Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Gage’s heart hammered in his chest like the recoil of his automatic leg, Whoever the voice in his head belonged to had stepped up their game. His skull still throbbed from the screaming demands and the stabbing pain from his insubordination.
And ever-present was the threat his cyborg parts would go rogue.
He gripped the spindly railing outside the room. It creaked in protest, bending beneath the force of his grip. If he wasn’t careful, he might rip it out of its shallow concrete moorings and fling it to the ground a story below.
How the hell had he come to this? He’d been offered the seemingly uncomplicated task of finding Audra, and had jumped at the opportunity to do something more important, or at least more interesting, than shuffle requests for plumbing repairs and temperature complaints.
Instead, he should have headed directly to a therapist to discuss the voice in his head.
Scratch that. He should have headed to the scrap yard and thrown himself in with all the broken computers and antique Roombas.
His cyborg status meant he couldn’t go to a regular doctor for a physical checkup.
And when the Army had decided repairing injured soldiers with cybernetic parts was too expensive and closed down that initiative, the medical care had closed with it.
And no one had been outraged enough to rectify that.
There was no one to help him deal with strange voices in his head or an external power overriding his safety protocols to threaten a civilian.
Audra was obviously the target for whoever was pulling his strings. And she wasn’t safe with him around. In fact, he was a walking timebomb, and she would be the one injured—or worse—if he dared to stick around.
He couldn’t even tell her goodbye.
The fateful day his leg had been blown off was a grainy, blurry memory.
Business as usual seeking and disabling IEDs until he’d turned to one of his soldiers, and the glint of metal in the dirt caught his eye.
Reacting on instinct, he’d shoved the soldier away before he could step on it, but the IED still detonated.
Gage had been gifted with a cybernetic leg and a miserable new life. And the other soldier had died anyway.
Gage didn’t want Audra to be a casualty in his own private war with whoever was trying to control him.
“I’m going to get some drinks.” He called over his shoulder toward the motel door, not that he expected Audra to respond or even hear.
The comment was for the voice in his head.
As he walked away, his fists clenched. Leaving meant he couldn’t keep her safe.
But he was likely the greatest threat to her safety, so he had to leave. Ugh, it made his head hurt even more.
“Why are you getting drinks when you should be interrogating her?”
He ignored the voice. With every step away from Audra, he hoped the voice would grow weaker.
“Forget that she told you to leave. Get the hell back in there and get the information I want!”
The voice was pissy, like a spoiled man-child. Granted, Gage didn’t get to choose whatever alternate personality shared his brain, but this was the worst. And he wasn’t about to argue with it. “I’m thirsty.”
He wasn’t thirsty, but the voice didn’t seem to know that.
Gage tucked that tidbit away. So far, the voice only responded to the senses which ran through his core processor.
Anything said, seen, or heard. He’d chosen tactical hand signals in hopes the voice couldn’t actually read his thoughts.
It hadn’t called him on his lie yet, so the odds were in his favor so far.
Pain stabbed him in the head once more and he stumbled down a couple stairsteps. “Hello thirsty, I’m angry. Now do what you’re fucking told!”
He clenched his teeth against the pain and continued down the steps. “Fuck off. That taco meat was salty and I need to get a drink before I totally dehydrate. Can’t interrogate anyone if I’m too parched to talk.”
“Mouthy bastard.” The voice grumbled.
Gage took the last three steps in one stride and beelined to the grassy area beside the parking lot.
The voice wasn’t going to let his remark go unpunished, but there was a lag time of a few seconds.
As if whoever was behind the curtain pulling all the levers for the great and powerful Oz needed the prep time.
He stepped onto the sad excuse for landscaping.
Trash, beer bottles, and who knew what else littered so the grass could barely grow, existing mostly as scattered tufts of dried brown.
Gage hadn’t yet made it to the sparse tree line before his right leg froze up.
Straight as a ruler, his leg stopped working.
He hopped on his left leg to gain balance from his forward momentum, then stood upright, unmoving, absolutely no control over his right leg.
Like an unwieldy crutch, he used his upper body to throw the leg in the direction he wanted to go, ignore the painful jar as he transferred his weight to it, then push off with his left and sort of pole vault forward, just to do it all over again.
He looked ridiculous, but it was forward progression.
Until his right leg bent at the knee and locked in place again.
Okay, so no more pole vaulting. He hopped on his left leg, arms out for balance and to catch himself if he fell.
Thank God he’d maintained his physical regimen or else all this hopping would be exhausting.
Then his leg moved again, but in random ways that continually knocked him off balance and twisted his leg painfully.
Up, down, bent, swinging sideways, kicking out in all directions but the one he was headed in.
The wild swing of his leg and awkward shifting of weight when he could manage it meant sharp pangs where his leg connected to the rest of his body.
More than the natural effects of mileage and years on his organic body, his cyborg leg didn’t have a natural, seamless connection.
And the randomness of his gait exacerbated the discomfort to a tooth-jarring point.
He continued away from the motel, stabbing pain in his head and his progression hampered by the frustrating challenge his cyborg leg provided.
He tried to stay away from the road, lest he fall and get run over.
It wasn’t a busy street, but there were cars traveling on it, like the black Mustang that sputtered past. If he hadn’t been trying to keep himself alive and headed away from Audra, Gage might have paused to appreciate the antique gas-powered car and its powerful silhouette.
“You know, this would be faster if you just let me go.” Gage muttered to the voice in his head.
It growled back at him. “You disobeyed a direct order. Consider this your punishment until you comply.”
“Technically, I’m retired from the Army.” If he could keep the voice talking, the leg issue wasn’t quite so bad. “And you’re not my boss.”
A shard of pain through his skull. Damn, those hurt, and they didn’t require any lag time.
“Technically, I am your boss. Do as I say.”
“What will you do if I don’t? Not promote me?
” Gage’s leg kicked out and he hopped on his left foot and waved his warms to keep his balance.
Between his awkward, off-balance, jerky walk and talking to himself, he must look like a crazy person.
Hopefully no one would call the cops on him.
God only knows how that could escalate, and he didn’t want to end up a pile of human-burger.
“I don’t give a shit about your career. But I’ll make your life miserable, starting with your love interest.” The voice sneered those two words, much like Higgenbotham had sneered at the idea of Audra and Gage being intimate.
His heart wrenched at the thought of something happening to Audra.
Hopefully whoever was behind the voice didn’t have the reach he thought he did to lay a hand on Audra.
And hopefully, he couldn’t monitor Gage’s vitals to know the impact of that threat.
“Love interest? You mean the chick I banged on a conference room table?” Gage snorted in disdain. Hopefully it was a performance convincing enough to downplay his feelings for Audra.
But the voice chuckled, like it saw right through his act. “Oh, really? Whatever happened to ‘I care about you, not your job performance’?”
Busted. Or was he? He shrugged, as if the voice could see the nonchalant motion. “Just playing a little Good Cop to get her on my side and trusting.”
The voice said nothing for several moments. Neither did his leg thwart his progression, so he jogged along the edge of the underpass to the other side of the highway. Finally, the voice returned. But this time, without its entourage of pain.
“You do what you gotta do to get the info. Fuck her brains out, kill her… I don’t care. Just make it happen. You have one more day.”
As if Gage had any intention of following through with his orders. He’d figure out a way to stay away from her, even if it killed him. Which it very well might.