“Amir?” The helmet has full coms, thank God. It’s lovely to work with competent people.

  “Yo.”

  “I’m going skateboarding.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Knowing my luck though, I do not want to run into the remnants of the Sidorov cartel by accident.”

  “No, you wouldn’t want that. Nope.”

  I head east, slaloming around potholes, rocks, and cracks in the asphalt. The roads are in pretty good repair, mostly. It’s just the normal wear and tear of a city street. I’m bent low and picking up speed.

  “Amir, I figure they’re holed up somewhere, right? There’s no sign they’re mobile, is there?”

  Amir says, “Nope. From what we’ve gleaned so far, there might be forty of their operatives left in the city. Maybe in the entire organization. I’d be able to tell you for sure except I haven’t busted into their system yet. They got of this monster of a firewall. I’ve got drones up and flying, and the locals have their helos up, all showing there’s very little movement on the streets at this hour. Holed up is the general consensus.”

  “I figure they grabbed Monica on foot.”

  “Huh?”

  “They came around and got her out of the driver’s seat of the motorhome while I was showering. I think she bumped the parking brake on purpose while they were doing it. They didn’t—.”

  “I was wondering why you were naked.”

  “Yeah, well….”

  I’m going fast enough to catch a little air at the crown of the hill. I come down easy. The skateboard’s called a Glydyr, and it rides like a dream. “She wasn’t anywhere in the car chase. We got all those, so maybe the ones that grabbed her were on foot.”

  “Yeah. Okay, that tracks.”

  “Besides, she would’ve noticed any approaching vehicles and called them in.”

  “Right. No such call was made.”

  “So, on foot?”

  “Prolly.”

  “Akron here likes those second or third story walkways even more than my Akron did back home. That, and didn’t I hear something about an underground shopping area?”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of small, though. Right downtown.”

  “Probably lots of service tunnels. Anyway, I figure they took her through the buildings, either over the walkways, or through the tunnels.”

  “Right. Right. I’m pulling up maps now. Calling up blueprints.”

  “Any likely destinations east of my position?”

  I can hear Amir’s fingers rattling his keyboard over the mic. “East? Why east?” His voice distracted. It often is when he’s working.

  “Because I Pushed, spun around, and took off east without giving it much thought. So, I figure I’m either headed straight for them, which we don’t want me to do, or I’m heading away from them and all is hunky-dory.”

  “East. Gimme a moment.”

  Skateboards, as a rule, are loud. The telltale grinding rasp of their wheels can be heard for quite a ways. My Glydyr is not. The wheels are different, made of a kind of space-aged, practitioner-enhanced rubber, and the suspension system helps too. The electric motor is whining barely enough to be heard as I max out its speed.

  I look down at the readout on the remote I have velcroed to my right arm. Forty miles an hour? I had no idea I was going that fast.

  That’s kind of cool.

  The relative quiet and Amir’s silence is not, but it gets me thinking about what it is I’m feeling.

  I’m angry, dammit.

  Angrier than I think I’ve ever been in my life. So angry I’m shaking and feel sick to my stomach. Professional kidnappers and human traffickers came into my home, pulled a woman out of it, and made off with her to God knows where. A friend!

  Yeah, she’s mad at me and has been for a while. So what? We work together. We saved each other’s lives. And, well, she’s Monica!

  When I rescue her, when I kick a door in, and knock aside whoever’s got her, she’s going to be madder than ever. I know she will be, but that’s just too bad.

  And you know what? That makes me angrier. So unfair! What did I even do?

  What did I do that made her so upset? Was it when I helped kill that dragon thing? Maybe it was when we saved all those kids? When I burned down that mega-church? Was it sending her off to rescue the kids instead of fighting the dragon and the Exploder cultists? That wasn’t even me! Cal gave that order!

  Cal, who fought them like some Viking shield-maiden berserker out of the sagas. I’ll never forget the sight of her, flaming sword aloft, her hair streaming behind her, the smoke from an RPG grenade wafting past her, as she leaped from that balcony to carve into that dragon.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Cal ordered Monica to go after the kids. Not me. Cal.

  Would Monica have been able to fight like that? Maybe, yeah, but she would’ve gotten hurt like we did. Cal got burned. Her face is all marked up with scar tissue from the napalm sword splashing onto her so that she looks like she’s got freckles now. I got shot a bunch of times. Is that it? That we got hurt instead of her? Some subspecies of survivor’s guilt? A chance to get hurt? To get shot? Well, maybe she’s being shot right now. Or hurt.

  Fuck, if that’s what she wants, I’d shoot her myself. Carefully. In a hospital. With my friend Gerald, the nurse and, like, eleven doctors right there, so she can have the uniquely American experience of being perforated by a bullet, only under the most controlled conditions possible. Then, she can go through the painful healing process and physical therapy, and nerdy practitioners drawing things on her body with strange substances, which is, yeah, better than what we had in my old world because of magic, but it still sucks.

  I’ll shoot her if that’s what she wants, goddammit. I’ll shoot her wherever and whenever she likes. I’ll get a twenty-two or something, or a BB gun and I’ll tell her it’s a twenty-two. No, that’d never work--.

  “Shoot who?”

  “What?” I’m so startled I almost collide with a chunk of asphalt that’s knocked out of a pothole sitting right beside it, like someone did it with a cookie cutter.

  Amir snorts a laugh. “I thought you said something about shooting somebody, dude. Some her.”

  “Why’s she mad at me, Amir?” I ask. “Do you know?”

  “No idea.”

  There’s something in his voice…. “You do have an idea.”

  “Nope.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Look, yeah, we’ve talked about it—.”

  “What?”

