"The Durango," Connor called as he ran to the vehicle. "It has their stuff."
"And tinted windows." Spike ran behind Connor. "It's almost daybreak."
Connor took the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine started. Connor threw it in reverse and backed up, slamming a car behind him and dragging the compact he stole from Rent-a-Wreck, now laced with the rammer bar on the SUV's front bumper.
"Hey," a man in the tunnel yelled. "You just can't leave!"
Connor put it in forward and drove forward, pushing the compact. Reverse and forward a few more times and the SUV was free, around the totaled compact, and flying down the tunnel.
Spike looked in the back. "These guys have some serious hardware."
"We might need it," Connor said. Knowing that the eastern tunnel was blocked, emergency vehicles were coming down in the wrong direction. Connor was just short of the tunnel's exit, but this vehicle was large, damaged, and just didn't have the pick-up the compact did. The SUV had closed on the exit, but the cop cars were closing faster. They spun out, setting up a blockade just outside the tunnel.
"Let's see if this baby really is a 4 by 4." Connor turned hard, rolling parallel to the blockade a foot short of a collision. He dropped to second gear, nailed the gas, and slammed through the guard rail and over the median. Connor turned right into oncoming traffic. Horns screamed the driver's protest, confusion, and fear.
"You're going the wrong way!" Spike called from the back.
"No more tunnels!" Connor shouted back. But the airport was full of police and military units. He couldn't continue to Logan. Connor rolled over more medians, through more guard rails, and onto New Street. "Grab anything that might tell us where Dawn is," Connor shouted. "And get ready to go swimming."
"Bloody hell," Spike said, grabbing pistols and random small electronics. The sirens were behind them. The cops were already rolling down Sumner and Maverick, blocking off New Street at both ends.
"Here we go," Connor said as he swung the car left, rolling over grass and gravel. He smacked into a metal gate and the car lurched to a stop. The wheels were turning, rubber was burning, and smoke wafted into the air. The sirens were louder. The cops had taken New Street and would be there in a second.
"Keep on the gas," Spike yelled. He threw open the rear gate of the Durango and jumped out. Turning, he threw all his might into pushing the back of the car. Spike let out a groan of pain, but his muscles and the car wheels finally propelled the vehicle forward. With loud scratching of metal on metal and an equally loud snap, the gate had given in. The car shot forward and splashed into Boston Harbor. Screeching tires and loud sirens were behind him. He ran forward and dove into the harbor after Connor and the SUV.
**
The land was flat. Wheat fields. No mountains or tall buildings to break the wind. While the plane above sputtered toward the ground, the stiff wind pushed Dawn's parachute northwest of where the plane would crash and burn below. But for the moment, Dawn hung in the air, unskilled at steering a parachute and panicking that she would land on a pile of burning metal that contained three creatures that wanted her dead.
Dawn finally hit the ground hard. Her wrist ached and she felt as though she popped one of the stitches in her shoulder. Getting to her feet, she felt dizzy. Lightheaded. From the sky, she’d seen a town to the north. Standing amidst corn and wheat, she wondered if it was a mirage.
A crackling sound tore her from her revere. The plane had crashed nearby. The wheat field was burning. Dawn turned and limped as hard as she could toward the town. There she could find a phone to call Buffy or Faith or someone. Hopefully.
***
"Chain her in good," the officer said as they loaded Faith into the back of the transport. "She's escaped from custody twice."
Three manacles were on each arm and each leg. Then, they locked her in the cage at the front of the compartment. Two men with long tazers and in SWAT gear sat on the benches. "Don't worry," Lodge said. "We'll be keeping both eyes on her."
"I'll bet you will," Faith smirked. She raised her manacled wrists "Mind loosening these? They're chafing against my bullet wounds."
"We can give you more morphine if you need," Curtis, the other officer said. "Once we get to the plane. Til then, suck it up."
The transport rolled away from the prison and toward the waiting transport plane seven miles away.
"So," Faith said. "You know anything about any plea bargains they're looking to strike with me?"
"Sure," Curtis laughed. "Please guilty and they'll give you lethal injection instead of the chair."
"Nice," Faith said. "As many needles stuck me lately, it'd just be another day in the life, am I right boys?"
"Whatever you say," Lodge answered. "Now shut up or I'll tack disturbing the peace onto your charges."
Curtis and Lodge laughed. Even Faith gave a slight chuckle. She was worried, true. But she knew deep down they couldn't keep her forever.
