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What the hell?
He waited, took up a position behind the crack of the door, and waited some more. It took several minutes but finally a figure came out of the shower, out of the bathroom. It looked to him like she had rinsed with her clothes on, to get rid of the blood and filth, but amazingly she was up and walking around. Toweling off. Not fast; she moved haltingly, like an old woman, or a hurt one. With an exotic-looking weapon by the barrel in one hand, she dangled a Kevlar helmet from the same wrist, and dragged a mangled vest. Five or six scars showed where his rounds had hit the armor and helmet and not penetrated.
So I tagged her, but didn’t kill her after all? But I fired sixteen rounds, and I smelled the stink of the body letting go, which normally only happens at the moment of death. At least some of her legs and arms should be out of commission, but she’s using all of them. One, two, three, four. Yup, all four limbs operating.
Weird.
Daniel stepped out from behind the door while her back was still mostly to him. “Freeze, you.”
She dropped everything, held her hands up away from her body. “Don’t shoot, please. It hurts.”
“I bet. Turn around. All the way around. Keep turning.”
He inspected her. No visible weapons, just torn up slacks and a ragged button-down blouse, with holes and rips in interesting places and still some bloodstains. Angry red wounds on her arms and legs, at least five that he could see. Spreading purple bruises. Cute, too, about five-six, reddish-brown hair, gorgeous blue eyes, nice curves under all that mess.
She was standing, she was walking. Somehow. Woman or not, she had fired a very deadly firearm at him. The gun didn’t care who used it, and dead was dead.
Wasn’t it?
The serpent in Daniel’s head was not pleased.
“Turn right, go up the stairs. Don’t think about it, just do it. Up, up!” He followed her ascent, déjà vu, just like with the suit. He marched her through the kitchen and told her to sit next to the suit’s body.
The woman looked at the dead man, at the entry wounds, and made a choking sound. Stringy and wet, her hair did not hide a face ugly with bruises and what looked like a shot through her cheek.
Daniel snarled, “I tried to talk to him. He gave me the wrong answers.” Looking at her, he tried to be dispassionate, but still liked what he saw: average build but fit and perfectly proportioned. His eyes traced the contours of her form and something stirred within him as his baser instincts threatened to take control.
The serpent was pleased.
Daniel shook himself. What’s wrong with me? Reaching inside for the anger, he used it to regain his balance. Remember, this woman tried to kill me. The body reaches for sex after violent action, the urge to procreate, but I swore off all of that when…he pushed painful thoughts away again and concentrated.
In a field interrogation it was useful for the subject to be afraid, to keep from recovering composure. Daniel figured he needed to push this woman through that window. Besides, she had genuine reason to fear him. The serpent hovered behind his eyeballs, threatening to take over again at any moment.
Daniel spoke. “So tell me, and make it fast. I really want to shoot you again.” It came out in a croon, husky, like a lover. He placed his finger on the trigger again and the serpent danced in the dexe-codone fog.
“Okay, okay, please don’t,” she tried to reason with him. “We’re here to help you. Recruit you! Come on, Daniel, throttle back!” She shivered from the cold and the fear.
Daniel could see in her eyes that she was confused. Obviously the situation hadn’t gone the way they expected.“How do you know me?” he growled.
She spoke quickly, perhaps hoping to keep him distracted until he relaxed. “Jenkins had your file! It’s true! You fit the profile, all the skills, high moral index, ruthless but not corruptible, the Company wants you. But it’s going to be harder now.” She made a weak gesture at the dead man beside her, avoiding looking.
“The Company” is what the CIA’s employees called it, like it isn’t even part of the government. Maybe it isn’t, really, Daniel thought.
“Please, we can help each other.” She sounded unsure, but hopeful, and took a deep breath.
Daniel saw she was settling down; he needed to keep her momentum going in the direction of explanations. He gestured with the gun. “Keep talking. What was the plan?”
She responded quickly, trippingly. “Jenkins was in charge – I had no choice. I was just supposed to provide the demonstration, which I did, as you see. I couldn’t kill you anyway, even if I wanted to, but you were supposed to think so, to get your attention.”
He wondered what she meant by “couldn’t kill” him. Seemed like she could have if he’d been in front of the shotgun.
Elise reached across with her right hand to scratch vigorously at her left arm, where one of the bullets had taken out a chunk of flesh. She looked pleadingly at Daniel, as if willing him to understand, to give her a break. “I tried to talk him out of it but he was an arrogant son of a bitch and he wouldn’t listen.”
Which reminded him. “So how come you aren’t dead, or at least bleeding out on my bathroom floor? How come you’re still on your feet?” This whole conversation was surreal, but he couldn’t argue with his own two eyes so he figured he might as well just go with it until he figured it out. “Are you some kind of vampire? Werewolf? Immortal? Alien? Zombie?” He ran out of possibilities.
She continued her explanation, even as she clutched her gut, as if in pain. “It’s a new thing. A kind of healing booster. Do you have anything to eat?”
Daniel noticed she was looking sallow, white almost, and shivering. It seemed like she was getting sick, and her veins and muscle definition showed through paper-thin skin.
“I’m starving,” she pleaded again.
His stimulated mind raced, and he threw mental rocks at the serpent reluctantly slouching back toward its cave. Healing booster, super-healing. When she said starving, she meant literally starving. From his extensive medical training Daniel figured that her body was already catabolizing itself, ca
Fu
So he got her some food. A big bag of lunch meat, a package of cheese slices, mayo, mustard, a loaf of bread, apples, paper plates, and a plastic spoon. A plastic cup for orange juice. No metal. Dad didn’t raise no dummy. Used right, a steel spoon can kill a man. I’ve already seen she’s dangerous, no matter how attractive she might be. That was part of the plan, probably. Even with that wet stringy hair he couldn’t stop thinking about her eyes. “Make me a sandwich too,” He said gruffly, not wanting to put down the gun. “And keep talking. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Elise. Elise Wallis.” She lined up six pairs of bread slices with shaky hands and started to construct sandwiches, after stuffing a piece of the loaf into her mouth like a slumdog orphan. Taking a moment to choke it down, she continued. “It was just supposed to be a demonstration. You were supposed to shoot me, of course. Not quite so many times. And I didn’t really shoot at you, did I? Those rounds I had were filled with salt. Not even rock salt, just table salt. Nasty within five feet, but after that it just stings. Special ammo. It’s in his pocket in a plastic bag. See for yourself.” She sounded whiny, defensive. Querulous.