CHAPTER 46
Tara jumped from the Jeep as if all the hordes of Hell were after her. Unfortunately, hitting the ground didn’t mean she sprinted away to safety. The whole maneuver resembled a particularly bad nightmare. She ran – or she intended to. It was as if she slogged through quicksand. Legs and arms pumping, Tara fought her way across the grass with Faith shoving her from behind.
The gunfire had stopped. Either that, or Tara couldn’t hear it over her labored breathing. Why weren’t the soldiers shooting at them anymore? And why (now Tara wondered if she’d gone mad) did she care? No bullets was good news.
It soon became clear that guns weren’t a requirement any longer. “Son of a bitch!” Faith’s hand fell away from Tara’s shoulder and her body heat no longer warmed Tara’s side. “Keep runnin’, T. The boys need help rememberin’ about Slayers.”
Oh, Goddess. Tara slowed without thinking. She wasn’t letting Faith face off with the soldiers alone. By the time she turned and retraced her steps, though, she was too late. Faith had closed with the first pair of uniformed and armed men.
A sharp report coincided with Faith’s cry of pain. She went down to one knee, a hand pressed to her left shoulder.
Bile choked Tara and she swayed, lightheaded. “Stop!” she screamed uselessly. The shooter moved toward Faith and more soldiers converged until they formed a tense, wary semi-circle around the downed Slayer. Tara watched impotently as one of them waved the muzzle of his gun in a clear “stand up” gesture. The wave became more emphatic when Faith remained on the ground. Even in the wash of diffused illumination provided by the Jeep’s headlights, the blood welling under Faith’s hand was visible.
Tara silently pleaded with Faith to follow the soldier’s order. Her inner voice grew to an unspoken yet shrill scream before the other girl stood. The group of soldiers moved closer, herding Faith toward Tara.
“You! Let’s go!” Face hidden by a camouflaged cloth mask, the lead soldier’s voice seemed to emanate from thin air.
Ducking her head, unable to glance in Faith’s direction, Tara crept in the direction indicated by the muzzle of a machine gun. Dear Goddess. What was going to happen now? With each step, her fear multiplied. There were too many soldiers for Faith to fight – even if they weren’t armed. Tara couldn’t risk magic; Ethan’s power pounded at her wavering shields. Her feet became leaden, and her mind fogged with defeat. By the time their group re-entered the main building, Tara was numb. So numb she didn’t see the thin, smirking man waiting for them in the shadows of a classroom doorway.
“Ah, the little witch. Not the one I was looking for, I’m afraid, but I can deal with the disappointment,” Ethan murmured.
Tara flinched in automatic reaction when Ethan reached out with hand and mind.
The attempt to avoid his touch was fruitless on both counts. His cool palm pressed to her right cheek as his magic drilled a hole through her shields. Such purity, Ethan whispered in the recesses of Tara’s mind. Dark tendrils of power slithered and twisted their way into Tara’s channels. How sweet. Too bad I don’t have time to enjoy you, my dear, but I have bigger game in mind.
***
Walsh and Englemann sat in front of the door. Willow had finished her work on the camera and stared at the computer monitor. Giles and Joyce stood shoulder to shoulder, crossbow and sais in hand, behind the foreman’s desk.
They were ready, yet Buffy wasn’t happy. Not even the slightest bit relieved. Something was wrong; it had to be. There hadn’t been a sound from the Duo since Walsh grumbled at being unceremoniously dragged to her current position, and Ethan and his cronies hadn’t rushed the office. The whole thing made Buffy’s skin crawl. Damn it! Why couldn’t this be like a normal night on the job? At least vampires and demons understood the rules. If you had the Slayer trapped in a tiny room, you rushed in with fangs or whatever flashing. You didn’t hide out and wait for her to implode with tension. “What’s he waiting for?” Buffy snapped without turning her head to look at Giles. If she did, he’d see the misplaced blame for their situation in her eyes.
“Calm yourself. This display of the vapors will not solve anything.” Great. Giles was feeling the strain, too. He only sounded that British when he thought things might be hopeless these days. “Once Faith and Tara return, we can use their intelligence to formulate a plan of action.”
If they returned. The waiting, the lack of a plan, the thought of Tara…of Tara and Faith in the school with Ethan and soldiers turned Buffy into a true pessimist. She brooded and paced while Willow and Giles whispered to each other and pointed at the computer. The sound of their voices was like a drill against Buffy’s head; it dug a little deeper with each passing second. She wanted to scream at them to stop. Hanging onto her self control with a death grip, Buffy stalked to the desk and peered over Willow’s shoulder, opposite Giles. “Something wrong?”