****
Spike pulled Connor out of the water. "How did you get here before me," Connor asked as he came down on the dock.
"I didn't have to come up for air. Even soaking wet, you don't weight anything at all, do you?" Spike laughed, lifting Connor off the dock over and over again.
"Cut it out," Connor said, pulling away and dropping back to the dock. "We need to call Buffy. Let her know where we are."
"Bad news, mate. The number was in the phone and the phone is fried. Not unlike my jacket."
"It was time for a new jacket anyway," Connor said. "And you don't remember her number?"
"We don't all have photographic memories. Bloody hell, you're worse than that poof Angel." Spike froze a second and looked at Connor intently for a moment.
Connor looked away nervously.
"What we need," Spike said. "Is shelter. Sunrise isn't so far off."
Connor nodded. He'd been awake 24 hours. There was a part of him to which that was all too familiar. Days on end awake and running for his life. But that seemed a distant nightmare now. He could remember family dinners and ice hockey matches. He could remember making love to Tracy on prom night and how proud mom was when he got into Stanford. He didn't have to live in that dark place anymore. Or maybe he did. In the end, wasn't he right back where he started? Running for his life. Just with happy memories of things that never were. And never would be again.
"We need to get away from here and get a change of clothes," Connor said. “I think we could still make Kennedy Airport by the time Buffy’s flight gets in. You can sleep in the car."
"Sounds like a plan. So, Connor. Good Irish name."
Connor shrugged.
"And Angel dropped you off with Faith, that right?"
"Yeah," Connor said, looking ahead nervously.
"He came and got you after the big fight with the senior partners."
"Yeah. Was kind of hoping he'd bring Illyria. She was pretty hot." Connor was desperate to change the subject.
"Got on my nerves. Plus, what's with the blue hair?"
"I liked the blue hair. Better than when it was brown."
Spike turned and looked at Connor. "Better than brown, eh? How exactly did you know it used to be brown?"
Connor had knows he screwed up the second the word "brown" left his lips. He had plenty of time to think up, "Angel had a picture. From before, you know. From before Illyria." Connor wiped a tear away from his eye. "Made me sad, when he talked about her, though. Fred, right? She sounded . . . she sounded really special."
"She was really special.”
"I know," Connor mouthed. He didn't speak the words, knowing no matter how quietly he said them, Spike would hear. He didn't like to think of Fred gone. He remembered her from that old life of his. How she cared for him and mothered him. Always willing to plead his case to Gunn. To Angel. To anyone who'd listen. Even after he tried to kill them all, she still fought to believe that with enough love, Connor could become someone different.
Connor began to sob quietly.
"You alright?" Spike said, hearing Connor's muffled whimpers.
"Yeah. I just . . . I was thinking about my mom."
Spike wanted to say something sarcastic, but instead put his hand on the kid's shoulder. "Mom's are important. Yours back in LA?"
"She's dead. Dad, too. Whole family."
"Wolfram & Hart," Spike said.
Connor nodded. "That's when Angel came and got me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm strong. Guess I had the potential to be a champion. Guess Angel thought the same thing." Connor wanted to mention that Fred seemed to think the same thing, too. But that was a conversation he couldn't have.
*****
"Dawn," Amy's voice seemed to hum out from all around her. "I can see you."
Dawn froze in fear for a moment, then held up her middle finger. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Silence. "Didn't think so," she said, limping on.
Still, Dawn's eyes searched the ground for anything she could use as a weapon. Then, as she heard the sound of wheat rustling behind her, she began limping more urgently. Wrist broken, shoulder shot, and ankle twisted, Dawn knew she was no match for Amy even if Amy weren't a witch.
Dawn finally limped into the street. "God bless farmers," she thought, seeing a pickup truck on the road. Dawn moved into the road and began waving her good arm. The pickup skidded to a halt. "What in the name of Sam Hill?" the man yelled. "You alright?"
"I need a hospital."
The man opened his passenger side door. "Get in."
"I'm being chased," Dawn added as she climbed in and put on her seat belt.
"Who by?" the farmer asked.
Dawn looked out the front window. "Her!" she screamed.
Amy held her hand out and a fireball shot forward, blasting out the tire. Dawn looked behind her to see a rifle hanging in the window. With her good hand, she gripped it. Another blast his the car, this time shattering the windshield. Dawn screamed as glass pierced her skin and the farmer flopped dead over the steering wheel.
