Apex Risen

by Scott Medbury

  “Quickly! Hop in.”

  It was only after he had uttered the words that he realized how dumb the term ‘hop in’ was. Thankfully Inga’s vocabulary was sophisticated enough to understand he didn’t mean to literally hop in.

  The big V8 rumbled to life instantly when he turned the key. There would be no warm up, and as soon as she had closed her door, he jammed the transmission into reverse. Tires squealed on the polished concrete as the car shot backward.

  They were both forced back into their seats when he put the car into drive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. As he sped towards the exit, the daylight at the top of the ramp told him that the huge roller door was still open, but he was driving so fast he nearly overshot the ramp. He managed at the last instant to make the turn, the heavy car fishtailing dangerously before the tires found traction. The low-slung car bottomed out with a squeal of metal and sparks as it flew up the ramp and out onto the gravel driveway.

  Ivan took a sneaky glance at his passenger. She was smiling, her hands gripping the dashboard more for balance than through fear of his driving.

  He eased off the gas a little but was still traveling at a dangerous speed on the granular surface and the car slid onto the lush turf of Molenski’s manicured lawn at the first turn. Ivan cursed and spun the wheel, bringing it back under control before he raced towards the front gate. He could see no perimeter guards and assumed they’d abandoned their posts to head inside when the shooting began.

  A final turn and then ahead, the heavy wrought iron gates stood open. Ivan couldn’t believe his luck. Clearly, Molenski’s driver had been in too much of a hurry to shut the gates behind him when he fled the estate. He was on the straight and approaching the gates when they began to close.

  “Fuck!”

  Ivan gripped the wheel harder and pressed the accelerator.

  “At this velocity, the gate will close before you reach it, Myfriend,” Inga observed. “Collision at this speed will almost certainly result in your termination…”

  “We’ll make it,” he said, feeling strangely happy.

  The speedometer ticked upward, and the engine of the muscle car roared. 50, 55, 60, 65. The car hit 70 as it reached the closing gate. Ivan held his breath. It would be a close thing, but it was too late to stop even if he wanted to.

  Inga sat, an impassive observer as Ivan sucked in a deep breath and drew in his shoulders as if that would help them squeeze through. There was an almighty screech of metal and breaking glass; the car shuddered but made it through, minus both side mirrors and sporting deep gouges in its doors and fenders.

  Ivan swung right as the tires bit into the tarmac and sped off just as the first of the police cars turned onto the road from the other direction. Ivan slowed and watched his rearview mirror. The line of flashing lights pulled up sharply, some turning into the mansion’s drive and the others blocking the road in both directions.

  Resisting the urge to go faster, Ivan drove at a stately pace until he turned left and joined the traffic heading into the city.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, thinking his passenger would be traumatized by the hair-raising ride.

  “No, Myfriend. My system is detecting errors that can only be rectified with a reboot. Shall I reboot?”

  “No,” he said, quickly. “No need, I will contact someone. A technician… someone that can help us.”

  “Us? Do you have system errors too, Myfriend?”

  “What? No – never mind. I’ll make some calls. We’ll get you fixed.”

  Ivan didn’t want to risk a reboot in case she turned back into the efficient killer he had seen in operation just ten minutes before. He had no idea what had made her flip out and massacre Molenski’s people, but whatever it was, it seemed to have been nullified by the damage she had taken from the Russian’s gun. As confident as he was in his own abilities, Ivan didn’t think he would last more than a minute with Inga if she were determined to end him.

  He had other problems too, namely, Molenski. He had time to think as he weaved through the heavy afternoon traffic, and he realized it was a grave mistake to have left him alive. If the shoe had been on the other foot, the Russian would have blown his brains out in an instant.

  The mob boss was notorious for his unrelenting pursuit of those who did him wrong. Ivan no doubt fell squarely in that category. He had nearly let him get killed, had bashed him unconscious and had stolen his property. Very expensive property.

