Chimera by Rob Thurman

an audible grunt as I landed on top of him, but he didn’t move beneath me as I returned the fire. Saul had thrown himself down to do the same with much more effect than I was having with my handgun. One guard fled for his life and one didn’t have a life left to worry about. As I was getting to my feet, I caught a whiff of shampoo and toothpaste from the still figure beneath me. It gave me such a staggering flood of homesickness for a time long gone that the free hand I used to urge Lukas up clenched on his shoulder a little harder than necessary. He didn’t react or wince. His focus was elsewhere, eyes fixed on the downed guard as he murmured, “Just a test.”
    I ignored the incomprehensible words and, relaxing my grip as best I could, pushed him back into motion. Saul was already at the gate and opening it. Lukas and I rushed past to one of the vans Saul had described from the children’s “field trip.” Saul and I had thought about leaving a car down the road for our escape but dismissed the idea instantly. We’d never make it that far on foot without being caught. The best next thing we’d decided was to make use of the transportation available. Then we could drive to our getaway vehicles that would be less likely discovered farther from the compound.
    Inside the van I went to work unscrewing the steering column. I’d not actually stolen too many cars. Considering how I’d grown up and my father’s position in the hierarchy, that wasn’t all that surprising. By the time I turned sixteen, I already had two cars waiting in the garage for me. The necessity had not been there, but you never knew when a little knowledge would get you out of a huge mess. So I kept my hand in because practice does make perfect. The proof of that came thirty seconds later when the van started. Over my shoulder Lukas was watching me work, still calm and still in a place I couldn’t understand or touch. “Did you lose your key?”
    “Something like that,” I muttered. “Sit back, Lukas, and hang on.”
    “Michael,” he said with the first hint of stubbornness I’d seen in him. He settled back into the seat behind mine. “My name is Michael.” As much as it hurt that he didn’t know himself, or me, I was paradoxically relieved to know he wasn’t an empty machine. He was human and he could be reached. Physically I had him; with time, I would get him back mentally as well—but first things first.
    Peeling out, I sent gravel spraying as the van tore its way toward the gate. It was swinging slowly open as Saul pelted over to the passenger door and yanked it open. Half in and half out, he turned and emptied the rest of his clip into the three other vans and two cars still parked behind us. Tires burst like overripe melons as punctured gas tanks released streams of acrid gasoline onto the ground. “Flare,” he demanded.
    With one hand on the wheel I used the other to pull a group of two flares from my belt and slapped them against his palm. The resulting inferno was more than big enough to roast a few marshmallows. The explosion and flesh-melting orange flames lit up the sky sunrise bright as we passed through the gate. “Boom.” Saul grinned at me as he slid into the seat and slammed the door. I couldn’t see his mouth through the mask, but I didn’t need to. It could be heard as easily as seen. I was on the verge of giving my own triumphant grin in return when there was another boom, this one from the back of the van. I turned to see that the doors had been yanked open. I also got a look at who’d opened them, whose feet had hit the van floor hard enough to imitate a silencer-muffled gunshot.
    This man wasn’t wearing khakis. He wasn’t wearing anything but black, which blended so well into the darkness of his skin that he appeared nude. He hung in the open space, primeval and preternatural as a gargoyle rising from the sluggish waters of Genesis. Close-shaved hair was a pelt reflecting ambient light while the black