw cornered her.

  Julia headed for the other stairwell. The one that spiraled down the outside of the building like a silver slinky, each level having its own open air access. She praised the creator of the city, whoever they had been, for their forethought in providing exit strategies for enemy attacks, and jogged down flight after flight with one hand on the rail and the other gripping tight to her knife.

  The explosions were louder out there. Their concussion blasts carried to Julia on the fresh ocean wind. What on Earth was happening out there? But then, she wasn’t on Earth. Julia smiled in memory of the grin on Mark’s face and the sparkle in his eyes as he teased her with another of his endless bad puns. God, she hoped he was safe. Surely the universe hadn’t gone to all the trouble of getting them together, to take him from her now.

  Julia jerked her mind back to her own situation. She hadn’t been on this side of the building before, but with three full turns in the stairs per level, there was no attention to spare for sight-seeing, she was too busy counting. Level five was around the next turn, but Julia’s steps slowed as she realized she had no clue what was going on. She couldn’t just stroll back into the building without knowing what she would be facing.

  The knife blade was dull, and completely useless as a reflective surface for looking around corners, which was what Julia needed. She’d done well so far, was still alive, and she wasn’t about to ruin it by stupidly walking out from her cover and into an open space without checking first. Julia did a mental tally of her assets and removed the second armlet. Its shiny surface would be more helpful than the knife blade; the image would be distorted across the curve, but it was all she had.

  Silent and slow, she tip-toed to the rounded corner and tilted the armlet until it reflected a fish eye view of the corridor. It was deserted and Julia opted to run for it, rather than dither and miss what could be her only opportunity. Left, then right, armory’s at the end, ran on a loop in her mind as she sprinted toward the next turn; white tiles cool beneath her bare feet.

  She pressed herself back against the wall; tried to slow her noisy breaths while she used the armlet to check the next corridor. Empty. She ran for it; only two hundred yards…

  Stunner blasts dyed the walls blue and scorched the spot where Julia’s head had been a split second before.

  Terror welled in her chest and threatened to choke her as she bolted down the length of the corridor. It had been too good to be true. To expect that she would be able to surmount all her obstacles to reach the armory, while the city was under attack, and without running into a single adversary – armed only with a single knife and an armlet mirror – was unrealistic at best. And now, another was coming toward her from the opposite end of the corridor, between Julia and the double doors of the armory.

  His eyes widened as she bore down on him from less than ten feet away, desperate to reach the relative safety of a room chock full of weapons. Adrenalin surged, driving her forward amid blinding flashes as the Arcadians behind her continued their efforts to bring her down. The blade sunk deep into the meaty flesh of his thigh, ridge of carbon fiber teeth wedging deep as Julia twisted her wrist. All of Mark’s instruction returning in the full force of muscle memory and icy fear.

  She let the knife go and tripped on the falling body, tumbled and screamed when a white-hot burn carved a furrow of seared flesh into the muscle of her upper arm. She scrambled to her feet, teeth gritted and jaw clenched. The pain was excruciating and blurred her vision with tears as the adrenalin began to ebb. She had to get inside, she just had to. Apparently she needed to be panicked to get the mind control thing to work, because the armory doors parted enough for her to duck inside before they slid shut again; a quiet bleep registering their locked status.

  Julia gulped air like it was the last she’d ever get and twisted her arm to inspect the damage. If she’d just put the armlet back on, perhaps the blast would’ve been deflected. Instead, there was an angry gouge with singed weeping edges marring her pale skin, and it hurt like fuck. With one end held firm between her teeth, Julia wrapped some of the purple chiffon into a field dressing and knotted it off before taking a moment to look around her.

  “If you have to do this then comms will be down, so don’t bother with an earpiece. Go for the walkies – channel two. I’ll hear you.” Mark stroked the back of her hand, and she nodded in understanding. “Wear a vest, it has everything you need.”

  “I remember.” Julia smirked, thinking about the one he’d been wearing when she found him on the beach.

  “Listen.” His tone made her serious again. “Take an APX, spare clips, and a flashlight. Leave the T60, you aren’t up to speed…” He raised his hand to stop her protest. “Yet. It’ll slow you down.”

  With Mark’s voice in her head, guiding her, Julia shrugged into a vest and felt the weight of it immediately drag on her shoulders. She ripped the side seam of her dress, removed the knife sheath and replaced it with a thigh holster, before loading and checking one APX. Julia holstered the weapon and added six spare clips to the vest pockets, then wedged a second Beretta between the vest and her breasts. The threat of it was cold and heavy against her sweaty skin.

