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Kelly Meding: Chimera

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Kelly Meding Chimera

Chimera: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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A mysterious and dangerous conspiracy deepens, threatening the superpowered Rangers and pushing Flex to join forces with one of her team's mortal enemies: a Bane called Chimera. Growing up with blue skin never made Rene "Flex" Duvall feel like at outcast. She learned early on to put people at ease with her wit and exuberant personality. So she's certainly not going to let her façade crack when she and her teammates suddenly face a new breed of genetically manipulated and brainwashed Metas: the well-trained teenage criminals known as the Recombinants. When a desperate battle leaves one of their friends wounded, Renee and Ethan follow a clue to Manhattan Island, where the Banes have been imprisoned. There they find a Bane named Chimera, who refuses to cooperate despite possessing information that could help them stop the Recombinants. Chimera's emotional scars are as devastating as Renee's physical scars, and soon the two find common ground in shared pain. Against her better judgment, Renee forms an alliance with this Bane. They both can gain much from working together, so the only question is who has more to lose by cooperating . . .

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Jill was facedown on the cement floor, Alexia braced on top of her, holding her down. They were struggling, and Jack was nowhere to be seen. I retracted my head, then climbed. I couldn’t get through, so I just went over. The boxes held me, and I scrambled to the top.

“What hit me?” Ethan said over the com.

Relief almost tripped me as I stood up and got my bearings. Two more pallets floated their way into the tractor-trailer. Alexia seemed to be doing okay with Jill, so I hopped to the next pallet, eyes peeled for Jack. Something dark zinged in my direction, and I dropped to my knees in time to avoid a child-sized box from slamming into me. It crashed into a taller pallet, smashing and spilling pasta all over the place.

Death by pasta. That’s original.

Not for the first time in my life, I wished for an active power. Teresa’s orbs could blast through everything standing between me and my prey. Ethan’s hot air could knock down pallets and trap the creep. Marco could shift into a panther and prowl the shadows in utter silence. Even Gage’s hypersenses would be more useful in finding this kid.

Someone yelled again—this time I was pretty sure it was Alexia. And then my pallet tower began shaking, as though the building had been hit by an earthquake. I fell to my knees and held on to the plastic wrap beneath me. Metal rolled. It took a second to figure out the noise—the back of the trailer was closing. The pallets were still shaking and the movement churned my stomach. I stretched my left arm out to get a solid grip on the next pallet, then used the anchoring hold to jump across the narrow space between them.

I moved like this, a monkey swinging through the jungle, until I got back to the front of the warehouse, nearer to the trailer. Jack and Jill were running together toward an exit door. I jumped down from the shaking pallets, amazed he could keep that up while running like a coward, then aimed my gun again.

“Stop!” My voice bounced through the warehouse. “I will shoot you!”

They both skidded to a halt with five feet between them and the door. They turned slowly, in opposite directions. I had no cover, nowhere to hide if they struck. Jill seemed to be the most dangerous, so I aimed at the center of her chest and squeezed the trigger. Something solid slammed into my back, and I pitched forward just as the gun went off. The red tip of the dart struck Jill’s arm—the only thing I saw before I hit the ground face-first.

The world spun sharply. Breathing was difficult, because whatever hit me was still holding me down like a sack of sand between my shoulder blades.

Metal squealed. An engine rumbled to life.

They’re getting away.

I couldn’t get the weight off. Outside, the more horrific screeching noise was followed by a loud, metallic bang. I got my hands beneath me and gave a hard shove that finally dislodged the thing holding me down—three commercial sacks of flour. One split open and spat white powder into the air. I rolled onto my knees.

The trailer hadn’t moved more than a few inches from the dock. The rumble of the truck’s engine was moving away. I stared, confused by how that was possible. The exit door next to the truck swung open and Alexia limped inside. Her bottom lip was split and oozing blood, but she seemed . . . pleased.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Think so.” My back was sore and my head hurt, but nothing was broken or permanently maimed. “What happened?”

“I broke the mechanisms attaching the trailer to the truck, and I managed to tear a hole in the gas tank before they clocked me. I anticipated both stopping them, but the telekinetic simply moved the entire truck with his power.”

“Damn.”

“Can we follow them?” Ethan asked from somewhere to our left. He came around the corner of a pallet, cradling his left hand to his chest. He looked paler than usual—which was saying something, because he’s half Irish and doesn’t tan—and was leaning against the pallet for support.

“It’s doubtful,” Alexia said. “The boy is powerful.”

“I shot one of them,” I said. I wished I’d been able to shoot both of them. I struggled to my feet, my sore back protesting every shift of muscle, then stumbled over to Ethan. “You okay, pal?”

“Think so,” he said. “Fortunately, I hit the wall wrist-first, instead of headfirst.”

I looked at the wrist he was cradling. His fingers were already swollen, the skin red and tight. “Shit.”

“It’s fine.” The pain bracketing his eyes told a different story. “Let’s call this in so we can get out of here.”

“I’ll do it,” Alexia said.

I surveyed the damage done to the warehouse—broken doors, broken trailer, broken boxes of food. “The cops are going to have a fit.”

“Well, look on the bright side, Stretch,” Ethan said.

“What’s that?”

“They didn’t steal the food. And we all got good looks at their faces. They won’t stay anonymous for long.”

Small comfort, but at this point, I’d take it.

* * *

We didn’t make it back to our new HQ until close to five-thirty a.m., and all three of us were having trouble staying awake during the puddle-jump over to the island.

Yes, the island.

After Los Angeles was declared an uninhabitable disaster zone, we had to evacuate. Since we’d just sunk a huge amount of money into buying and renovating a Beverly Hills mansion into our new headquarters, we were at a bit of a loss as to where to go. Los Angeles had been the home of the Ranger Corps for over a hundred years, and now that the Rangers were officially disbanded, we needed a fresh start. A few days of discussion (and arguing) led to an un-unanimous decision to move our operations to the East Coast—not only for that fresh start we needed, but also to show solidarity with the Metas still imprisoned on Manhattan.

You can guess how I felt about that solidarity thing.

I don’t know who pulled strings or cashed in favors, but as a way of saying thank you for our help in the Quake Relief effort (and possibly as a way to gain our support in the upcoming election) the president gave us Governors Island.

Yep, that’s right.

Half the island was burned to the ground during the War, and the other half had sat abandoned ever since. The intact buildings had more than enough space for the original five ex-Rangers (including me) and any other Metas who’d joined us. Currently, thirty-six people lived there. We had two puddle-jumpers (think small four-person helicopters that could go short distances fast and were easy enough for most of us to fly) to get us from the island to a private parking lot near the Ellis Island observation tower lot, where we keep our Sports and work vans.

I didn’t like living so close to either the imprisoned Banes or the federal agents who lorded over them, but as usual I bowed to the majority. Without my friends, I had nothing. No matter how much I disagreed, I wouldn’t do anything to lose the only family that had ever mattered. So we packed up everything and everyone and moved into what was once a military barracks called Liggett Hall. And as usual, we had a crap-ton of work to do cleaning and rebuilding what time and battle had torn down.

The puddle-jumpers were easy to fly and most of us had lessons within a week. I landed the puddle-jumper in a square of grass right in front of HQ’s main entrance. Something about this building made me think of a college campus—the brickwork, the arches, maybe its length and sense of quiet, nestled here among trees just starting to lose their summer green. It was still predawn dark, but exterior floodlights had come on to welcome us home.

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