“I lost track of Faith and Tara,” Willow answered. “They were right there, in the hallway by Mr. Danver’s room, and then…poof!”
“Any sign of Walsh’s army or Ethan?” There were a limited number of explanations for the disappearance, and Buffy wasted no time on the non-dangerous ones. Leaning in closer, she stared at the grainy images. Nothing. No Faith. No Tara. No nothing. How was that possible? They’d been there before, and Buffy could vouch for Riley and Company’s presence on campus.
Impatience became adrenaline so fast it left Buffy lightheaded. “Will, could Ethan do something to the cameras?”
Maybe Faith was right. Slayers were built for action, not talking. Obviously, she hadn’t gotten her point across. Willow stared at Buffy with her brown creased in comical confusion. “Like have his guys destroy them? Sure. Or they could spray paint over the lenses. I saw that in some movie Faith made me watch. Die Hard or Die More, or something like that.”
“Ah, not exactly.” The more Buffy thought about things, the more she was certain Ethan was about to kick their butts. “I meant something magic-y. Could he make it look like nothing was out there? Hide where he and the soldiers are?”
Willow’s confusion disappeared. “I…I don’t know. It would take a lot of power, Buffy.” Her eyes met Buffy’s, and it was easy to see the fear there. “And even more power to make sure Giles, Tara, and I couldn’t feel him doing it.” Standing abruptly, she grabbed Buffy’s arm and attempted to push her out of the way. “We have to go! We have to find Faith! If we can’t see Ethan and his goons – and now we can’t see Faith – it must mean he has her.”
Ethan had Faith. Worse, he had Faith and Tara. Buffy wanted to charge from the room with stakes and knives flashing, but enough of Giles’ past lectures had penetrated. Buffy remained firmly in place and gently pried Willow’s hand from her arm. “Faith will be fine, Will. She’s a Slayer, remember?”
“Buffy!” Willow didn’t look happy that Buffy finally acknowledged Faith’s status and skills. In fact, she looked more than willing to flatten Buffy with a lightning bolt to get her out of the way.
Shaking her head, Buffy stood her ground. “No. We can’t go charging off. We don’t know where Ethan is or how many of Walsh’s flunkies are with him. And…” She hesitated, not wanting to play her final card. When Resolve Face made an appearance, though, Buffy ruthlessly suppressed her best friend emotions and continued. “If Tara couldn’t beat Ethan, Will, we wouldn’t stand a chance.” Willow jerked as if Buffy had slapped her. “Think.” Pressing Willow back into the desk chair, Buffy poured all the faux confidence and compassion she could muster into her appeal. “You’re camera thingie is the best bet we have to shut Ethan down. And we know the soldiers are coming here because of Walsh. If Ethan really is doing something to the cameras, we’d be sitting ducks outside. There are way more of them than us.”
It was a toss-up who appeared more shocked by Buffy’s comment: Willow or Giles. “Buffy is correct, Willow.” Recovering quickly, he gave her an approving smile and nod. “Indeed, we must make our stand here and trust that Faith and Tara are safe. Ethan will soon find that none of you girls is as helpless as he assumes.”
Buffy beamed at Giles’ approval and compliment – until Willow’s glare resumed and nearly set her hair on fire. “We stay, Will,” she said firmly, ignoring the Resolve Face. “Now, tell me what I can do to help with the Ethan Jammer. Does he have to hold it or can I just grab it and get close?”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Willow dropped her eyes and slumped over the laptop on the desk in front of her. “Ethan just has to show up. I hit the switch, the jammer hopefully turns on, and we kick his ass, collect my girlfriend, and go home.”
Simple and to the point. Buffy whole-heartedly approved, except for one detail. “Don’t forget Tara,” she reminded Willow. “We collect Faith and Tara and then we go home.” No one said anything else and Buffy stifled a sigh. Rousing speeches and big plans aside, they were back to waiting. She resumed her earlier pacing, but kept her senses on high. Without the cameras to help them track Ethan’s progress, Buffy had to make sure he didn’t surprise them.
Pushing her limits was exhausting. Buffy finally stopped stalking back and forth and dropped onto the couch. This was pointless! She kicked her feet against the floor and started to relax just as a faint scuffling sound emanated from the hallway. Buffy was up in a flash, stake and sword in her hands. “Company’s coming,” she warned the rest of the gang. Ready to finally get to the action, she took up a position behind Walsh’s chair. “Looks like your freak show’s about to come to an end, Doc. I don’t think you’ll be doing any encores, though, just ducking tomatoes.”