  Amir sighs. “Some of us have talked about it. We agree that there are two people who are still clueless why Mo is angry. You and Mo. The rest of us are pretty sure.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Ben, you heard about that new restaurant opening in a few months? Asymmetry?”

  “No. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Two floors,” says Amir. “The ground floor is mostly all seating around a big-ass balcony. The one below it is where the kitchen and stuff is, along with two underground service tunnels. One of them leads to a parking garage, and the other to the mall with its garage nearby. It is east of your position right now.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s two ways in and out, with plenty of dark, spooky ambience for your car. It fits with what Jim Beck is telling Cal right now, too.”

  “What?”

  “Cal’s interviewing Mr. Beck, the business manager while doctors are looking him over. He’s outlining what they look for in a ‘primary location’ — the main base. Multiple exits, something they can use as a containment facility for prisoners—.”

  “Containment facility?”

  “The restaurant freezers.”

  “Oh. Shit. How are you — ?”

  “Cal’s broadcasting her interview so that all agents and agencies involved are up to date.”

  “Can you patch me in?”

  “No, but I can put my mic in front of the screen.”

  “Please?”

  “Nope, I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to do that.” He does it anyway. Probably by accident.

  “— staurants? Why not banks? They’d be more secure?” It’s Cal’s voice.

  “One big vault isn’t better than a couple of walk-in freezers you can padlock. Also, there’s normally a closed-off office space. Heck, I once saw them put three little girls in that dishwasher thing that raises up and closes down. They locked it down with bike chains. Often, the sinks are large enough to fit a chair in. Tie someone to it. I’ve seen that too. Keeping certain members of the herd separate isolates them and keeps the others quiet. Plus, it’s still a kitchen with storage and food prep. They’re reasonably defensible too. Two exits, a long heavy bar can double as a fortified position. Sometimes a hostess station can too. I was always told to look for restaurants.” That’s Jim Beck, the formerly enslaved Sidorov Cartel business manager. “My guess is either Chuck’s Bar and Grill on Main or Asymmetry, for the reasons I explained.”

  Good. I’m, like, three blocks from either.

  I hear a gasp.

  “What?” says Jim. “Oh. That. Well, they like to take a toe off from time to time. They told me they used to cut the Achilles tendon, but every other toe every once in a while has much the same effect. I can still run this way, though it hurts, and I’m not fast.”

  “I’m sorry,” says Cal, her voice quiet. “I’m sorry for what you went through.”

  There’s a sob. A laugh. “Yeah, my wife and I have twelve toes between us the last time we were able to count. They only do that to the people they want to keep, though. Brenda can cook, and she’s learned to treat minor wounds. She made herself useful.”

  A voice I don’t recognize breathes, “Jesus.”

  Jim barks a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Him. If you see Him, tell Him I’d like a word.”

  “Is that what our agent can expect?” says Cal. “Mutilation?”

  “Maybe? They’ll question her. They need to know how far the investigation has progressed. What you know. It depends if they decide to keep her after.”

  “I see.”

  “They will break her.”

  Amir breaks in. “Maybe I should switch this off. Your heart rate’s going through the roof, dude. So’s mine.”

  “No.”

  “But—.”

  “No.”

  “…it’s rape. Standard Sidorov procedure. They rape us all the time.” Jim’s voice is dead. “I used to try to think of it as something else. You know? To… lessen it? Diminish it? But, see, we have to be less than human. They have to make us be that. Someone who’s less isn’t as likely to resist. To think. It’s policy to force us to feel weak and helpless. Sometimes it’d be in front of others. Sometimes it was in front of Brenda. Or Brenda in front of me. Or Cassie in front of both of us—.”

  “The baby?” someone says.

  “Yes!” Jim screams the word. “Yes, the baby. I’m not even sure she’s mine! She’s probably not, goddammit. What the fuck are you crying about over there? Aren’t you the cops? Aren’t you the mighty FBI? Where the fuck were you? Yes, they’ll rape her. Soon! After they beat her. And, no, she won’t get away, no matter how well trained she is, because they do this for a living. I’ve seen them take marines and SWAT guys. They’ll break her, they’ll rape her, then they’ll kill her or they’ll keep her. She’ll have to decide what’s worse for herself. They—.”

  There’s a flat sound as Beck’s screams are cut off.

  “That’s enough.” Amir’s voice is thick. “That’s…. I can’t….”

  My head’s pounding. My jaw’s clenched so hard my teeth hurt and cheeks are sore. I feel like at any moment my molars will turn to rubble under the pressure.

  Never have I felt such hate for anybody as I do for the Sidorovs right now. I fly by the turn to Main Street, and for a moment, I panic that I’m going the wrong way. That I’ll be too late. No, I need to trust in my abilities. If I was supposed to turn, I would have turned. She’s at Asymmetry.

  ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

  Asymmetry’s roof is uneven, the main doors shoved off to the side, and the large picture window to the left of the entrance has its angles all wrong. Can’t do much asymmetrical to steps or people would fall, right? Instead, they had to settle for a railing for a short flight of stairs that’s off center and slants so it’s pointing like an arrow at the restaurant’s name in stylized writing in several different fonts on the big pane of glass. It should be hard to read, but it isn’t. The whole business risked looking Dr. Seuss-y, but I have to admit, the architect got it right. It looks classy, trendy, and stylish. Or it will when it opens, I’m sure. To me, with it all dark and empty-looking, with the lines all measured by drunken contractors with busted protractors, it looks like a witch’s fortress.

  I know I’m trying to distract myself with its architecture. To calm down. It’s probably not a good idea to go into this while I’m this angry, but it’s kick ass or wait for somebody else to do it, and I’m right here. Fuck these guys.

  They should’ve known better.