  This whole mess would only end one of two ways, with him or Molenski dead.

  Still, there would be time to worry about that later. Depending on how badly hurt Molenski was, and how much grief the cops gave him, it might be days before the hunt began.

  “What about your wounds?” he asked Inga. “Do they hurt? I thought you could feel pain.”

  “The sensitivity feature activated at 11:09 am and was overridden at 3:23 pm. However, the damage I sustained 7 minutes and 42 seconds later has caused my parts of my previous programming to restart. I feel some pain at this time.”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurt, but what happened at 3:23? What made you…?”

  She turned to him.

  “I do not know, Myfriend.”

  “Your wounds? Do we need a doctor?”

  “RealFlesh is a patented nano-biological design that replicates real human flesh and is capable of regeneration if treated by a medically trained individual using sutures and antiseptic. Unlike real human skin, no scar tissue will form if wounds are treated within two hours.”

  “Okay, we’ll get you fixed, but first I need to take care of something.”

  Ivan had already decided they had to get out of the country. It was the only way to escape Molenski’s reach, and even then, they would have to disappear completely. For that, they would need help, and they would find it on the Westside, his old stomping ground.

  He knew someone there who could help them. His first boss, Mateo Babic, a man Molenski had apprenticed too, for five years before buying him out. A man who Ivan trusted implicitly.

  First, though, he had to ditch his phone and the car. Ivan pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot.

  “Do you require sustenance, Myfriend?”

  “What? No. I just need to do something quick. You don’t need to get out.”

  Ivan parked and got out, dropping his smartphone on the concrete before smashing it under the heel of his patent leather shoe several times.

  It was only when he picked it up and headed for the nearest trash bin that he noticed an old lady staring at him through the open window of her big 1970’s Pontiac.

  He smiled sheepishly and held the shattered remains of the phone out for her to see.

  “Stupid technology!” he said. “I can never get used to these damn things.”

  “I hear ya,” she said, and went back to eating her chicken nuggets.

  Ivan dropped it in the bin and dusted off his hands before climbing back in the Hellcat. The car would have to be ditched next. He knew just the place.

  17

  Molenski wanted to sleep, but Tatiana wouldn’t let him. Her insistent shaking was making him angry.

  “Let me sleep bitch!” he grumbled, but she wouldn’t.

  The more she shook him, the angrier he got until finally, his eyes snapped open. Molenski was confused. He was on the floor with one of his house guards, Nikolai, kneeling over him.

  “Mr. Molenski… Boss, can you hear me?”

  The events of the recent past came flooding back and he tried to get up too quickly. The Russian swooned and nearly fainted, his neck and the back of his head hurt like a first-time ass fuck.

  “Try not to move boss…”

  “Fuck that, help me up!”

  Despite his swimming vision, Molenski saw that the robot and his bodyguard had gone. He looked across the bed and saw the naked body of his wife. Rage filled him, washing over his pain like it was merely a word etched in sand.

  He lashed out at the bed with his foot, kicking it over and
over as Nikolai retreated a safe distance. After his violent tantrum, Molenski leaned on the bed, his chest heaving. When he thought it was safe to talk, the guard cleared his throat.

  “Boss, the police are here,” the guard said. “What should we do?”

  The Russian heard the excitement in the young man’s voice. He turned and placed his hand on the guard’s shoulder.

  “Help me dress.”

  As quickly as he could, Molenski slipped on a pair of pants and a pullover. He then tucked his Ruger into the back of his pants before heading to the door.

  “Where is that fucking dog, Ivan?” he said, over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know Boss; there are bodies downstairs, but he hasn’t been seen since you got back from the airport. Whoever hit us probably got him too.”

  Molenski was too furious and in too much pain to explain that the fucking traitor was probably alive and well. He headed purposefully towards the staircase.

  “About Chicago PD Boss, there are lots of them. Shall we fight?” asked the inexperienced Nikolai from behind him.