Walsh snorted but didn’t say anything. For the first time since leaving the lab, she appeared resigned.
The hint that even Walsh knew the Scoobies would win boosted Buffy’s confidence. They could do this. They could beat Ethan again. The footsteps drew closer, and Buffy dropped into a defensive stance. “Hope you have your hand on the switch, Will,” she called out just loud enough to carry across the room. It was one pair of feet out there, and she was betting on Ethan.
Luckily, Buffy was in Sunnydale and not Las Vegas. Tara stumbled into the room and jerked to a halt. “Buffy!”
“Tara!” Echoing the greeting without thought, Buffy rushed around Walsh and Englemann, gently taking Tara by the arms. “Where’s Faith? Is everything OK? Did you see Ethan?” She fired questions off while she scanned Tara for obvious injuries.
“Faith is fine. We were…We saw a couple groups of soldiers, but Faith knew how to avoid them.” Stepping to one side, Tara shook off Buffy’s hands and walked farther into the room. “Faith stayed outside as a lookout, but she wanted me to check in with you. Are you ready? I don’t think Ethan will stay away much longer.”
It was amazing he’d left them alone for this long. Buffy glanced toward the hallway. It was important to keep an eye on things, but she really wished Faith had come back, too. Willow was on edge. Teetering, actually. She’d stopped peering at the computer and now stared worriedly at the doorway. And, when the fighting broke out, they’d need Faith’s Slayer skills. Damn it. Buffy hated this feeling, hated knowing she’d overlooked some part of the plan. Faith wouldn’t have risked playing lookout if they’d talked about what to do after setting the last of the traps.
Oh, well. It was done. Buffy turned away from the door. “Were you able to set the glamours and wards, my dear?” Giles inquired. “Willow has discovered that Ethan somehow tampered with Principal Snyder’s cameras, and we are unable to track his movements through the school.”
“Sure, Giles. I did the wards,” Tara answered with a slight smile. “How about you guys? Are you set here? What did Willow come up with?”
“Nothing new,” Willow muttered without taking her eyes off the door.
For a split second, Tara’s face twisted in frustration and then her expression smoothed. “Oh. Do you need me to do anything? I could try a locator spell for Ethan, if you want.”
Earlier, Buffy had jokingly warned Tara that Slayer skills included a built-in lie detector. Her mental needle was busy recording crazy spikes and dips. “I thought you’d be tired after doing the glamour in the gym and main office?” Praying she was wrong, Buffy slowly slid her body between Willow and Tara. “Did you get eat a Power Pellet?”
Because she was now watching Tara closely, Buffy noticed how stiffly she stood. How her eyes darted around the room as if she were taking notes. “I just used the nodes and ley lines, Buffy. It’s easy to do and there is quite a lot of power because of the Hellmouth.”
“Quite a lot, huh? Wow.” Buffy didn’t dare glanced away to see if anyone else noticed the problem. She stared at Tara and remembered the way she’d looked at the mall in Los Angeles, in their briefly-shared room at UC-Sunnydale, in the kitchen as a less than modern-minded Buffy sprawled on top of her. “You’re good,” she said quietly to the man she now believed to be behind the curtain of Tara’s mind.
If Tara and her magic weren’t available, this fight would be over before it really started. Buffy returned Tara’s smile and did what she had always done in the face of overwhelming odds and certain defeat. She went on the offensive. “Will! Hit the switch now!”
Buffy didn’t turn to see if Willow followed her order. Uttering a silent apology to Tara, she pressed her sword tip under Tara’s chin. “I’m really tired of you,” Buffy said conversationally.
A mocking smile twisted Tara’s lips. “Are you now? Too bad you cannot do a thing to stop me.” Not even the threat of steel dimmed Ethan’s arrogance. He met Buffy’s glare and she flinched – because it was Tara staring at her with hatred burning in her blue eyes. “In fact, although I have enjoyed playing with you and Rupert, I have grown exceedingly tired of you.” Tara raised her hands in a series of tight jerks. Sweat stood out clearly on her face and dampened the hair of her bangs. “Ssalmani-ia ana pagri tapquida duppira…” The stutter was still missing, but Ethan/Tara’s delivery was anything except smooth. The words carried an odd cadence, moving fast, so fast the words stumbled together one minute and then turning comically slow and dragged out the next.
