Today

Tecun Uman, Guatemala

Damien watched Price slice his own forearm. Blood welled across the laceration.

‘Let me guess,’ Damien said, ‘I attacked you with a knife.’

Price took a knee beside Damien and tugged on a cable tie around Damien’s duct-taped wrist. Gray stood nearby but she didn’t assist, her hand resting on her belt. Damien gripped both plastic armrests and tried to pull free, but it was no use.

Ionada stepped back and placed his radio on the table while Price slipped the knife blade under Damien’s cable tie. Under Damien’s fingertips, the plastic armrests felt soft and hot. Wisps of smoke coming from Damien’s hands. His wrists were still fastened to the armrests, but Price dropped his knife and cursed.

‘Did you have something else in mind?’ Ionada asked.

Now was Damien’s chance. He pried the gooey armrests from the chair.

Ionada went for his pistol. Molten plastic splattered his face and he screamed. Above his head, a globule of liquefied plastic hit the sprinkler, melting the glass bulb underneath. The sprinkler blasted water into everyone’s faces.

Damien flicked his armrest, hoping to spray molten plastic in Price’s face. Both armrests fused rapidly, becoming jagged batons in his seared hands.

OK, that didn’t work.

Price and Gray spat water and reached for their projectile stun guns. The guns were black and shaped like spiked cow bells.

Damien slapped a jagged armrest down on Price’s arms. The gun dropped to the wet linoleum floor. Damien bent his other elbow and knocked Gray’s aim off. She fired her gun. Two electrode darts missed Damien’s nose by an inch and struck Price.

Damien stood between them. Through the downpour, Ionada drew his Heckler & Koch pistol. But Gray’s arms were in the way, still sending an electric current through to her partner. By the time Gray had realized what she’d done, it was too late. Damien whipped the armrest over her arms and sliced across her neck. Simultaneously, he rammed the other armrest into the back of her leg. Gray shrieked until her voice cracked.

Ionada sidestepped, searching for a clear shot. Damien kicked Gray in the hip, sent her crashing into Ionada. Damien’s sneaker, missing its shoelaces, went flying.

Price, with conductive wires dangling from a bleeding cheek, regained control. He lunged for Damien, his wet knife gleaming. Damien retreated quickly. The knife cut air. Damien moved closer. The knife cut below his ribcage. He stepped around it, used an armrest to guide the knife and sent Price stumbling forward. Damien pushed him into Ionada. Damien’s other sneaker loosened and he almost tripped. Ionada circled around Price and aimed.

Damien discarded both armrests and charged behind Price. He snatched a dangling conductive wire from the stun gun and looped it over Price’s neck, then slammed him into Ionada, pinning them both to the desk. They struggled for oxygen. Ionada dropped his pistol and Damien saw it skitter across the water-slicked table.

Ionada clawed for his firearm. Damien pushed harder. Ionada’s fingers knocked it farther across the table, past the radio and tablet. It wobbled near the edge, just out of reach. Ionada gave up on his firearm and shoved Price back into Damien.

Damien slipped, lost his other sneaker completely. He moved around Price, his wet socks sliding on the linoleum. Blood and water stung his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision and saw Price slump to the floor. Ionada rolled over the table to rescue his pistol. He faced Damien and exhaled sharply, unclogging his nose. Between them, his radio and tablet on the table.

Damien and Ionada—soaked from sprinkler water and diluted blood—watched each other. He knew Ionada might try to shoot him at close range. Or he might call for assistance. But he couldn’t do both. Not before Damien got to him.

Ionada dived for the radio.

Damien slid feet-first under the table. Ionada yelled into the radio. He was mid-sentence when Damien kicked his ankles out from under him. There was a hollow clonk as Ionada’s head struck the table. Damien got to his feet behind Ionada and saw the radio bounce across the floor.

He closed on Ionada, squinting through sprinkler water. Ionada grasped his pistol and turned to strike. Damien ducked and grabbed the tablet. It was slippery in his grasp. He slammed its edge down on Ionada’s wrist, then into his elbow, then across his neck. Ionada’s grip on the pistol loosened, but he didn’t let go.

Damien knocked Ionada’s legs out from under him and slammed the tablet flat on his head, pinning his head to the table. He twisted the pistol and Ionada’s index finger broke inside the guard. From underneath the tablet, Ionada roared in pain. Water spilled off the tablet and Damien pressed harder, hard enough so Ionada couldn’t even think of resisting. Just the right amount of pressure on his skull and Ionada stopped wriggling.

Damien leaned over and spoke loud enough so Ionada could hear over the sprinkler.

‘Where does the bus go?’ he asked.

Ionada grunted and wheezed. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

Damien discarded the tablet. ‘Who takes the people on that bus? Where do they go?’

Ionada spluttered water, mixed with blood. ‘I don’t know!’

Damien pressed his bare hands into Ionada’s head.

‘Thermogenic genes,’ Damien said. ‘I can fry your brain in seconds.’

‘Then do it,’ Ionada whispered.

Damien could feel the twitches and muscular contractions along his arms, transferring hundreds of degrees of heat through his fingertips and searing Ionada’s face. His mouth was open and he gurgled something.

‘Three days ago, someone on that bus route disappeared,’ Damien said. ‘His name was Jay.’

Ionada caught his breath. ‘His passport … flagged like yours. But I didn’t touch—’

‘No shit. Where was he taken?’

Ionada’s skin turned purple and red. His gasps became ragged under Damien’s burning fingertips. Damien looked over at the other officers. They were crumpled on the floor, soaked in water and blood.

It took Ionada a few breaths to respond. ‘Facility.’

Damien pressed down on Ionada’s skull.

Ionada dribbled blood. ‘Colombia.’

‘Where in Colombia?’

Ionada’s body convulsed. There was a clear red imprint of Damien’s fingers on his face that looked like sunburn. Damien removed his hand, peeling a layer of pink skin from Ionada’s neck. There was something small and dark with a hard corner. Damien peered closer. It looked like some sort of tracking chip.