Dawn pulled hard, ripping the rifle from the rack. She fumbled to point it. The driver’s side door was ripped open and Amy stood before her. Dawn held the rifle unsteadily. It shook in her hands.
"Please," Dawn sobbed. Her eyes were wet with tears. "Please don't make me do it."
"Why not? You were wiling to do it on the plane. I know that it was a little more passive up there. But if you want to kill me, you're going to have to do it properly." Amy slowly reached for the rifle.
"Please,” Dawn sobbed as the hand came closer and closer still. Amy tried to keep eye contact with Dawn, but Dawn looked away. Finally, Amy gripped the barrel. Dawn squeezed the trigger, but it didn't squeeze very far. More importantly, it didn't fire.
Amy pulled the rifle away. "Do you even know what a safety is?"
Dawn nodded, realizing it was pretty dumb to expect a guy to drive around with a rifle that could discharge at any minute.
Amy dropped the rifle and reached for Dawn. Seeing a switchblade on the farmer's belt, Dawn quickly lunged forward and grabbed it. Using her momentum, she continued forward, flipped the knife open, and slashed Amy's hand. Dawn fell out of the car, screaming with pain as her broken wrist and wounded shoulder collided with the rough, ill-kept pavement.
"You bitch," Amy screamed, looking down at her bleeding hand. The witch had spent her many years immersed in black magic. Now, when she needed it, she had no concept of white magic. No concept of how to heal herself.
Dawn again scooped up the rifle with her good hand, this time flicking off the safety. She looked up at Amy and the witch’s now black eyes. This time, Dawn didn’t whimper. She didn’t cry or plead for Amy not to make her do it. Dawn squeezed the trigger and fired the rifle into Amy’s chest, halfway between her heart and her throat. Amy sat up, a fireball forming in her hands as Dawn cocked the rifle again. The second shot nailed Amy in the neck. The witch dropped to the ground and grabbed her bleeding throat.
Dawn stepped over Amy, who seemed to be bleeding and choking to death at the same time. “Who’s your boss?” Dawn said angrily. “Why does he want me?”
Amy laughed, grimacing in pain as she did. Slowly, she lifted her hand, a fledgling fireball forming in her palm.
Dawn slammed the butt of the rifle down onto Amy’s wound. The witch screamed.
“That’s what Vladimir did to me when I did something he didn’t like. Neat trick, huh? Now who’s your boss? Why did he want me?”
“He is . . .” Amy said in a garbled voice through the blood in her mouth. “He is the Risen.”
Dawn slammed the rifle down onto Amy’s wound again. “What’s his name?!”
“Only . . . the . . . Risen,” Amy said weakly.
“Why does he want me?”
“Didn’t say.” Amy was fading. She knew she wouldn’t last long. “Please, Dawn. Hospital.”
Dawn glared Dawn at Amy. “Tell me what you know about him,” she said through gritted teeth. “What does he look like? What does he sound like? How does he contact you?”
“He . . . never saw. English acc . . . please. Dawn. Please.”
Dawn looked down at Amy. She was saturated with an anger and a hatred she never could have imagined was inside her. Even a minute ago, when she was in the pickup truck, clutching the rifle and pleading for her own life, she could never imagine herself in the position she was right now.
“Good bye, Amy,” Dawn said, tossing the rifle away. Dawn turned and began limping away from Amy toward what she hoped was a town or a phone or even a major road. Behind her she heard Amy wheezing and gargling blood. Amy gave one last gasp. Then the only sound was the shuffle of a limping girl on a poorly maintained road.
******
“Mechanic’s uniform,” Buffy said. “Very subtle.”
“My, er, um . . . other clothes got, um wet,” Connor said, lowering the cardboard with “Summers” written on it. “You’re, erm, um, Buffy, huh? Um, hi. I’m, I’m Connor.”
“I kind of figured, seeing as you’re not Spike.”
“Yeah,” Connor laughed nervously with an equally nervous smile. “So can I marry you with your luggage?” The color drained from his face. “I mean help! Help you with your luggage. Oh, god, I don’t believe I just said that.”
Buffy ignored the slip up. “Riley has the luggage,” Buffy said coldly, nodding to a tall, well-built man pulling luggage from the carousel. “Now let’s go find my sister.”
Connor led Buffy to a rental car. “You’ll need to put the luggage in the back seat. Spike’s in the trunk.”
