Die Run Hide by P. M. Kavanaugh Page A

shouted.
    The room flooded and a cry of surprised pain ripped through the air.
    From under the bed, she saw knees bend, imagined a hand pulling off the now blinding vision patches. She fired the laser, heard the return buzz that rained sparks around the bed. Her second blast hit home. The operative pitched forward and tumbled to the bottom of the stairs.
    She scrambled out and rechecked the monitors. No sign of the second one. She dragged the inert body on top of the bed. A press of the switch sent the bed, with the operative still on it, back inside the wall. She grabbed her things and hurried up the stairs, retrieving the vision patches on the way up.
    At the top, she stopped to look out. Even with the patches, she couldn’t locate the other operative. She judged the distance to the nearest stand of trees, blocked out everything except the trunk closest to her and sprinted straight for it.
    When she reached the tree, she sagged against the trunk, sweat running down her face and neck. She bit the sleeve of her jacket to keep from crying out at the pain that coursed up her leg and into her groin.
    The second operative appeared at the door of the farmhouse and started toward the cellar.
    Soon he would see the damage from the laser fire. She pulled the cap and wig from the knapsack. Arranged them along with the jacket on a nearby bush. Then crawled fifteen meters away into the protective shadows of some trees.
    The operative bounded back into view and adjusted his vision patches.
    Over here. Come on, just a little farther.
    He turned away from her and moved off.
    Not that way.
    She ground her teeth together.
    The owl she had spotted earlier in the monitor flew overhead and landed in a tree near the camouflaged bush. She sighted a limb just above the large bird and fired. The startled animal flew off, screeching in protest.
    The man turned back and ran toward the stand of trees.
    The bush. Look down at the …
    He dove into a shoulder roll somersault, coming to a dead stop on his knees. Without warning, he fired straight at the bush. Her jacket, cap and wig flared and disintegrated.
    She readied her aim and discharged. He fell face down. She limped over to him, stripped off his jacket and pulled out the vehicle locator from the inner pocket. Her transport out of here waited 200 meters to the north. She dragged the operative back to the safehouse, pushed him inside, closed the entrance, and jammed the door with a quick laser blast to the exterior panel.
    The locator’s coordinates directed her to a small clearing where two jetbikes stood. She’d been hoping for more comfortable transport, but a bike was faster than walking or hitching. And it would be easier to ditch once she got to Miami. She had just finished strapping her knapsack onto the seat when she heard the command from behind.
    “Stop. Drop the laser.” The voice was young, female. The words sounded like an order, but not a threat.
    Anika hesitated.
    A blast sizzled past her left ear. “Now.” The voice grew stronger.
    She lowered the laser to the ground.
    “Hands on your head. Turn around.”
    Anika obeyed. She had to lower her chin and drop her eyes to look directly at the woman. Girl, really. While her leather jacket and protective padding added bulk to her frame, she was slight, fragile-looking. Her night patches made it harder to judge her age, but she appeared no more than sixteen years old.
    “Where are the others?” she asked.
    Why didn’t you order me to kick my weapon away and kneel or lie face down? A trainee maybe. Left behind to guard the transport.
    “I said, where are they?” The girl’s voice cracked on the final word. She took a step toward Anika. Mistake . The laser in her hand trembled.
    “Back there.” Anika jerked her head in the direction she had come.
    “Are they dead? Did you … kill them?”
    “Stunned them. With that.” Anika glanced down at the laser. Her fingers itched to snatch it back up.
    “Oh, thank the Lord.” The