Read Online The Milkweed Triptych 01 - Bitter Seeds by Ian Tregillis - Free Book Online
Authors: Ian Tregillis
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midair.
The prisoners scattered.
Buhler pointed to the fastest one. “Hurl!” An invisible hand slapped the fugitive across the field. He landed atop another of the condemned men. They crumpled to the ground in a tangle of broken bones.
Flames engulfed another man before he’d run ten yards.
Heike disrobed amidst the chaos. The last of her clothing hit the ground as Reinhardt torched another fugitive.
Over the years, they’d killed many in training. But in all that time, Klaus mused, Reinhardt had never once looked a victim in the eye. Klaus knew how to make a much better show for the doctor and his guests. Normally he crept up to his targets like a wraith, then finished them quietly. Knives were easier, but they weren’t impressive. And today was Doctor von Westarp’s day.
He sought out one of the Roma prisoners, a particularly filthywretch with olive-colored flesh like Klaus and Gretel. He tackled the man and kneeled on his chest. The bastard kept squirming, so Klaus grabbed his throat and put his weight on it.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “I’ll make it quick.”
In the end, the man still resisted. After glancing to ensure he had the dignitaries’ attention, Klaus reached into the man’s chest. He hooked the aorta with two fingers, feeling life pulsing from a fluttering heart. His victim flailed again when Klaus severed the artery.
The final kill fell to Heike.
Her breaths gave her away, diaphanous vapor clouds that materialized as they left her body. But her training took hold, and the traitorous exhalations came less and less frequently. Klaus’s own demonstration still had his chest heaving; it took no great leap of imagination to feel the fire in Heike’s lungs as she stalked the prisoner.
The last puffs of her breath drifted away. His eyes darted back and forth as he turned, half-crouched and panting, in slow circles. A feral intensity limned his eyes with white. Clever beast: he watched the ground, trying to track her, but Reinhardt’s demonstration had annealed the earth, scorched it into a crude ceramic.
His back arched, and his head tipped back. Slender Heike exhaled as she grappled with him. He wrestled with a hole in the mist, a ghost wreathed in her own breath. The outline of the knife moved toward his throat, but in his flailing, he caught her wrist. She struggled; he was stronger. He thrust out her arm and bent double, flipping her over his back.
“Hoompf . . .” The impact knocked the wind from her lungs and jostled the plug from her battery harness. Heike reappeared, sprawled on her back at the prisoner’s feet. A hint of blue tinged her lips and cheeks, and the chill had stippled her naked body with gooseflesh.
Reinhardt tensed, singeing the fine hairs on the back of Klaus’s neck and hands. Years of witnessing such unplanned reappearances during her training sessions had fueled his all-consuming obsession with Heike.
The prisoner dashed for the forest on the far side of the complex.
“Stop him!” von Westarp shrieked.
There was little chance of the prisoner escaping; far less chance that he’d get word of what he’d seen to somebody who mattered. But that was beside the point.
“Kill him now! He embarrasses me!”
A furrow of flames rent the earth in pursuit of the fleeing prisoner, but then he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight behind the barracks.
Ha
! Klaus could cut straight through one of the laboratories to catch the prisoner, and then
he
would be von Westarp’s favorite.
Obergruppenführer Greifelt cowered behind crossed forearms and screamed as Klaus charged through him. Klaus headed along a diagonal for the far end of the laboratory, to intercept the prisoner as he passed through the gap between the buildings on the long sprint across the clearing. He’d ghosted through the soundproofed walls and the polished steel surgical table in the operating theater before it occurred to him to check the gauge on his harness.
The needle
The prisoners scattered.
Buhler pointed to the fastest one. “Hurl!” An invisible hand slapped the fugitive across the field. He landed atop another of the condemned men. They crumpled to the ground in a tangle of broken bones.
Flames engulfed another man before he’d run ten yards.
Heike disrobed amidst the chaos. The last of her clothing hit the ground as Reinhardt torched another fugitive.
Over the years, they’d killed many in training. But in all that time, Klaus mused, Reinhardt had never once looked a victim in the eye. Klaus knew how to make a much better show for the doctor and his guests. Normally he crept up to his targets like a wraith, then finished them quietly. Knives were easier, but they weren’t impressive. And today was Doctor von Westarp’s day.
He sought out one of the Roma prisoners, a particularly filthywretch with olive-colored flesh like Klaus and Gretel. He tackled the man and kneeled on his chest. The bastard kept squirming, so Klaus grabbed his throat and put his weight on it.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “I’ll make it quick.”
In the end, the man still resisted. After glancing to ensure he had the dignitaries’ attention, Klaus reached into the man’s chest. He hooked the aorta with two fingers, feeling life pulsing from a fluttering heart. His victim flailed again when Klaus severed the artery.
The final kill fell to Heike.
Her breaths gave her away, diaphanous vapor clouds that materialized as they left her body. But her training took hold, and the traitorous exhalations came less and less frequently. Klaus’s own demonstration still had his chest heaving; it took no great leap of imagination to feel the fire in Heike’s lungs as she stalked the prisoner.
The last puffs of her breath drifted away. His eyes darted back and forth as he turned, half-crouched and panting, in slow circles. A feral intensity limned his eyes with white. Clever beast: he watched the ground, trying to track her, but Reinhardt’s demonstration had annealed the earth, scorched it into a crude ceramic.
His back arched, and his head tipped back. Slender Heike exhaled as she grappled with him. He wrestled with a hole in the mist, a ghost wreathed in her own breath. The outline of the knife moved toward his throat, but in his flailing, he caught her wrist. She struggled; he was stronger. He thrust out her arm and bent double, flipping her over his back.
“Hoompf . . .” The impact knocked the wind from her lungs and jostled the plug from her battery harness. Heike reappeared, sprawled on her back at the prisoner’s feet. A hint of blue tinged her lips and cheeks, and the chill had stippled her naked body with gooseflesh.
Reinhardt tensed, singeing the fine hairs on the back of Klaus’s neck and hands. Years of witnessing such unplanned reappearances during her training sessions had fueled his all-consuming obsession with Heike.
The prisoner dashed for the forest on the far side of the complex.
“Stop him!” von Westarp shrieked.
There was little chance of the prisoner escaping; far less chance that he’d get word of what he’d seen to somebody who mattered. But that was beside the point.
“Kill him now! He embarrasses me!”
A furrow of flames rent the earth in pursuit of the fleeing prisoner, but then he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight behind the barracks.
Ha
! Klaus could cut straight through one of the laboratories to catch the prisoner, and then
he
would be von Westarp’s favorite.
Obergruppenführer Greifelt cowered behind crossed forearms and screamed as Klaus charged through him. Klaus headed along a diagonal for the far end of the laboratory, to intercept the prisoner as he passed through the gap between the buildings on the long sprint across the clearing. He’d ghosted through the soundproofed walls and the polished steel surgical table in the operating theater before it occurred to him to check the gauge on his harness.
The needle
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