“Will!” Not daring to look behind her, Buffy changed her grip on the sword hilt. If the jammer didn’t work, she’d have to take matters into her own hands.
“I’m trying!” Willow’s response came as Buffy heard more footsteps in the hallway. They were out of time. “But it’s not working.”
Obviously not, since Tara was still chanting. God, Buffy didn’t want to hurt her; she just didn’t have a choice. Pulling the blade from Tara’s throat, she raised the sword. “I’m sorry.” Buffy tried to see past the evil blazing from Tara’s eyes. “Tara,” she pleaded one last time. Please don’t do this. Stop him.
A crossbow fired, followed immediately by another. Shouts of pain echoed in and out of the room. Walsh gave a loud cry of triumph.
Buffy heard them only dimly. Tara’s voice had steadied and smoothed. As she chanted, Buffy’s skin grew cold. So cold. The metal hilt amplified the chill against her palm until she opened her fingers in automatic reaction. “Tara.” Buffy was a California girl, born and bred. She’d never experienced snow except for one magical Christmas, but she recognized the warning signs of trouble as her muscles jumped and jerked in racking shivers. Her arms and legs felt leaden and uncooperative. The arm, still raised as if holding the sword, dropped to her side.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She’d known Ethan was too strong all along. He was just proving how pointless it was to fight back. Her eyes fluttered closed, snapped open, fluttered closed. She was so tired now. At least the cold had faded. In fact, Ethan must have stopped with the spell or turned on the heat because Buffy was toasty warm.
“No!” Willow’s strident cry pulled Buffy from her torpor.
Tara was in a heap on the floor, blood seeping from her nostrils. What was happening? What had she missed? Was Tara…? Was she dead? Still dazed, Buffy looked frantically around the room. Three camo-clad bodies lay lifelessly near the doorway with crossbow bolts protruding from their chests. Two more soldiers – and their gun muzzles – peered cautiously around the doorjamb.
It was hard to focus. Whatever Ethan had done with the spell lingered; it mixed (badly) with an adrenaline rush and a need to jump into action. Buffy’s concentration bounced around like a pinball smacked by the flippers. She struggled to stay in the moment.
Ethan was gone, or at least no longer walking around in Tara’s body. Giles and Joyce were keeping the goons at bay. Now what? “Giles, we need to find a way…” Shattering glass interrupted her. A round black object (a ball?) rolled across the floor. Smoke snaked from one side. Crap. Staggering forward, Buffy gripped the grenade and threw it toward the door.
It exploded halfway there, brilliant light blinding her as the room filled with a noxious fog. Buffy’s lungs burned. Her ears rang. “Down! On the ground!” The voice emanated from the dense white cloud. A single shot rang out and then the command was repeated. “Down! I want to see all of you on your knees, hands in the air!”
That wasn’t happening. Buffy had no plan to surrender again, except, her knees weren’t cooperating. They threatened to give out, thanks to Ethan and his stupid magic. She clenched her jaw and tightened all her muscles. The fog hadn’t thinned, but thankfully, Buffy was a Slayer. Blinking, she managed to make out a shadow sliding through the smoke and threw her stake.
A pained grunt prefaced the dull thud of a body hitting the ground.
Buffy grinned tightly. She wasn’t going down without a fight. The sword was easy to retrieve from the floor. So… She was armed and had a whole lot anger to work through. Crouching, she inched her way forward in the direction of the door. Buffy would take them out – and then go find their grenade-tossing buddies outside. She made it three steps before gunfire boomed and echoed in the hallway. Buffy dropped flat on the ground and began carefully crawling toward the desk. “Mom? Giles?” More gunfire drowned out her shaky “Will?”
Three equally shaky replies answered. “What about Tara?” Willow whispered just loud enough for Buffy’s enhanced hearing to pick up. “Is she OK? Something happened when I turned on the jammer signal.”
Tara. Hurriedly changing direction, Buffy slithered toward Tara’s still form. The other girl still hadn’t moved. She lay deathly still on the floor. Oh, God. Reaching out, Buffy pressed a hand to Tara’s neck – and blinked by tears of relief when a barely-detectible and thready pulse beat beneath her fingertips. “I think so,” she called back.
It grew strangely quiet in the room as Buffy gently stroked Tara’s neck and cheek. No more gunfire or shouted orders. No more explosions. She checked Tara’s pulse one last time (still there) and then stood. The smoke was clearing. Buffy could clearly see Walsh and Englemann and the body of a soldier down right inside the doorway. A stake protruded from his chest.