  “No, you fucking idiot.”

  Molenski’s mind raced. Ivan and the robot bitch would have to wait for the moment. He needed to deal with the police first. Then he would find the couple and strap Ivan to a chair so he could watch him deconstruct her, first with a knife, then with a fucking baseball bat before he killed him too.

  The Russian was nothing, if not patient.

  More guards met them at the base of the staircase.

  “Where are they?”

  “At the front door sir, we had a standoff, but they didn’t force the issue. They have the warrant to search the house.”

  “Good, invite them into the reception room and tell them I’ll be with them in a few minutes. He turned to Nikolai and put his hand on the machine pistol, pushing it down to face the floor.

  “Our fight is not with the piggies. I shall talk to them, let them look around and then, after they’ve gone, we will consider what has happened and make our plans. Go back upstairs and put a blanket over my Tatiana, will you.”

  18

  The men who had abducted Tim Redfern shouted and swore at the monitors. Since the feed had resumed, nothing had gone right for them. The robot hadn’t finished Molenski off. In fact, it hadn’t finished anyone off and on top of that, they had watched in escalating anger as the robot ran off with the Russian’s bodyguard.

  If he wasn’t in so much danger, Redfern might have laughed at the comical situation. He wasn’t stupid though, and knew with the escape of the robot, his usefulness to the two men and whoever had orchestrated the attempted hit was at an end.

  His mind worked furiously through scenarios to get himself out of the awful situation he was in. The buzzing of the big man’s mobile phone gave him the chance he was waiting for. The man snatched up the phone and put a finger in his ear, walking away from the monitors. His pistol remained on the desk. The other man was leaning over the monitor as he continued to watch the feed.

  A surge of adrenalin, so violent he thought he might faint, went through Redfern’s system. It was now or never. Live or die. He didn’t wait. He burst out of his chair and snatched up the gun, almost fumbling it before gripping it and aiming it, first at the big guy, then back to the other guy, then back again.

  “Don’t move, either of you.”

  The short man began to reach for the gun in his belt.

  “Don’t!” screamed Redfern turning the gun on him.

  “Okay, okay! Chill, man!”

  As he put his hands up in the air, Shorty’s eyes flicked in the direction of his partner and Redfern again swung back to the big guy, but he was already on the move - the phone still to his ear he fled around the corner and into the hallway, heading deeper into the apartment.

  Shit!

  He turned back to Shorty, but while he was distracted the kidnapper had already made his move, running forward and grabbing Redfern’s gun hand.

  “No!” grunted Redfern, as he began to struggle for control of the weapon.

  They fell to the floor, the muzzle of the gun inching first one way and then the other as they wrestled back and forth. Redfern briefly thought he might win, but finally, Shorty, much stronger than he looked, flipped the technician onto his back and brought two hands to bear against the prisoner’s one.

  He twisted the gun and slowly lowered the muzzle towards Redfern’s face. The thug smiled victoriously…

  BANG!

  He was still smiling, even as the bullet from his own gun, taken from his pants by his intended victim, blew out the side of his head, spraying the white carpet in a vivid red and gray fan.

  Horrified, Redfern pushed the body of the thug off him and scrambled backward. He didn’t stop retreating until his head struck the wall behind him. He began to shake uncontrollably, his ears ringing from the loud gunshot.

  He thought briefly about running but just as quickly dismissed it. They knew where he lived. They knew the name of his wife. They knew the names of his kids. There was no way he could leave while the other one was alive.

  He got to his feet, still holding the dead man’s gun and took a deep breath as he steeled himself to search the apartment for the big man.

  As it was, he didn’t need to.

  There was a flash of movement from the doorway to the small kitchen to his right and something smashed into the brow of his right eye. Stunned, Redfern fell to his knees, desperately trying to clear his swimming vision. He heard a roar and saw the formidable albeit fuzzy shape of the big guy barreling at him.