“No problem with that,” Riley said, smiling until Buffy gave him a withering look. “I meant the luggage in the back seat,” Riley protested. “Not Spike in the . . . oh, never mind.”
They climbed into the car and drove away. Riley pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. “Sam. We landed safely.” Connor could hear Sam talking. She didn’t sound happy about Riley’s trip.
“Riley,” Connor smiled. “That’s my last name.”
“I used to have a friend in third grade,” Buffy said bitterly. “Her last name was Connor. So it’s a small world I guess.” She looked at Connor’s ribs. “You seemed to be driving okay. Better than I’d expect for someone who took a knife in the ribs.”
Connor glanced at her, then watched the road again. “Think I’m lying? Because I can take my shirt off if you want.” He wanted to suggest she maybe return the favor, but didn’t want to be crude seeing that they just met.
“No offense, but I expected you to be bigger. I mean, what exactly do you do for Faith? Dawn does magic and research. She has Spike to help her with fighting. Doesn’t look like you’re big on that front. I mean, are you just some boy toy she has hanging around?”
Connor grinned. “I wish,” he laughed. Buffy scowled.
“I’ll see you then,” Riley said, hanging up the phone. “My wife,” he explained.
“Oh,” Connor said. “So you two aren’t . . . never mind.”
“We used to be,” Buffy said. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Spike or Faith will bring it up eventually, so I might as well get it out of the way.”
Connor nodded. “Cool.” He felt like an idiot trying to flirt with a gorgeous woman five years older than he was, particularly when she clearly had nothing but disdain for him. “I fight,” Connor said, immediately feeling like an idiot for trying to impress a slayer with the fact that he could fight.
Buffy gave a chuckle. “I’d like to see that.”
“Don’t laugh,” Riley said from the back seat. “I knew a guy in the army, skinny as a skeleton. But he could cut your lung out in the blink of an eye.”
Connor blinked. He remembered Quar’toth. Cutting out body organs and ripping off body parts. Sometimes to kill. Sometimes for trophies. When he thought about it, it made him feel sick to his stomach. But when he flashed back, like he did now, it all felt so natural. Like there was nothing else in the world that seemed as logical as cutting off a demon’s nose.
“Watch out,” Buffy yelled as Connor rolled into the parking lot of a seedy motel at nearly 55 miles per hour.
“Sorry,” Connor said, slamming on the brakes.
Buffy got out and dialed Giles. “Riley, get Spike from the trunk,” she said.
“I’ll do it,” Connor said. “Spike said if Riley touches him, he’s going to . . . never mind. Point is, I’ll get him.” He tossed Riley the room key. “Room 16.”
Connor knocked twice on the trunk to let Spike know he should cover himself with a blanket. Connor opened the trunk, lifted Spike out, and carried the vampire into the motel room. He laid Spike on a bed, then sat in a chair in the corner.
“Good thing I brought Riley,” Buffy said angrily as she stormed into the room and slammed the door.
“Oh, yeah,” Spike laughed, coming out from the blanket. “Prince BALCO is a regular knight in sweaty armor.”
“You two idiots crashed a stolen rental car in the Boston Harbor tunnel, then ran off?! What the hell were you thinking?”
Connor shrugged defensively. “This is my first time doing the whole demon fighting, car chase thing, okay?”
“Well, the cashier you roughed up gave the cops a description of you two and they’re pulling prints from the vehicle as we speak.” Buffy turned to Riley. “Can you call your people?”
“Yeah,” Riley said, pulling out a cell phone and casting Spike a condescending look.
“Look, luv, we got some information from these blokes. The guy who nabbed Dawn is Vladimir Markovic. He and his brothers are these former Soviet Block paramilitaries turned vampires. Got connections to the Russian mob and a few other unsavory characters in Eastern Europe and the Balkans.”
Connor glanced at Spike. He wanted to tell Buffy that they already knew that before the crashed a car in the Boston Harbor Tunnel. But he was as desperate for some esteem in Buffy’s eyes as Spike was.
“You ever hear of these guys, Riley?” Buffy asked.
Riley held up his hand. He was still on the phone trying to get the car crash cleared up.
“Look, Buffy,” Spike said. “These guys are deep, deep underground baddies. G.I. Jerk isn’t going to have the info on them.”