Her stake.
Swallowing against sudden nausea at the dark red stain on the man’s uniform and the floor beneath his body, she crept toward the door. Nothing moved. The air felt alive with energy – or tension. Buffy wasn’t sure. The only certainty in her mind revolved around the knowledge that something wasn’t right. Again. Where was the rest of Walsh’s army? She’d only taken out one of the two lurking in the hallway. Add in the three Giles and her mom had killed…
Buffy’s mental math faltered. The soldiers hadn’t turned to dust. They hadn’t been dead. They’d been alive. It was real blood on the floor, and she was responsible. The room wavered under her feet, but Buffy couldn’t blame Ethan or magic for her fuzzy head. Or the cold sweat on her body or the sudden urge to vomit. Averting her eyes, Buffy completed the tally of bodies. Simple addition said four soldiers were out of the fight. That left at least one in the hallway. All of the grenade throwers from outside. And who knew how many more. The underground facility had been massive.
She continued her journey to the door and paused. Her sword versus a gun still wasn’t good odds.
“Buf!” Willow’s triumphant cry was shockingly loud. Buffy spun so fast she stumbled over one of the dead soldiers. “The cameras are working again.”
The words blended with the thundering beat of Buffy’s increased heart rate, and it took a second for their meaning to penetrate. The cameras. Working. “What do you see? Are there more soldiers? Where’s Faith? Ethan?” She fired the questions off in a rush and then remembered that the cameras might not protect her if her headcount had been correct.
There had been one more gunman at the door. She’d seen two muzzles, not just one.
When Willow’s eyes widened and she gasped suddenly, Buffy froze. For the second time that night, a deep voice said, “Nobody move! Not one fucking inch.”
That might be hard to accomplish. Buffy’s heart pounded so fiercely it shook her entire body. She tried to steady herself; fought to slow her breathing; struggled to find a way out of this latest mess. Unfortunately, she was all out of last-minute heroics. The soft squeak of rubber on the floor indicated the soldier had advanced into the room.
Years as a Slayer identified the soft, sharp slide of a blade leaving a scabbard. Closing her eyes on Willow’s panic, Buffy imagined each of the soldier’s next moves by sound alone. Cut the plastic bags on Walsh or Englemann’s wrists. Hand over the knife. Let the now-freed member of the pair help the other loose. The scene was so clear.
If Buffy didn’t do something right now…
Praying the soldier was distracted as he helped Walsh, Buffy tensed and prepared to move. She opened her eyes and sucked in a slow, deep breath. This was it. Right here. Right now.
One.
The internal count helped Buffy focus.
Two. All she had to do was spin and jump into the last remaining soldier. And avoid getting shot. Simple.
Three. With a hoarse scream of defiance, Buffy put her internal plan into action. She pivoted flawlessly on her left heel. As if she’d practiced the maneuver a thousand times, she threw herself across the room.
The soldier raised his arms. Buffy saw his finger twitch on the trigger.
No sharp crack announced he’d fired. No bullets slammed into her body. In fact… Buffy crashed into the man without incident and they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. The gun clattered to the floor next to them. Taking advantage of the situation, Buffy slammed the heel of her hand into the man’s ribs, listening to the crunch of bones with satisfaction. She untangled and rolled to her feet in the next instant and took a defensive crouch. This was going to be a very short fight or she wasn’t the best Slayer on the block.
But the soldier never moved. He lay where Buffy had left him, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Fuck, B. Never thought you’d hit a guy after he was down. Don’t seem real nice,” Faith commented from the doorway. Her chuckle seemed forced, and Buffy finally tore her gaze away from the (now that she’d looked closely) dead man on the floor to see Faith leaning heavily against the doorjamb. “I always knew that Nice Slayer shit was a lie.”
Buffy stared, still too stunned over the last few minutes to feel much insult at the comments. Then Willow streaked by. “What happened? Why are you bleeding?” And Buffy’s numbness wore off.
God, Faith was bleeding, and not just a little. Her jean jacket was dark at the shoulder, and more blood streaked the front placket and Faith’s hands. Buffy took a step in their direction then stopped. What if Ethan had recovered from the jammer? What if there were more soldiers? She resumed her walk across the room with less speed and more caution. “What happened out there?”
