AMIDST THE CATS CRADLE - 3

C H A P T E R T H R E E - - - G W E N

Gwen could detect neurotoxins when she sensed them. Though most nations had agreed to avoid using chemical weapons in warfare, Gwen had soon realized in places like Afghanistan, Iraq, and the other pits of hell she'd been over her previous several deployments that what wasn't authorized to be used wasn't necessarily the same as what wasn't utilized.

Her instincts took over before her brain could even comprehend the situation. That's why she'd ended up on the ground, attempting to go as low as she could away from the smoke in order to buy herself some time. With the mask on her face, her breathing became better, and the filter appeared to be holding.

She scrambled to see what was going on, thinking bitterly, I knew I should have taken the stupid train.

The astonished, terrified cries had died down, and she could see a few arms and bodies laying lifeless in their seats up ahead. Whatever was being pumped into the cabin had to be sedative in nature. The objective, though, was clearly not only to knock them out. The armed guys were well aware of this.

Who are these people? She pondered, craning her neck in the cramped area to see Mitch.

Jordan surveyed his surroundings, his muscles flexed, his physique huge and ready for anything. This wasn't a football player with phony bravado. No, this was a mercenary, a soldier. One of her own, albeit certainly far superior to the majority of the individuals she'd ever served with. Her gut wrenched when he was hurled to the ground like a ragdoll.

Jordan had been rammed into by a man not nearly as large as him. She made up her decision swiftly and understood which side she had to be on. Gwen recognized he had to be on something when the blond man's eyes flashed with something wild, the whites of his eyes nearly totally crimson. Regardless, she rushed herself at him, yanking his knees out from under him just as he was about to stab Jordan in the back with a knife.

She grunted, her vision adjusting to the purple shadows, thinking for a moment that her eyes were playing tricks on her. But it was the air in the cabin that was changing color. She punched him hard in the ribs once, twice, before getting on her feet, the small space they’d been afforded already littered with one fallen body.

Gwen jumped on a seat as the man turned to face her, his movements slow, but not in a calculated way. It seemed it was hard for him to adjust his plan of action. He lunged for her and she gasped, getting a knee between their bodies, probably scoring a good hit on his privates as he pushed her back in the seat, making her fall back painfully.

He ripped at her face and she could feel a hard sting on her cheek as his strong fingers grabbed for the mask. She got an elbow up, pressing it against his windpipe and putting all her strength into it as the visibility in the cabin seemed to be falling with every second. Gwen strained for breath, conscious that the man on top of her, clawing at her as if he were a beast not a man at all, was hell-bent on getting the mask off of her face.

She got her other hand out from under him and socked him in the face hard, but it seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. It was maybe more of an annoyance than anything else. She growled under her breath, her body straining against him as she tried to push him off of her, but it was no use. When the mask was pulled down on her face, she took one last breath, trying to hold on for a moment longer and not allow the poisonous gas into her lungs.

But the wild-eyed adversary was ready for this as well. He pressed down on her stomach hard, making her gasp. A moment later, the man was suddenly pulled off of her and through watery eyes, Gwen could see Jordan pounding his face against the overhead bins until it was nothing more than a bloody mess. She clambered to move the mask in front of her nose and mouth, but it was too late.

She’d already taken at least three breaths of the purple concoction.

Her stomach twisted immediately and her vision seemed to blur at the edges, fading a little.

“Gwen, are you okay?” Jordan asked, and she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Looking up, it was Mitch, his brows furrowed and blood trickling down his temple. For an insane moment, she found the blood entirely enticing, inviting even. She reached her hand up, feeling the urge to run her finger along that bloodied line, when the plane seemed to shutter and roll, careening to one side.

“What now,” Jordan growled, stomping down the aisle toward the cockpit.

Another tall body pressed by, clapping Mitch on the shoulder for a moment, taller than him but similarly built. Gwen couldn’t do much more than to lie on her back on the seats, trying to fight the odd, buzzing feeling that was running through her in endless waves, making her tingle from head to toe. She felt a surge of energy, but it was overtaken by an immediate and equally strong burst of lethargy, and her mind couldn’t bend to process what was going on.

Slowly she heard voices again, along with the sounds of men stirring.

“You okay?” the other guy asked, his stern, gray-blue eyes looking around.

“Peachy fucking keen,” Mitch growled.

“That’s not good, though,” the other man said and a second later, his fist collided with the large, blocky head of one of the football players.

“Great,” Mitch said with an annoyed grunt to his voice. “Stay here, okay, sugar?”

Gwen nodded idly, not really in control of her body. Her hands wanted to form fists and a loud voice in her head told her that she wanted blood. Needed it. Visions of violence danced in her brain, and then in front of her very eyes as Squad Six methodically punched out every person on the whole freaking airplane.

They were all crazed, almost foaming at the mouth as they charged, big and impossibly strong, but no match for the men pitted against them. Gwen could hear the sounds of a scuffle, and every now and then a few bodies would stumble down the aisle and then collapse in willful piles until the sounds muffled and quieted again. Slowly, she was regaining control of herself, breathing through the mask, until her muscles seemed willing to cooperate enough for her to sit up.

