Max Collins - Skin Game

“And while your body begins its inexorable journey to putrefication, I’m going next door and have the same chat with Dogboy. He should be easier — a chew toy, a little Alpo, and he’ll be howling at the moon.”

Alec managed a smile. “If Joshua ever gets his paws on you, White, you’ll learn a whole new meaning for ‘chew toy.’ ”

“I don’t think so. I think he’ll spill his canine guts and then we’ll take him over to the pound — afraid we’ll have to put the pooch down. Pity, isn’t it?”

Taking a quick inventory, Alec decided that other than aching all over, he seemed to be pretty much all here; the conversation with White had given him time to gather his wits, and his mind felt clear.

He seemed to be wearing only a flimsy, sleeveless hospital gown, and he could sense the bandage from his bullet wound still covering his left shoulder. Straining against them, Alec realized he was cuffed to the bed, the metal bracelets jangling a little when he relaxed.

The X5 had a vague recollection of seeing a stun rod swing toward him, but that was his last memory.

Standing over him, making sure Alec saw every movement he made, White slowly opened a straight razor and seemed to savor the way the light caught the blade and winked.

“One of the many ways my people are superior to transgenics,” White said conversationally, “is that we don’t feel pain — simply don’t experience it. Transgenics, on the other hand... when you prick them, they bleed.”

“You’re the prick who’s gonna bleed,” Alec snarled, fighting against the cuffs holding him down; but they wouldn’t give. The metal dug into his wrists, the pain somehow calming, giving him strength.

“Where shall we start?... How about with your friend 452?”

Pulling against the cuffs with everything he had, Alec said nothing.

White slowly moved the blade back and forth, watching the light dance on steel. Against his will, Alec found himself watching the blade as well, as if it was a hypnotist’s watch, trying to lull him into a terrible trance. The restraints continued to dig into his flesh, but he kept up the fight...

“I want you to tell me how I can get to her.”

“Climb the fence at Terminal City and whistle, dickweed.”

“You and Lassie ‘climbed the fence,’ 494 — and yet no one saw you do it. That compound is under close surveillance, but there must be a way out — and in — that no one knows about.”

“Click your heels together and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’ That should do it.”

“A sense of humor. I like that, 494. I have one too... watch...”

White leaned down close, his face only inches away from Alec, their eyes locked, then the agent made a narrow two-inch slice in Alec’s right shoulder. Gritting his teeth against the pain, the young transgenic said nothing.

“I’m so pleased you’re not cooperating, right away,” White said. “You see, for all my strengths, I have one weakness... I do hate transgenics...”

He opened the slice another inch.

Alec strained harder against the cuffs, his gaze still on White, the blood warm as it seeped from the wound and ran off his arm, the pain only spurring him on.

“I’ll ask again, 494. How can I get to 452?”

“Go to hell and take a left.”

White walked around the bed, his eyes never leaving Alec’s. “I certainly hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

“How could I enjoy it as much as a sick sadistic shit like you?”

The razor carved into his other arm, below the bandage covering his bullet wound. White made this cut about the same length as the first but a little deeper, the wound weeping tears of blood.

“There’s a back way into Terminal City,” White said. “I need to know what it is — you see, I want 452 in my own personal custody, before the Army swings through having their fun.”

Alec, blinking away tears of pain, had to wonder: “Why?”

“Maybe I want her head to put over my fireplace — what concern is that to a dead man? Now, why don’t you tell me the truth and I’ll speed this up for you.”

The door creaked open, and White spun. Alec, like White, threw his attention to the doorway, where a young, pretty African-American nurse stood, her mouth agape, hands flying up to cover it.

“What in God’s name!” she cried.

Razor in hand, dripping rubies, White lurched forward and barked at her, “Get out! This is federal government business!”

The nurse — who apparently did not find this typical behavior from a federal law enforcement officer — shrieked bloody murder, and — with White momentarily distracted — Alec summoned all of his remaining strength to pull against the cuff around his wrist. With a shrill whine, the metal tube of the bed frame snapped and Alec’s hand burst free.

As White spun back toward him, the razor rising in a wide arc, Alec swung his fist with everything he had behind it, catching White in the sternum, sending the agent sprawling, tumbling backward across the room and smacking hard into a wall, the razor flying out of his hand.

The nurse screamed again, turned and fled.

Alec knew he only had seconds now.

Jerking the bed frame on the left side, he broke that and slipped his left hand free. White had slid down the wall, and sat there in a rude pile, his eyes bleary, his mouth sagging open, sucking air in and out like a leaky bellows. The man might not feel pain, but physical damage nonetheless slowed him down.

From out in the hall, Alec could hear approaching footsteps. Sitting up, ignoring the blood running down his arms in narrow scarlet ribbons, he yanked off the bottom rail of the bed and slid it out, freeing his feet.

White used the wall to prop himself up and get back to his feet, his free hand disappearing inside his jacket, toward his pistol.

Alec leapt from the bed and ran over, blurringly fast, to pummel White with a right, then a left.

The agent hit the wall again and slid back down into his dazed sitting position, his gun clattering to the floor.

Sweeping out with his foot, White caught the backs of Alec’s legs and sent him sprawling, as two more men in black stormed in, guns drawn. They hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of their fallen leader. Rolling back under the bed, Alec came up and out on the other side, the bed now between him and his thoughtful visitors.

“Kill the bastard!” White bellowed.

The two swung their guns toward Alec, but the X5 was ready for them: he picked up his side of the bed and lifted, the whole thing coming up in front of him like a shield. Barreling forward, he felt bullets punch through the bed and exit, slowed, on either side of him. He heard the pistols’ further reports just as he slammed the thing into the two agents and knocked them to the ground.

White was rising now, but Alec dove, and they reached the pistol at the same instant. As they wrestled for control, the two agents under the bed started moving and Alec heard shouts in the hall.

Only seconds remained.

Head-butting White, Alec knocked the agent senseless, grabbed the gun, and found the cuff keys in White’s jacket pocket. As he spun, the two agents were clawing, climbing out from under the bed, both searching for their lost pistols.

Alec kicked the first one in the head, sending him promptly to dreamland, then spun and caught the second one under the chin with the butt of the pistol. He too went down for a long nap.

Stepping into the hall, Alec saw agents coming from both directions. He fired at both groups — aiming high, wanting to scare and back them off — and they scampered back around the corner, leaving the hall, for the moment, to Alec.

He sprinted to the door to the right of his room, opened it... and saw an empty bed. That made sense — White would keep the room next door vacant for security purposes.