“Red’s toy kicked ass.” Leaning on Willow, Faith set a intercepting course with Buffy. “Ethan dropped like a rock ‘bout ten minutes ago. Freaked the rest of the boys out, and they forgot to keep an eye on the Big Bad Slayer.” Her grin was all teeth and dimples. “So I reminded ‘em why they needed all the guns in the first place.”
Reaching out with a free hand to clear Buffy from their path, Willow murmured an approving, “I keep telling you how good you are.” The comment made Buffy want to gag – but Willow had a point. Faith had done an amazing job and had probably saved all their lives. “Is that when you got shot?”
It was a story Buffy wanted to hear, too. Just not now. Tuning out Faith’s continued boasts, she ducked out of the office and peered up and down the hall. There were more bodies here. Unconscious probably since there was no blood or obvious wounds. There was also no sigh of the Duo. Walsh and Englemann had gotten away.
Buffy couldn’t raise even a modicum of interest. Things at least seemed fine for now. They needed to make a run for it while the coast was clear.
“Let’s go.” Buffy’s blunt announcement garnered disbelieving looks and absolutely no movement. “I mean it. Giles, Mom, get everything packed up. Will, you help Faith.” Even in a hurry, Buffy was smart enough to know it would be impossible to separate the two of them with Faith wounded. “I’ll take care of Tara.”
Too slowly for Buffy’s liking, the gang began their assigned tasks. Giles stacked the few remaining weapons into the duffel while Joyce gathered trash. Willow and Faith staggered to the desk for her laptop. Breathing a little easier, Buffy knelt at Tara’s side. Only the faint rise and fall of the other girl’s chest indicated she was alive. Her skin was ghostly pale and her face was creased with some horrific emotion even in unconsciousness.
Gently, Buffy shook Tara’s shoulder. “Tara?” A slight change in breathing pattern was the only response. Fantastic. “Tara!” This time, Buffy shook with a little more force.
“Ohhh!” With a moan, Tara flinched away, and Buffy dropped her hand as if burned. When Tara opened her eyes, the pupils were pinpricks. Guilt squeezed her chest when she saw blood begin trickling from Tara’s nose again.
This was all Buffy’s fault. Tara never should have been here. She should never have had to contend with Walsh’s goons or Ethan’s mind meld. “Come on. We have to go,” she whispered. She needed to get everyone to safety, and then she could figure out what to do with Walsh and Englemann and the lab sitting under UC-Sunnydale. Lacing her arm with Tara’s, Buffy helped the other girl to her feet, keeping their connection when Tara swayed.
It was time to get the Hell out of here.
Unfortunately, their progress back to the cars was glacial. Even before they reached the main building, Buffy was almost carrying Tara, and Willow staggered under Faith’s increasing dependence on her help. Only Giles and Joyce moved easily, and had assumed front- and rear-guard positions. Shutting her mind against fatigue, Buffy walked on autopilot. One step. Two. The glass windows of the administrative office finally appeared ahead. Thank God. They were almost back to the kitchen.
Then the windows lit up. Lights reflected from the glass and bodies materialized from the shadows. “Freeze! Sunnydale PD! Nobody move!”
Blinking against the glare, Buffy slowly raised her hands. Unbelievable. In four years of Slaying, she’d run into the cops twice. And one of those had actually been a demon plot to kill her.
Giles stepped forward while Buffy cursed her bad luck. “I’m so sorry. My name is Rupert Giles, and I was the librarian at the old Sunnydale High School.” His voice was more clipped and British than Buffy had ever heard it. Not to mention Giles sounded like a complete airhead as he continued. “I didn’t mean to cause a ruckus. When I heard the new school was about to open, I thought perhaps I should pop in and see if some of my special research books had survived the explosion.”
“Do not move! Stay where you are.” The voice emanating from the lights wasn’t amused by Giles’ lame explanation. “You are all under arrest. Get down on your knees and lace your fingers behind your head.”
One by one, each of the Scoobies followed the order. Buffy was the last. She helped Tara into the required position and waited long enough to make sure Tara wouldn’t collapse. Then, with a final impotent glare, she joined the rest of the gang on the ground. The thin grass was cool and wet against her jeans and quickly seeped through the denim. Her arms trembled with fatigue in seconds.
“Might I inquire into the charges?” Giles didn’t know when to shut up. They’d broken into the school. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the police were arresting them.
There was no answer. Not even another impatient reminder to stay frozen. The figures standing in the blaze of what Buffy finally realized were floodlights mounted on the top of several large vehicles didn’t move. And that lack of movement bothered her.
