Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller by Brandon Ellis (best novels to read in english .txt) 📗

The doctors came running, ready to restrain her. She faced them and lunged at the first doctor, pinning her hands on the back of his neck. She pulled him down against her rising knee, connecting on his nose. A crunch of broken bones echoed in the room and blood splattered. The doctor crumpled to the floor.

The next man grabbed her arm and she spun, twisting into a round-house kick. She landed her foot on the back of his head, instantly dropping him. She jumped over him, rushing through the doorway and into the hall. The drugs they had her on no doubt wore off.

Her heart pounded. There had to be a way out of here. Rounding a corner, military guards lined the opposite end, waiting. Behind her, Slade, Donny, and a few more guards raced on her tail. In a matter of minutes, she’d be taken, handcuffed, and killed. She’d fight to the death, hopefully taking some to the other side with her.

In a defensive stance, a bathroom across the way caught her attention. It would be easier to fight in a more cramped space, where people would have to come in one or two at a time, instead of twenty all at once. The small space would give her an advantage.

She ran into the bathroom, but stopped mid-stride. A mirror. And she stared back. She touched just under her eyes. And then her chin. Her cheeks. “What?” Normal-looking, her skin toned and beautiful. In fact, she glowed. She blinked several times, waiting for the mirror to give a true reflection. The mirror didn’t comply.

She placed her hands on the sink, looking more deeply into her eyes, then looked at the bridge of her nose and down to her lips. They were supple. She hadn’t had lips since the accident. She touched them and her eyes welled.

No. This was too good to be true. The mirror was another trick, just like the rising metal box. These people screwed with her, showed her how much of a failure she was, like her dad promised she’d be when she grew up—a failure of monumental proportions. She was all grown up and his words had become her reality. And the Secret Space Program was right for letting her go, making her retire after her accident to live a life in solitude, her bad influence away from her leadership in the SSP.

Yet, she couldn’t take her eyes away. She gripped the sink more tightly, her muscles shaking as she squeezed. The sink cracked, then exploded. Shards flew everywhere, but she didn’t take her eyes from the mirror.

Slade entered first, then Donny. She faced them, arms wide. She bared her teeth, wild. She took in a deep breath and screamed. The mirror shattered.

Rivkah stepped back. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him, but she was spent and her reflexes slow. The taser came up and the wires connected to her shoulder.

She spasmed, her eyes rolled back and she fell to the floor.

“Clean up on aisle three,” said Slade. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

29

June 5thUnknown

Drew woke with a start. He looked left and right, trying to figure out where he was. It was dark. Someone snored. Everything was quiet, other than a low hum and a soft vibration, and that snoring.

The monorail. The air duct. It was early, late—who knew? He had no windows, no sky line, no way to tell the time. Regardless, people slept.

Drew was stowed away on this monstrosity of a train, probably created by some government black ops program his conspiracy colleagues would have a hay day with.

About now, he needed that blunt. But lighting it would be a dead giveaway. The military, and presumably their contractors, only availed themselves of any Babalacha broccoli when they were off the clock and away from prying eyes. They’d be able to sniff him out in a millisecond. Then he remembered the depressing truth, he’d given his last blunt to the guy who got him into the warehouse. Even if he’d wanted to get baked, he couldn’t.

The monorail blared its horn. The drag of the brakes slowed it down. The snoring stopped.

Someone came over the intercom, “Destination up ahead. Monostation 19. We’re behind the clock. Let’s load the supplies quickly and get back home.”

Drew heard talking in the room, though he couldn’t make out what anyone said. Cabinets opened and shut—perhaps to grab their coats or fatigues?—then a door slammed in a hurry.

The forklifts and jacks came to life, the monorail shook. More equipment loaded. If Drew could escape, this might be the best time to do so.

He shimmied up the air duct. Slow going. The A-list body-doubles in the movies always made it look easy, but it turned out you needed a mite more upper-body strength than Drew had realized, to crawl up, rather than along, a duct. Pops and pangs from his elbows and knees placed dents in the duct. It freaked him out, but he had to get out of here, and now. If not for the racket outside, they’d hear him.

The duct leveled out. He picked up some speed and made it to the outlet. He pushed the grate up and to the side, pulling himself through the boxy opening. The good news, and what he expected, the room was empty. The bad news, he didn’t know where to go from here. He placed the grate back over the vent’s opening and walked to the door.

He slowly turned the doorknob and cautiously opened the door enough to peek through. A man walked down the hall, a rifle in his hands. Then another man walked out of a room and hustled down the hall. They wore camouflage fatigues, something that could come in handy. He needed to find some.

Drew calmly closed the door and looked around. He opened a cabinet; a razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, and shaving cream. He closed it, going to the next cabinet.

“Goddammit. Nothing.”

Behind him was a closet. Skinny, but maybe someone