She felt like she might have gotten a cracked rib and her head was throbbing painfully, but looking at the scene around her, she seemed to have made off easily. The airplane was littered with unconscious bodies, heaving for breath, but knocked out cold. She’d never seen something quite like it.

“What the fuck,” she said, her voice strangled.

“My thoughts exactly,” Mitch answered, panting visibly as he offered a hand to her. “You all right, Gwen? I saw that guy get the mask off for a moment. Did you get any of that shit in you?”

“I think I took a few breaths, but I’m feeling better now.”

The airplane stuttered and veered to the left again, dipping down noticeably. Her pilot senses kicked into gear and her eyes went wide when a stark realization came to her. Everyone without the mask had seemed to be affected by whatever the shit in the air had been, and if it was everyone, then…

“Who the hell is flying this plane?!”

“Hmm, good question,” Mitch said, and for an insane moment, Gwen thought she saw amusement in him, like this was all some grand joke.

Mitch offered his hand and Gwen took it, not trusting her legs. They wobbled through the aisle, littered with bodies, and Gwen could count at least three dead among them, all tall, blond, and built like brick houses. When they made it to the front of the plane, one of Mitch’s friends was just getting done taping the stewardess to her seat.

The woman, Ashley by her nametag, had been so sweet and mild when Gwen had talked to her, and now she it was as if she was possessed, the whites of her eyes pink and her body convulsing as she thrashed against the bindings.

“So this is new, huh, Tom?”

“Yup, can’t say I’ve seen this shit before,” the man noted with a chuckle.

Gwen was floored by how blasé the men were about the situation. This was like something out of a real nightmare, and she’d been on plenty of horrific battlegrounds to know the difference. There, even the destruction seemed to have a reason. Here though? It all seemed entirely senseless because she couldn’t understand what on earth could drive someone to try and manipulate people in such a horrific way.

The plane made another sudden change and Gwen was thrown into Mitch’s arms and against the wall, his strong grip locking around her and keeping her steady.

“I’ve got you,” he said with a small smile, sending butterflies flying in Gwen’s gut, further exasperating her current intense and utter confusion.

“Thank you,” she muttered lightly as he pulled the door to the cockpit open, revealing the prone bodies of the pilot and the co-pilot and a slightly bloodied Jordan, sitting at the helm with another one of the squad thoughtfully standing behind him.

“There you go, apparently Jordan’s a pilot now,” Mitch said, the humor disappearing in his voice.

“Is he really a pilot?” Gwen asked, getting three firm and fast answers of “No!” in response. “Oh that’s good then,” she said with a sigh, pushing herself away from Mitch and slipping into the co-pilot’s seat.

She hadn’t flown anything bigger than a SuperCobra in a while now. The Marine attack helicopters were beefy and serious machines, but no match for a Boeing. Her hands went to work swiftly enough, checking fuel and oil pressure and the set course.

“You know what you’re doing, Miss?” a firm voice asked, belonging to the third guy in the room, his words slightly muffled by the mask.

“I’m a US Marine Corps helicopter pilot. I get the feeling I know more than you guys do,” she said, flicking a look over her shoulder.

She couldn’t see his lips, but his eyes warmed and she pegged him immediately as the squad leader. There was a certain air around men like that, calm under the worst of conditions, and he seemed to carry himself with all the certainty of a man who knew what he was doing even when the world was falling apart around him.

But she still preferred Jordan and Mitch better.

“She got an Arctic off my back, Lieutenant. She’s one of the good guys,” Jordan said, obviously relieved when Gwen took over, correcting the axis and getting the plane flying straight again.

“Well then, boys, looks like we have a guardian angel on our hands. Miss, if you wouldn’t mind, please get us down on solid ground at the nearest airport. I trust you know the drill?” Jerome asked, and Gwen nodded.

Her vision was still swimming a little, but she could muscle through it. Adrenaline was pounding in her veins now, drowning out the aftereffects of whatever shit had gotten into her system in the first place, and she could feel the deadly calm of a woman on a mission fall on her again. She’d always been good under pressure, and this time it seemed to come in more handy than usual.

“Yes, sir,” she said lightly, garnering chuckles from the men.

Jerome nodded his head to Mitch and Jordan as he slipped out of the cockpit, and Mitch came to stand behind Gwen. She felt his presence distinctly, as she did Jordan’s, and her breath stuttered in her lungs slightly as she felt their eyes on her, watching her work.

“A Marine, huh? Damn, and I thought we’d have a future together,” Mitch teased, falling into the navigator’s chair.

“What? Can’t handle a little United States Marine Corps excellence?” she shot back.

“Oh, we can handle it fine. The question is, can you handle SEALs?”

Of course they’re SEALs, she thought with a grin.

That kind of ego was saved for the Marines and the SEALs and it always seemed like the SEALs had made off with the vast majority of it. She rolled her eyes slightly, opening up comms with Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport. As much as she loved flirting with incredibly hot sailor-boys, she had a plane to land as soon as possible.

But she would have been lying if she claimed to be less interested in them now than she had before the whole madness went down. There was something about a man who could handle himself as well as those two had, and it didn’t hurt that she and Jordan had exchanged some pretty big favors with that madman back in the seats.

“I think the SEALs aren’t quite ready for this Marine,” she said with a smirk.

A little bit of false bravado never hurt anyone, right?