heavy stomping of boots echoing through the corridor outside. When Zander blasted the access panel, that must’ve tripped an alarm.
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” he says through gritted teeth, a mask of raw determination on his face. “But if we have to fight, we’ll fight.” He’s barely done speaking when the Kraaj from last night and at least six human guards burst into the room. They immediately spread wide, attempting to flank us.
“Lower your gun, Kilgari scum,” the Kraaj growls, confidently strolling toward us. With six guards surrounding us, we have little choice but to obey. Grinning, the Kraaj approaches me, and next thing I know I’m down on the floor. He slapped me so hard fireworks have exploded inside my head, and I feel the coppery taste of blood inside my mouth. “Nosy pricks.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I hear Zander bellow, his words brimming with protective rage. He immediately launches himself toward the Kraaj and punches him in the chest hard enough to break ribs. That throws the cretin off balance, but he’s as large and tall as Zander, and quickly throws a counter at Zander.
The two of them start crossing the room, and I follow them with my blurry gaze, watching as they exchange a flurry of punches and kicks. Wearing nothing but his lab coat, Zander is at a disadvantage, but he still keeps on battering the Kraaj’s protective gear with his fists. If only that primitive savage gave him enough time to draw his gun again.
“Watch out,” I scream, my heart tightening as I see the Kraaj pushing Zander toward the window. My voice is still echoing through the room when the silver giant kicks Zander right in the chest, hurling him toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a loud sound, and then one of the windows explodes in a storm of glass.
Zander looks at me as he tumbles back, disbelief washing over his face as he plummets through the non-existing window.
Then, just a fraction of a second later, he’s gone.
Zander’s gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Zander
Even as the murder puppy tosses me out the damn broken window, I’m already making calculations in my head. The street below is less than twenty meters. Survivable, given my Kilgari physiology, but the risk of serious injury is high. And how will I go rushing back inside the Starcorp building campus if I’m a bag of pulverized flesh holding splintered bones.
Clenching my abdominal muscles, I twist in midair so I’m facing downward and bring my weak force pistol to bear. Good thing I adjusted it to affect inorganic matter as well. I need to soften my landing…
All of this flashes through my mind in less than a second, but the ground is rushing up toward me fast. I squeeze the trigger, and the orange beam lances out and hits the pavement. Then I sweep the barrel back and forth, creating a twenty-foot-wide swath of liquefied black goo. I barely have time to jam the gun back into my pocket and throw my arms up over my head before I hit.
Even though the street is no longer in a solid state, the impact is still tremendous. Spots explode behind my closed eyelids, and my wind is knocked out of me. I resist the urge to suck in through my mouth—knowing that will fill my lungs with the primordial ooze—and start kicking my legs.
The syrupy substance proves difficult to move in. Much thicker than water, it’s like dragging my limbs through mud. Worse, during the impact I twisted about, and now I have no idea which was is up. Even if I dared to open my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to see in this gunk.
I give up on trying to swim and instead draw my pistol. There’s a sewer line beneath the street, I’m certain, and if I can melt the rest of the pavement, I’ll fall down into it. But the gun fails to function, perhaps gummed up by the black ooze.
Back to swimming, or trying at least. Did I really find my jalshagar just to die here in such an ignoble fashion? Foolish of me. I should have accepted the broken bones…
Then my arm thrusts up out of the ooze and I can feel the cool evening wind on my skin. Kicking rapidly, I strain to get my head above the surface, but my oxygen-starved body is flagging fast. Bit by bit, inch by inch, my arm slips back down until only my grasping hand is exposed.
I’m sorry Thrase… so