  The radio in the top left pocket scritched to life when Julia held down the transmit but
ton.

  “Colonel Holden, this is Wings, do you copy?”

  “Wings?!” Mark’s response was immediate, words clipped short and brusque on the open channel. “What’s your position?”

  “The armory, what the hell’s going on?”

  “Stand by.” She heard him swear and Stephen’s dulcet tones rebuking him before Mark got back to her. “Bad guys showed up uninvited. Are there many on the ground?”

  “I’ve killed one, I think, and three more know I’m in here. Can’t tell you how anyone else is doing.”

  There was dead air for a long moment.

  “You okay?”

  “Just peachy, Colonel.” She snapped, the whole situation getting the better of her. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Can you make it to Dawson in the ballroom?”

  “I’ll give it a go. Three levels up, right?”

  “Right.”

  Julia could hear weapon’s fire both through the radio’s speaker and the armory walls.

  “Grab a few flash bangs and throw them out the door. Should give you time to run back the way you came.”

  “Understood.”

  “Wings?”

  “Yes, Colonel?”

  “Do me a favor, when you get there, stay put.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Holden, out.”

  Mark’s Holden out had sounded like love you, and Julia felt bolstered from hearing his voice. She sighed. He was flying and now the explosions could mean enemy ships or gliders blowing up each other as well as the buildings. There was nothing to worry about. Mark was the best pilot here, and if that wasn’t enough, hopefully she’d be adequate incentive for him to come back alive.

  “Focus, Wings!” Julia shouted aloud to the empty room; giving herself a full-body shake in the hopes of receiving a second dose of adrenalin.

  She’d been in here too long. The three remaining assailants would be right on her position, waiting for her to make her move. With two stun grenades added to her personal arsenal, Julia pulled the pins on two more and pressed the door control with her elbow when the mind command failed. The moment the gap was wide enough, she hurled the grenades into the corridor and flattened her body into the internal wall; hands over her ears and eyes scrunched tight.

  Three seconds and Julia charged into the last wisps of chemical green smoke, firing her both APXs. She had no idea if she’d hit anything but she wasn’t stopping to find out as she sprinted back the way she’d come. The weight of the vest thunking down on her shoulders as she jumped over a spreading pool of Pepto-Bismol pink. Heart pounding with painful sparks against her ribs, Julia covered the remaining stretch in four strides before ducking around the corner.

  She couldn’t catch her breath and her hands shook while she loaded fresh clips into both pistols, before racing for the open spiral stairs. Six flights to the ballroom level, laden down with body armor and weapons she wasn’t conditioned to carry, would take a bit longer. Past the pounding of her blood in her ears, Julia heard regimented bootsteps…coming…up. She took off, using the handrail to haul herself upward. Could she make it to level eight before they caught sight of her?

  No, was the short answer. Laser fire sparked off the silver railing a second too late. She ran faster, reaching the top curve and turning to fire until her clips were empty again. Hoping to gain some ground, she reached inside her vest for another smoke grenade, pulled the pin, and arced it down the stairs behind her. Julia stood still, eyes shut and ears blocked, but she still heard the startling noise as the smoke drifted inland. She was off again, wasting no time and bounding up the last steps to the eighth floor atrium.

  The ballroom was three bends away with a hundred yard dash between each bend. No problem, Julia joked to herself in an effort to keep from losing the desperate hold she had on the burgeoning freak out. Her arm screamed for attention as blood trickled down her inner elbow and dripped in soft pats to mar the white floor. She would bandage it when she got to the ballroom. If she didn’t make it that far, then a lousy arm wound would be the least of her worries.

  With her APXs drawn and her back against the wall, Julia double clicked her radio.

  “Major Dawson, do you copy?”

  “Go for Dawson.”

  “This is Wings, I’m in the corridor by the open stairwell, three hundred paces from your position. Can I get to you?”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a moment’s dead air before the major got back to her. “Make your way here, we’ll cover your approach.”

  Mark would be able to hear their chatter and hopefully knowing her situation would help him concentrate better, so he came back to her in one piece.

  Julia slid around the corner, sprinted the empty corridor with her heart in her throat; gasping air like a landed fish when she made it round the last corner. She could hear laser blasts and gunfire dueling from the major’s position and Julia shuddered. The ballroom could be accessed from both her position, and the doored stairs and the relocator at the other end. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one attempting to reach it.