If they were under arrest, why didn’t the cops put them in handcuffs?
Without moving her head, Buffy peered into the lights. Squinting helped a little. Five men stood between the Scoobies and the police vehicles. Only…there was no Sunnydale PD logo on the doors.
Had anyone else noticed? “Faith!” Buffy hissed. “Not cops.” Her voice was barely more than a breath.
And it was still enough. “Who?” Faith’s response was equally soft.
Buffy didn’t know. She had had a lifetime of fighting unknown enemies. It just so happened that she’d already defeated one that night. And he’d been a lot scarier than the worthless Sunnydale police department. The long night, the lingering fear of failure and death, pushed her over the edge. Buffy dropped her hands and stood in one smooth motion.
Two steps put her close enough to see more than the outline of men. She saw guns and uniforms. Not the dark blue uniforms of Sunnydale’s finest, though. These were camouflaged, like Riley’s. “You’re not cops!”
One of the soldiers moved. He was different than the rest. Two tiny silver bird insignias rested on the shoulders of his crisply ironed jacket and a patch with what looked like a crossed sword and lightning bolt marked the left sleeve. “As far as this town is concerned, we are the police. And when you and your friends are arrested and shipped to a federal prison, no one will question our actions.”
That was true. No one in Sunnydale asked questions. Too bad for Bird Man that Buffy wasn’t going to let his plan work. “Sorry. I don’t look good in orange.” As Buffy spoke, Faith took a spot at her shoulder. Perfect. With absolute conviction – and not a little anger – Buffy addressed the man again. “Here’s the way this works. You and your goons are going to get in your cars and drive away. You won’t go back to the tunnels. You won’t take any research notes. And you won’t come back again.”
The quad was completely silent now. Bird Man glared, his body stiff under his uniform. “Take them into custody,” the man snapped. The pretense was over. He stalked toward Buffy as camouflaged men emerged from the shadows. Each of them carried a rifle at the ready. As the soldiers formed a circle around the kneeling Scoobies, pairs of men broke off and slung their weapons across their shoulders. Handcuffs flashed in the vehicle lights.
Handcuffs. Plain old handcuffs.
Buffy’s momentary hoped flamed – and then dampened. There were too many men, too many guns. These weren’t Walsh’s troops; every weapon was raised and trained on a Scooby. Still mentally scrambling for an escape plan, Buffy jumped when hands roughly grabbed her arms, forcing them behind her back.
A gasp and muffled groan tore from Faith as she received similar treatment.
Cold metal wrapped around Buffy’s right wrist. The click as it closed was a stark interruption of the purring vehicle engines. Another click and Buffy’s left wrist was immobilized. She knew one quick pull would break the connecting chain. In a heartbeat, she could be free.
The knowledge didn’t chase away the fear that had her knees on the verge of giving out.
Like sheep, the Scoobies were shepherded toward the vehicles in a single-file line. Buffy watched their progress from the rear. Giles was ramrod straight, lips a thin line of anger. Willow continually stumbled as she tried to check on Faith instead of paying attention to the terrain.
The murmur of far off voices didn’t interrupt her vigil. Buffy’s arms went taut and the handcuffs squeaked a protest when a soldier roughly shoved a dazed Tara. She took a step in their direction before the soldier to her left jabbed his rifle into the small of the back.
“Colonel!” The surreal silence shattered at the sudden shout. The soldiers herding the Scoobies froze.
Bird Man, the Colonel, whipped around toward the voice.
“The base…Reports…” Even the man’s uniform looked pale. “The USTs broke free as Team Two began cleanup procedures.” Buffy didn’t know what a UST was, but from the man’s reaction, it wasn’t a good thing.
The Colonel didn’t look pleased, either. “How many?”
Everyone in the quad hung on the slow-to-arrive answer. “All of them, sir.”
“USTs…” Buffy stepped away from her captors. “You mean the demons and vampires you’ve been keeping in the tunnels under the campus.” It was the only logical explanation. “Do you even know what you’ve done? What they’re capable of?”
With a pinch-faced expression that would have done Giles’ proud, the Colonel stated, “This is not your concern.” He gestured impatiently toward the vehicles. “Load them up. Now!” Clearly finished with Buffy, he turned away. “Sergeant, radio Sector Command and have reinforcements sent in. I want all trace of the USTs and the Initiative wiped out using any means necessary.”
