South Burlington!” Britton shouted, inching backward. “I talked to Nereid! I just tried to surrender! Ask her!”
Harlequin reached into a trouser leg pocket and produced a pair of plastic zip cuffs. “She radioed, Oscar. I know you called. That’s the only reason you’re still alive. You Manifested in a prohibited school. You ran. You killed your father. Act like a soldier and man up to it.”
Britton knew he wouldn’t get three steps in any direction before Cheatham put a bullet in his back. “You’re going to kill me,” he said. “Maybe not here, but you’ll do it.”
Harlequin shrugged. “That’s for a court-martial to decide. For now, you go to the stockade. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head.”
“Freeze!” Two of the cops burst through the door, pistols leveled at Britton’s back. “Hands in the air!”
“Damn it, wave off!” Harlequin shouted. “I’m army Supernatural Ops! I’m taking this man in!”
“He injured a police officer,” one cop said. The other lowered his pistol, confused.
Surprised, Cheatham pointed his carbine at the cops. The one with the raised pistol reacted instinctively, pointing his weapon at Cheatham.
If you go with him, you’re dead,
Britton thought.
He spelled it out for you—you Manifested in a prohibited school, you ran, you killed your father. No court-martial in the country would let you off for that.
He thought of Cheatham’s grip on his elbow, his father’s flailing fists, Rob slapping two shiny quarters on the counter, the girl’s corpse on the roof. The army had been the only home he’d had outside the house in Shelburne.
It’s all gone. Move, and quickly.
Britton took a step back alongside the cop with the raised gun and chopped down with both hands, striking the policeman’s wrists, sending the weapon spinning. Then he ducked around the corner of the building.
Harlequin cursed, conjuring up the dust devil. Britton felt the magical current surge back into him as the Suppression dropped away. Britton heard the crack of a bullet tearing into the building’s corner. Britton knew that Dan was a better shot than that.
Britton raced into the front parking lot, surprising the other two cops. One was leaning over the other among the flattened azaleas, bandaging the prone man’s bleeding ears.
His partner spotted Britton and shouted. The other cop turned, dropped the medical tape, and fumbled with his holstered sidearm. The magical tide responded and opened a gate between them as the cop drew and fired, the bullet passing harmlessly into the other world. From behind, the gate was a shimmering rectangle of air. Britton couldn’t see the television static surface or the landscape beyond. The gates apparently had a facing—front and back.
He ran for a cruiser, lights still flashing, engine running, and passenger door open. A computer keyboard and screen covered the center console. An empty shotgun sheath stood beside it, blocking Britton’s plan to throw himself across and reach the driver’s seat. He turned to run around the vehicle.
A crack of thunder stopped him.
“And you told me that you turned yourself in,” Harlequinsaid. The captain floated above the store’s russet-shingled roof. The wind whipped around him, stripping leaves from the trees. Above Harlequin’s head was a black cloud, out of place in the placid sky. Light churned in its dark recesses.
A sheet of rain shot from the cloud to lash Britton’s face, leaving dry ground just a foot beyond him. The cops stood below Harlequin’s polished boots, looking up in awe.
“Believe me, I’d far rather bring you in,” Harlequin shouted over the gusting wind, “but if you take one more step, I will cook your sorry Probe ass. It’s over, Oscar. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head.”
Britton backed away from the cruiser, lining up with the driver’s-side door.
The cloud opened like a locket. Boiling light swept out with a deafening crack,
Harlequin reached into a trouser leg pocket and produced a pair of plastic zip cuffs. “She radioed, Oscar. I know you called. That’s the only reason you’re still alive. You Manifested in a prohibited school. You ran. You killed your father. Act like a soldier and man up to it.”
Britton knew he wouldn’t get three steps in any direction before Cheatham put a bullet in his back. “You’re going to kill me,” he said. “Maybe not here, but you’ll do it.”
Harlequin shrugged. “That’s for a court-martial to decide. For now, you go to the stockade. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head.”
“Freeze!” Two of the cops burst through the door, pistols leveled at Britton’s back. “Hands in the air!”
“Damn it, wave off!” Harlequin shouted. “I’m army Supernatural Ops! I’m taking this man in!”
“He injured a police officer,” one cop said. The other lowered his pistol, confused.
Surprised, Cheatham pointed his carbine at the cops. The one with the raised pistol reacted instinctively, pointing his weapon at Cheatham.
If you go with him, you’re dead,
Britton thought.
He spelled it out for you—you Manifested in a prohibited school, you ran, you killed your father. No court-martial in the country would let you off for that.
He thought of Cheatham’s grip on his elbow, his father’s flailing fists, Rob slapping two shiny quarters on the counter, the girl’s corpse on the roof. The army had been the only home he’d had outside the house in Shelburne.
It’s all gone. Move, and quickly.
Britton took a step back alongside the cop with the raised gun and chopped down with both hands, striking the policeman’s wrists, sending the weapon spinning. Then he ducked around the corner of the building.
Harlequin cursed, conjuring up the dust devil. Britton felt the magical current surge back into him as the Suppression dropped away. Britton heard the crack of a bullet tearing into the building’s corner. Britton knew that Dan was a better shot than that.
Britton raced into the front parking lot, surprising the other two cops. One was leaning over the other among the flattened azaleas, bandaging the prone man’s bleeding ears.
His partner spotted Britton and shouted. The other cop turned, dropped the medical tape, and fumbled with his holstered sidearm. The magical tide responded and opened a gate between them as the cop drew and fired, the bullet passing harmlessly into the other world. From behind, the gate was a shimmering rectangle of air. Britton couldn’t see the television static surface or the landscape beyond. The gates apparently had a facing—front and back.
He ran for a cruiser, lights still flashing, engine running, and passenger door open. A computer keyboard and screen covered the center console. An empty shotgun sheath stood beside it, blocking Britton’s plan to throw himself across and reach the driver’s seat. He turned to run around the vehicle.
A crack of thunder stopped him.
“And you told me that you turned yourself in,” Harlequinsaid. The captain floated above the store’s russet-shingled roof. The wind whipped around him, stripping leaves from the trees. Above Harlequin’s head was a black cloud, out of place in the placid sky. Light churned in its dark recesses.
A sheet of rain shot from the cloud to lash Britton’s face, leaving dry ground just a foot beyond him. The cops stood below Harlequin’s polished boots, looking up in awe.
“Believe me, I’d far rather bring you in,” Harlequin shouted over the gusting wind, “but if you take one more step, I will cook your sorry Probe ass. It’s over, Oscar. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head.”
Britton backed away from the cruiser, lining up with the driver’s-side door.
The cloud opened like a locket. Boiling light swept out with a deafening crack,
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