  “Wings, we’re laying down cover fire, on my go get the hell over here!”

  More rapid gunfire punched holes in the air, loud and terrifying in the confined space.

  “GO! GO! GO!”

  She ran like the devil was on her ass.

  Dawson’s men were crouched on one knee and firing up the corridor at unseen hostiles, when Julia ran behind their backs and into the ballroom; skidding to a halt in front of the startled faces of twenty dignitaries and a hundred-or-so assorted guests, all in black tie and flamboyant evening dress.

  ~*~

  Julia sat surrounded by elegantly gowned women who fussed over her arm like hens clucking over a new batch of chicks, offering her glasses of water and napkins. She accepted the water, took a swig and poured the rest over her arm. She gritted her teeth and hissed a string of profanities as fire sizzled the raw edges of her flesh like the fat on a frying steak. The dainty squeals of the women as they shuffled their shoes and hemlines back from the bloody water dripping onto the floor from her elbow, failed to register through the haze of pain.

  She was attempting to unfold a khaki military bandage from her vest one-handed, when Hayden and Anora finally worked their way through the crowd to her side.

  “I was concerned for you.” Anora chastised. “I see I was right to be so.”

  She smiled, tired and frazzled around the edges. “I’m alive, and in one piece.”

  Hayden had taken the bandage and field dressed her wound with efficient skill. “Almost.”

  Julia nodded her thanks to him and squeezed Anora’s arm in reassurance, before going to talk to Major Dawson away from the crowd. “Thanks for that Major.”

  His men were still crouched in the doorway, firing sporadically.

  “You’re welcome. Where did you come from?”

  “Initially I was trapped in the stairwell on ten. Just now, from the armory.” Julia gestured to her accessories and grinned.

  “So I see.”

  “Any idea what the hell’s going on?” She asked, messing with her hair, her shaky fingers snagging on tangled tresses and the few surviving pins.

  “These guys have got bored with whatever they normally do, and decided to take us on instead.” Major Dawson chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Must love having their asses handed to them.”

  “Colonel Holden?”

  “He took off outta here after the first strike. He’s leading the flight offensive. We’ve got fifteen gliders up, shouldn’t be much longer.”

  Major Dawson and his regular team, plus two squads of Marines had been on security detail for the function and had been in the ballroom when the attack began. The people this Arcadian strike force was trying to get to were well protected. The location helped too. It was shielded by other buildings and defended by Mark’s squadron.

  Hayden approached from her left and wrapped her in his
arms; a huge teddy bear of a hug that smelled of something clean and soothing she couldn’t name, but was uniquely Hayden. “Love the dress.”

  “Thanks, I put a lot of care and attention into my wardrobe this evening.” Hayden grinned, squeezed her once more before putting the regulation two feet between them. “You should’ve seen the knockout heels that went with it.”

  “How’s it been here?”

  Hayden growled, brows drawing down to echo the sharp line pressed into his lips. “Quiet.”

  It seemed she had seen more action than Hayden. Julia found it astonishing. Hayden not so much. “Switch on your radio.”

  She did as he asked and was blasted with rapid fire chatter. It took a moment to decipher the voices from the gunfire, but the gist was the ground teams were tidying up the stragglers and the gliders were inbound to the Birdcage. Hayden and Julia made eye contact, each finding relief looking back.

  Julia jumped out of her skin when the major’s team zealously opened fire down the corridor.

  “Wings!” Dawson yelled, spurring Julia into running to his side. “Got any flash bangs?”

  “One.” She fished it out of her vest and handed it over.

  “One’s all I need.” He grinned. “You and Hayden stay and cover the door. Don’t let anyone leave.”

  Julia nodded, dazed, and pulled both APXs.

  “On three!” Major Dawson yelled to his men, who were paused on the balls of their feet.

  “One!” The smoke grenade arced into the air, detonated before it hit the ground, and lit up the corridor before filling it with a choking cloud of acid yellow smoke.

  “Two!”

  “Three!”

  The team charged down the corridor amid a storm of gunfire and noxious fumes. Julia flanked one side of the entrance, her pistols loaded with their last clips and resting in her hands. Hayden took the side with the view of the Marines’ backs.

  “Wings, come in.”

  It was the sweetest sound she could have hoped to hear.