“You fool!” Giles must have been reading Buffy’s thoughts – although, his comment was nicer than what hovered on her lips. “What are you planning to do? Shoot your way through the throng of demons?”
The Colonel didn’t answer verbally, but the way he shifted and cleared his throat gave him away.
It was time to put the Colonel in his place. Bunching her muscles, Buffy yanked her hands apart in one explosive movement. The handcuff chains snapped as if they’d been made with paper. “Call your tools off, Colonel, and get out of Sunnydale. You don’t understand what goes on here, and you can’t handle the mess you’ve made.”
“Ms. Summers…” Military discipline disappeared as the Colonel lost his cool.
“Save it for someone who cares.” With a sudden surge of Slayer speed, Buffy grabbed the gun from the soldier behind her and jabbed the butt into his stomach. He doubled at the same time that she turned and met the Colonel’s eyes. In a move she’d used one other time to display her super strength, Buffy bent the metal from its stiff, straight line into a mangled pretzel of twisted parts. “This is our town. Take your toy soldiers and get out. Leave the clean up to the professionals.”
Buffy’s order was sheer bravado. She was beyond tired and had used the last of her strength on the gun. Faith was in no shape to fight her way free, and Willow had been running on fumes for hours.
She’d forgotten Tara. In a soft voice, she spoke a few words and the quad lit up like Tara had turned on the sun.
When the light faded, Buffy acted as if that level of magic was normal – and that her eyes weren’t watering from the glare. “Next time, I’ll have her blow up a few of your Jeeps. Maybe melt a few of your guns,” she said with shameless exaggeration.
The Colonel bought her lie. His air of command nearly gone, he staggered toward one of the vehicles. “Pull out!”
In a rush, the soldier broke and ran for safety. Seconds later, they were gone.
“Think the bastard coulda at least left the fuckin’ handcuff keys,” Faith muttered.
***
Nearly asleep on her feet, Buffy leaned against the doorframe as she gracelessly jammed her key in the lock. After a brief struggle, she managed to unlock the door and stumble inside.
“Buffy!” Tara was next to her in a flash, ducking under Buffy’s left arm and supporting her all the way to Buffy’s bed. “What happened?”
“Ran into the last of Walsh’s pet demons.” God, the bed felt so good. It had been weeks since she’d gotten more than a couple hours of sleep at a time And, as an added bonus, it was Friday night. There were no classes to attend in a near-coma state. “Big surprise; they were still mad about their time in Demon Jail.”
So mad they’d rushed her all at once. It had been touch and go for a few minutes.
“You need to rest, Buffy.” Gentle hands went to work on the buttons of her shirt. Tara slipped the blood-stained and torn garment off Buffy’s shoulders and then helped her lay flat on the mattress. Boots were pulled off and Buffy’s pants were removed.
With a soft sigh, Buffy relaxed. “Thanks, Tara.” The words didn’t seem like enough. Tara had been there for her all week, waiting up with food, conversation, bandages… Whatever Buffy needed at the end of her patrol. She reached for Tara’s hand. “Why are you still here?” She’d asked the question every night and never received an answer.
It was no different this time. “Shh, Buffy. Just go to sleep.”
Buffy craved sleep, but she needed to know even more. Forcing her eyes open, she peered up at Tara.
Cheeks lightly flushed, Tara didn’t meet Buffy’s eyes.
Not because she hid behind her hair as usual. Not because she was dodging Buffy’s determined stare.
No. Tara watched Buffy’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Watched with a clear mixture of guilt and pleasure.
Now Buffy’s cheeks burned. So did her nipples – which hardened in response to Tara’s gaze. Buffy froze and her breathing quickened just like it had when she’d been Cave Buffy and tackled Tara in her mother’s kitchen. Only Buffy wasn’t drunk on bespelled beer right now.
Trying to make sense of everything, Buffy gripped Tara’s hands. “Tara?” What was it Tara had said while she’d wrestled with Cave Buffy and a washcloth? Something about needing a shower.
A cold shower.
Her grip tightened on Tara’s fingers.
Tara must have noticed Buffy’s physical reaction and misread it. “You’re cold, sweetie.” Retrieving her hands, she dragged the sheet and comforter from under Buffy’s feet and pulled them both all the way up to Buffy’s chin. “Good night, sweetie.” On her way across the short space between their beds, she turned off the lamp on the nightstand, plunging the room into darkness.
Plunging Buffy further into confusion.
Tara couldn’t…hadn’t been… Had she? And why did the answers matter so much to Buffy?
THE END
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