Robert Crane - Untouched

I stood, ignoring the fire in my side. “You know,” I said, “I used to spend hours encased in metal too. Probably wasn’t as pleasant as how you’re doing it.” I tried to grab him by the leg but got a metal boot to the chest for my troubles. If possible, the already painful injury to my stomach multiplied and moved north. I suspected he had broken some ribs. I curled up into a little ball and tried to catch my breath, then attempted to force myself to stand. I watched as Henderschott got to his feet and I backed away from him, taking one hobbling step at a time.

“Hey!” The shout caught my attention, forcing me to look back and see Zack, holding the M16 with the barrel slightly elevated, pointed at Henderschott. I covered my ears and dived to the ground as I watched Henderschott’s metal head tilt in confusion (or maybe amusement) at the sight of Zack. He didn’t stay confused (or amused or whatever) for long. A low, whumping noise cut across the roof as the grenade launcher on the bottom of Zack’s weapon fired and it caught Henderschott right in the armored chest and exploded, sending him backward, arms pinwheeling, over the edge of the building.

I got to my feet and lurched over to Zack, still holding my chest and side. “Big strong man, come to save me,” I said, cringing from the pain.

“You looked like you needed some help.” He pointed his gun in the air.

“He sucker punched me,” I said. “Again.”

“Yeah?” He looked at me with a little acrimony. “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t totally disregarded what Old Man Winter told you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, mocking. “I don’t see the city leveled, so don’t count my strategy out yet.”

“What was your strategy again?” He looked at me. “Get pummeled by the man in black while Scotty and Kat tried to avoid getting toasted?”

“You should talk.” I took a deep breath and cringed at the pain from it. “If I’d had a helicopter, none of this would have happened. That armored assclown followed us from outside the campus.” I looked back at the helicopter, which was swinging around for another pass. “Besides, what was your strategy?”

“Parks is up there with a sniper rifle,” he said, pointing to the Black Hawk. “Clary’s jumping down on their next pass, but if we get even a sign that Gavrikov means to explode, Parks will drop him.”

“Why didn’t Clary jump the first time?” I looked at him. “You know, with you?”

He looked a little hesitant, almost embarrassed. “I uh…I wasn’t supposed to.”

“You fell out?” I tried to hide my amusement.

“I jumped out,” he said, “to save you. Clary was tasked to Gavrikov, he wouldn’t have helped you in time, so I forced the issue. The crosswinds are a real bitch up here, though, and it wasn’t the best moment to jump. Bastian is having a hell of a time keeping the chopper steady.”

“Makes me wonder how Parks is gonna pull off his shot,” I said, starting to limp toward the other side of the roof. I could see Gavrikov and Scott still going at each other, the flame versus the water.

“He’ll pull it off,” Zack said. “But honestly, we don’t really need him to.” He pulled his gun up and stared down the sights. “I can riddle him with holes if we get closer.”

The helicopter swooped overhead and Clary appeared at the door. It looked like Bastian was trying to keep it level but there was serious chop and the helicopter was swaying in the wind. I watched Clyde yell out something that sounded like “Geronimo!” and jump, his skin turning to darkened steel on the fall. He was aimed perfectly, and hit the roof only a few feet to Gavrikov’s left, causing the flaming man to look up from his battle with Byerly. I watched Clary land—

And disappear, falling through the roof. I turned to Zack. “Boy, am I glad we amateurs left this crack mission in the hands of you professionals. Marvelous work.”

He shot me a pained look. “I’m sorry, I gotta—”

“Go,” I said. “Do what you have to in order to stop him.” I started to say more but a black metal glove hit Zack across the back and he went flying, his gun skittering off the roof, his body stopping just before the edge. I wheeled and threw myself back in time to dodge Henderschott’s next assault. “Next time we throw you over I suppose I’ll have to make sure you really fall.” He swung at me again and I started to panic; I couldn’t evade him like this forever.

Something stirred inside me as the fear took over. He had beaten and pummeled me, hurt me again in a way I would never get used to. Whatever it was came from deep inside, was primal, destructive, awakened by my purest survival drive. It was familiar, a feeling and a consciousness that had been suppressed by the drugs that I hadn’t taken in…I glanced at the lightening sky…over 24 hours.

“You’ve got more lives than a cat, Henderschott.” I shouted as I dodged another attack. The pain started to fade and it felt like it had in the cafeteria when I had attacked Scott; I was there, but parts of me were starting to respond to someone else’s command. I vaulted over him, the pain in my side masked from my feeling it, and I grabbed hold of him before he could turn to face me, somehow gripping him with both hands. This was going to hurt tomorrow. A voice, deep and sinister, something absolutely nothing like my own, filled my ears with a hissing, lustful sound. “But not as many as Wolfe.”

My good hand grabbed at his helmet and pulled, ripping at it with a strength far beyond my own. I twisted, dragging him off his feet, tearing at the metal surrounding his head, knowing it was attached to his skin and ripping as hard as I could. I could hear him screaming inside his suit and his hands reached up for me but I fended them off, turning him over, stretching out of their reach even as he hammered at my wrists and I ignored it, blind to any sort of pain at all.

With a last, wrenching tear the helmet came off, filling the world with Henderschott’s scream. His face dripped blood as the helmet came off and my hands brought it down across the back of his head. I heard a sickening crunch of metal on bone. Henderschott went limp, but I wasn’t the one who brought the helmet down again and again. My hands did it while I watched, dumbstruck, his head turning to little fragments of flesh and bone before my eyes.

“Wolfe,” I said, whispering, “enough.” But he was in control and I had none. My hands grasped Henderschott by the remains of his head and dragged him across the roof to the edge. I lifted him up in one hand, his eyes dead and rolling, but they found mine for a second and the awful, hissing voice of Wolfe came back. “Wolfe should have done this a long time ago, but Wolfe showed you mercy. Now there is only the mercy of gravity.”

Henderschott spoke, but it was hard to hear. “They’ll keep coming for you.” His eyes were locked on mine, even as his head lolled back at a sick angle.

I wanted to ask who, and I fought, fought for control of my voice. “Who…?” I said it, and it came out as a whisper.

He blinked his eyes, the blood trickling down from the top of his head falling into the lids, turning them red, as though he were crying tears of blood. “Omega.”

Before I could ask him anything else, my hands drew him back and heaved Henderschott off the side of the tower. I saw his eyes look at me as he passed, and they were haunted, horrible. He flew out in a lazy arc and started to fall. I watched him sail downward, but it took an impossibly long time for him to finally land on the street below.

When he did, a scream tore through my head and I realized it was my own. I dropped to my knees at the edge of the tower, Wolfe receding to the back of my consciousness. I cried out, again, tears freezing on my cheeks as I stared down, far below to where Henderschott had landed; the second person I had killed with my own hands.