Buffy’s teeth grinded. She was sick of Spike’s attitude and animosity toward Riley. But she didn’t want to add to the tension, so she just nodded. “Fine. Good work. Now you two stay here until we say otherwise. Riley and I will check in with Rona and Wood in Harlem. Then we’ll find Dawn.”
“Forget it,” Spike barked. “I’m not sitting the bench when there’re heads to be cracked.”
“What about Faith?” Connor asked.
“Faith can wait,” Buffy said. “We know where she is and we know that she’s safe for now. Dawn could be anywhere and in any condition.” She turned to Spike. “And you’ve already shown you can’t be a team player.”
“What about me,” Connor said. “I can be a team player.”
“Then prove it by doing what I say and sitting this one out.”
“I can help. I can track her.”
“So can I,” Spike said.
“I can do it better.”
“Oh yeah,” Spike said, holding out a fist with a cigarette wrapped inside it. “Then what’s my hand smell like?”
“Body odor.” Connor turned back to Buffy. “I can help.”
“I can’t use you,” she said, turning and opening the door. “Riley, let’s . . .”
In the blink of an eye, Connor ran around Buffy and slammed the door, ripping it from her hand. “I can help,” Connor said.
Buffy stared at Connor in shock.
“Yeah,” Spike said, seeing Buffy’s expression. “That one even surprised me.”
Buffy turned to Spike. “Give me everything you have on Markovic.” Riley and I will find him and take care of it. You two . . . you two go to L.A. The cops are extraditing Faith back there. We haven’t been able to get her through legal channels. You two are going to have to break her out.” She handed Connor her cell phone. “Call Giles when you get there. He’ll give you information.”
Spike handed Buffy a pistol and a small electronic device, now useless after the swim through Boston Harbor. “This is what I got from the back of one of their vehicles. And it was a for-hire job. Vamp told me they were hired by someone called the Risen One.”
“That’s an original name,” Buffy snorted sarcastically. “Riley let’s go.”
“Fine,” Riley said into the cell phone. “Ring me when you have some information.” Riley hung up and walked out the door to the car. Buffy turned to follow.
“Buffy,” Spike said. “I’m . . . I’m sorry I’m giving soldier boy a rough time. Granted, I’m only sorry because it upset you. But I’m still sorry.”
Buffy turned in the doorway and glared back at Spike. “I’m not mad about Riley.”
Spike looked at her, worried what it was she might have discovered that would make her so angry with him.
“I trusted you,” she said, her temper rising. “I put my sister’s life in your hands. And you couldn’t protect her. For one. Fucking. Day.” Buffy walked out, closing the door behind her.
Connor could see the hurt in Spike’s eyes from those words. He put his hand on the vampire’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “She doesn’t know. What you went through. How hard you tried.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s right. I couldn’t protect her.”
Connor squeezed again. “Don’t think about that. We have to get to L.A.”
*******
“Hello,” said a refined British accent. “I’ve just spoken with your brother and he suggested I contact you directly.”
“Do I have the pleasure of speaking to the Risen One?” Vladimir said sarcastically into the cell phone.
“I myself am not quite risen yet,” the man said. “Although I’m working on it. But I imagine you mean my master. He is unfortunately unavailable at the moment.”
“What does he want?”
“The witch unfortunately had some technical problems with her airplane,” the British man said, sounding almost happy. “It crashed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Vladimir said. “But we fulfilled out part of the bargain.”
“Oh, no. There’s no doubt of that. But we of course must contract your services again in the hopes that you will again succeed where the witch failed.”
Vladimir held up his hand, indicating to Pyotr he should stop the loading. “This time we want ten,” he said.
“Ten? That’s quite a lot. It’s also unfortunately more than we have.”
“This girl is obviously worth ten if you’re willing to pay five once and five again. If she’s worth ten over time, then she’s worth ten all at once. Ten million dollars, or no deal.”
“It’s not a question of her worth, dear friend,” the British man said. “It’s a question of our resources.”
“Then perhaps I should locate a patron with more resources.”
“I doubt you’ll find a patron aware of this girl’s value. Look, I think we can do another seven and a half.”
Vladimir nodded. “Where did this plane crash?”
“Just south of Topeka Kansas.”
Vladimir closed the cell phone and looked at Pyotr. “Back to loading the plane. We’re going to Kansas.”
A thousand miles away, in Illinois’ Menard Penitentiary, Ethan Rayne hung up the phone in a gray cell and knocked on a door. “I’m done speaking with my lawyer, thank you.”
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