Omega The Girl in the Box - By Robert J. Crane Page 0,32
road, hitting her knees.
“Are you gonna be okay?” I asked as I trotted over to the wrecked Honda. I cast a look at the house, where I saw Clary climbing out of the wreckage, then to the road, where Kat was on one knee still retching, and the Honda, where the Omega stooge was laying limp. In the distance, the sirens drew closer.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just...need to get to Scott.” She crawled into the back of the van.
I dragged my Omega enemy off the wreckage of the car and tossed him in the van next to Kat, who was already ministering to Scott as Clary trotted up. “Clary...” I said, favoring him with narrowed eyes.
“What?” he said, perturbed. “I was just trying to make sure we got out of here! If you had a better, faster suggestion to wrap this up other than tossing him like a lawn dart, I would have loved to hear it.”
There was a creaking noise from behind us and I turned my head. The porch roof began to cave in where Clary had taken out the support pillar with his throw, which prompted an additional collapse of some side rooms as the second floor came down on the first. A cloud of dust blew out in a billowing, bellowing mess that swept over us, obscuring my vision.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and let myself stand there immovable as the white cloud swept over me. I counted a slow count to ten, and when it was done, I opened my eyes and saw Clary standing in front of me, still, his lip quivering, his face caked in white. I looked at my hands and surmised I was likely covered in the dust of the collapse. It was in my nose, my hair, and I felt it cake my face like the worst, driest facemask I could ever have imagined. I glanced briefly at the house; it was as near as it could be to gone, fallen in on itself, with little to show but wreckage, a crater of boards, beams and roofing tiles with almost no structure left on display. Clary stared back at me and I almost thought he was going to cry.
“Let’s go,” I said, controlling my instinct to toss Clary back in the cellar and let whoever found him deal with him. I made my way to the driver’s seat. “Clary, cuff that Omega stooge. Hands behind his back. Then cuff his ankles together, and then handcuff the cuffs together like—”
“You want me hogtie him?” The cornpone was a little too evident in the way he said this.
“Whatever you call it, just make it happen,” I said as I stepped on the accelerator and heard the sputter of the van’s engine. “Kat, get on the phone and call HQ, we need a new vehicle, this one’s been seen leaving the scene of a...” I thought about it for a moment, “...a housing crisis.”
“She’s passed out,” Clary said.
“What?” I looked back, at the pile of bodies on the floor. Kat was indeed passed out, her skin pressed against Scott. “Get her off of him!”
“What?” Clary frowned at me, one eyebrow knitted. “I thought you told me to cuff—”
“GET HER OFF OF SCOTT!” I swerved to avoid oncoming traffic, and I heard flesh hit metal in the back and prayed that Clary could carry out my command.
“Okay, okay,” I heard Clary after a moment. “She’s moved, but, you know, there ain’t much space back here with all the damned bodies—”
“Shut up, Clary,” I said, reaching into my coat pocket. I fumbled, pulling out a cell phone that was shattered into three distinct pieces. I dropped all three of them onto the floor and started rummaging; Kat’s coat was on the seat next to me. I searched the pocket while keeping one eye on the road and pulled out a phone in a pink plastic case. “For real, Kat?” I thumbed it on and was presented with a screen prompting me to enter the eight—digit lock code. “Dammit!” I shouted and swerved again, trying to drive the heavy, overladen van with one hand. I tossed the phone onto the seat. “Clary, do you still have your phone?”
“Yeah, hold on a second.” I waited, almost holding my breath, the cars streaking by as I got us onto the interstate. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to me, a small, thin lump of plastic about half the size of the phone I