  He tried to bring the gun up but didn’t manage to squeeze off a shot before the speeding bus hit him. The technician was propelled backward into the wall, the breath smashed out of his body by the impact and then kept out by the heavy weight of the man on top of him. Strong hands found his throat and began to squeeze.

  Redfern had somehow managed to keep hold of the gun and with a jellylike arm, lifted it slowly until the muzzle was wavering and wobbling under the thug’s chin. The big hands squeezed harder and with more violence, attempting to throttle the life out of him before he could pull the trigger.

  As his vision darkened, he made a final, supreme effort to pull the trigger.

  19

  Twenty minutes after he discarded his phone, Ivan pulled the Dodge into a wrecking yard on Kedzie Avenue. He drove past the small used car lot out front and followed the driveway, weeds poking through its cracked pavement like hair from an old man’s ears, up to the rundown portable building that served as an office.

  To the right, a wall of rusting cars at least ten high muffled the sound of the busy road beyond. They pulled up in front of the building, and Ivan turned to Inga.

  “Stay in the car, yes?” he said, placing his hand on the one she had resting in her lap.

  It was so warm and soft that he had a hard time reconciling it with the metal he saw in her open wounds.

  “Yes, Myfriend.”

  Her smile was so humanlike that he couldn’t help but shake his head as he opened the door.

  It had been much easier getting into the low-slung car than getting back out, and the big man struggled to do it without looking clumsy. He didn’t quite succeed.

  He locked the car and walked to the office. The whole building creaked as he climbed the metal steps and squeezed through the open door. A man of about sixty looked up from behind the counter. His head gleamed under the last remnants of his hair which was slicked across his skull to hide the baldness which had clearly won its war a long time ago.

  Ivan placed his hands on the counter and the old man took a final drag on the thin cigar hanging from his lip before blowing a smoke ring casually into the already hazy air.

  “Dolph Lundgren, I presume?”

  “What?” Ivan asked, his face serious.

  “You look like Dolph Lundgren.”

  “Who?”

  “Dolph Lundgren – you know – from Rocky?” Ivan’s face was blank. “Hmmm never mind
. A very old movie. What can I help you with, Mister?”

  “Where is Pieter?”

  “Long gone. I bought the yard from him two years ago.”

  “Oh…”

  The man stood up and looked over Ivan’s shoulder at the Dodge. Apart from the damage to the side, it looked a beauty.

  He stuck out his hand.

  “I’m Stan, is there something I can help you with?”

  Ivan shook the proffered hand.

  “I want to sell my car.”

  “I see... let’s take a look,” said the old man, his eyes narrowing.

  They returned to the office after Stan had taken an in-depth look at the vehicle, not to mention a good look at the beautiful, smiling girl in the passenger seat. He didn’t fail to notice the bruise and scrapes on her face and hoped the big guy wasn’t beating on her. None of his business, though, and he didn’t think she’d have looked so happy and alive if he was.

  “Is it hot?”

  “Yes,” Ivan said.

  He didn’t see any point in lying.

  “Okay,” said Stan, nodding. “As long as you’re up front with me, I’ll be up front with you. I’ll give you five G for it.”

  “Okay, sold,” said Ivan.

  Stan was taken aback, he had been willing to go as high as ten, and the ease with which the other guy caved bothered him. Either he was an idiot or the vehicle was really hot. Stan’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. He had the nagging feeling he should call off the deal, but greed won out. The guys at the chop shop would easily pay him twice that amount and make double again by rebirthing it.

  “You have yourself a deal, Mister…?”

  “Just call me Dolph,” said Ivan, deadpan. They shook hands and a few minutes later, Lewinski accompanied ‘Dolph’ out to the car and watched appreciatively as the girl stepped out.

  What a pair of legs! He might even have whistled if the big guy hadn’t been within arm’s reach.

  Ivan handed Stan the keys to the Dodge and scanned the used car lot in front of the wrecking yard. His eyes settled on a brown hatchback.