Chris Holm - Dead Harvest

The air in the bedroom was a little better. My eyes and throat still burned, but I felt a little more human — a little more in control. I pulled them close, shouting over the din of the raid. "Listen very closely. They're coming in, and if I don't do something to stop them, they're going to take us all. I can't let that happen. I'm going to need to create a diversion. You two stay in here and count to fifty. Then you go out the window and down the fire escape. Don't stop for anything, you hear me?"

"Won't they be watching for us?" Anders said to me.

"Not if I do my job."

"No!" Kate shook her head. "We're not going to just leave you here!"

"Kate, there isn't any other choice. My leg's shot — I ain't going anywhere. And without a diversion, you wouldn't make it five steps."

In the other room, the front door thudded. The jamb held, but it wouldn't for long. We were running out of time. Kate looked at me a moment, her eyes red and streaming from the gas, and then she leaned toward me, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Be careful, OK?"

I smiled. "You just worry about staying alive, all right? Once you're safe, I'll follow, I swear. There's a park at the corner of Ninth and Twenty-eighth — do you know it?" She nodded. "Good — I'll meet you there. And Anders?"

"Yeah?"

"You keep her safe."

The front door splintered inward with a sickening crack. It was time. I closed my eyes and concentrated, my lips moving in a silent prayer that this would work. Swapping bodies takes strength, strength and focus, and the shape I was in, both were in short supply. Not to mention the fact that possessing the living is not without its price. Still, my only alternatives were capture and death. If I were captured before I did my thing, then they'd get Kate, and she was as good as damned. As for death? Just because in my case it isn't permanent doesn't make it any more of a picnic. If ever I were gonna dig deep, now was the time.

They stormed the apartment. From my hiding place in the bedroom, I touched each of them in turn. The rookie, all fear and nerves — no use to me. The jaded old-timer, just looking to get through this so he could get back to banging his wife's sister. Ditto with him. The commanding officer who knows deep down he's thought of as an officious prick. Nope. But the one who was first through the door? Quiet. Competent. The one they all trusted. He was exactly what I was looking for.

I threw my mind at him with all I had. The Friedlander body convulsed around me as I struggled to pull away. Every muscle clenched as one. Tendons snapped like rubber bands. I shrieked in agony, but still I pressed on. My nose erupted in a torrent of blood, and for a fleeting moment everything went red as a vessel in my eye burst under the strain. Then, suddenly, the pain evaporated, and all went dark.

Friedlander was gone.

My mind slammed into the cop's like a freight train. He buckled, but kept his feet. His stomach clenched, threatened to purge. By force of will, I kept it down.

I wheeled around. Just the three of them inside with me, armored up like they were heading off to war. A lot of effort for such a little girl. My earpiece crackled with static and shouted commands, but I ignored it. Instead I raised my firearm, a mean-looking fully automatic assault rifle that looked to weigh about a ton. This guy handled like a dream, his muscle memory doing all the work. He let out a panicked wail inside my head as I pulled the trigger, three quick bursts. Just like that, the advance team went down. My guy had decent aim — one of 'em took a stray bullet in the shoulder, but the rest hit them square in the breadbasket. If the vests had done their jobs, breathing was gonna hurt like hell for a while, but all three ought to live.

I approached the open doorway to the hall. A thousand shouted questions in my ear. I considered yanking the earpiece, but then I thought better of it. The better to hear you with, my dear.

A rustling to my right. One of my teammates was scrambling to get to his knees, his gas mask clouded with condensation from his labored breathing. His rifle lay useless halfway across the room. I watched him as he groped for the piece strapped to his ankle. Not on my watch. I cracked him hard in the face with the butt of my gun, and he fell limp to the floor.

I took a moment to check the others. They were both out. Best not to disturb them, I thought — they look so peaceful when they're sleeping.

The front door lay in the center of the floor, the hinges a splintered mess. I pressed my back tight to the wall beside what was left of the door frame and listened. If anyone was right outside, I didn't hear them. I rolled along the wall onto my belly, gun at the ready, and sprayed a few rounds into the darkened, fog-laden hall.

Again, the radio squawked. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on up there? Flynn! Jenkins! Skala! Fischer! Anybody — report!"

"We've got shots fired, and three men down," I replied, injecting what I hoped was the appropriate amount of panic into my voice. "They got past us, sir. Send all units to the front entrance — suspects are armed, and I think they mean to shoot their way out!"

I let off a few bursts into the hall to punctuate my point. From somewhere below me, I heard the pop, pop of return fire. The radio filled with chatter as cops were redeployed. I hoped that Kate and Anders were on the move — they were never going to get a better shot. I fought the urge to fall back and join them — for this to work, I was gonna have to keep the pressure on.

I crawled into the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs. If anyone had seen me, they didn't let on, and anyway, they had no reason to shoot at me if they had — I looked like one of them. Still, bullets hurt, so you can never be too careful.

The stairwell wound around a central shaft that cut clear down to the first floor. I rested the barrel of my gun between the wooden balusters and squeezed off a few shots toward ground-level. No response this time — they were either waiting me out, or they were already on the move. I slinked down the stairs to the next landing and tried again. Still no response.

The second-floor hallway was bathed in eerie white light, streaming in through the transom above the front door from the spotlight they'd trained on it from their position on the street. I steered clear of the beams, hugging tight to the shadow-clad floorboards. From where I lay, I had a clear shot at the front door. Gritting my teeth against the possibility of actually hitting anyone, I took it. Shafts of white light poured through the holes I'd punched through the door and swirled ghost-like with the settling remains of the tear gas. It was oddly beautiful.

I lay there a while, occasionally loosing a round or two on the poor innocent door to keep this standoff going. I wanted desperately to retreat and check on Kate and Anders, but they couldn't have been taken or I would've heard it over the radio. No, the best thing I could do for them was to stay put and give them time to run. When this was over all I had to do was find a quiet corner while they stormed the place and walk right out that front door. No one would be the wiser.

It was a decent plan. A solid plan. And all it took was a creaky floorboard to let me know it was never gonna happen.

The floorboard in question was about five feet to my right, just three steps up from my second-floor perch. By instinct, I rolled away from it, bringing around my gun — incessant yammering aside, this guy sure beat the last meat-suit for handling — but I was too late. It was the rookie, his face stripped of his gas mask, his eyes wide and frightened. He had his 9mm trained on me, the barrel bobbing between my head and chest in his shaky, unsure grip.

"Drop it, Mike."

I did what he said, setting the rifle on the floor beside me. I wasn't wild about my odds, lying flat on my back as I was, so I rose slowly to my knees, my hands raised in what I hoped was a placating gesture.