by Ben Farthing
He reached for the flintlock, but it was just outside his grasp.
Their attacker slammed into their rear again, this time followed by someone sideswiping them. This second car's tires were old and cracked, but that was all Everard could see from his angle.
"Get us facing the other way," said Loretta.
Brian whipped the wheel around, and the car followed. He put his arm around the seat and looked back through the rear windshield to navigate.
The movement knocked the flintlock a little closer, so Everard reached for it again. The blood rushing to his head plus the extra strain of reaching made his face feel like it was going to burst.
A silenced assault rifle clapped as Loretta fired out her window. Where the hell had she found an assault rifle? The back tire of the car alongside them exploded into rubber shreds.
The rear windshield shattered as unsilenced gunfire roared from behind them. The car slowed and then stopped as Brian pulled his energy from the car to deflecting the bullets, a swarm of lights replacing the busted glass.
"Keep that up," said Loretta. She dropped from her chair to the ground, somehow flipping and landing on her feet in the tight space. "You come with me," she said to Everard, then rolled through the open passenger window, another seemingly impossible move.
Everard didn't like the sound of that idea, but Loretta had proven she knew what she was doing.
He undid his seatbelt buckle and hit the ground. That'd be another bruise. He grabbed the flintlock and flung open the door. "Will you be okay?" he shouted to Brian.
Brian waved him on, weaving the movement into his dancing as he worked his way out of his own seatbelt.
Everard ducked outside and ran to the front of the car for cover. He took in the situation. The car had stopped on the right shoulder of the interstate, between a thick forest and a stream of cars slowing to rubberneck, then accelerating at the gunfire. Behind them, their pursuers had come to a stop. Everard peeked over the car for a better look. It was a boxy Ford SUV. Someone fired an automatic pistol from the front seat while two other people got out the other side. A hundred yards back, another three figures ran towards them from the wrecked car.
Everard dropped back down. He didn't see Loretta anywhere, but he could still fight back.
Brian crawled out of the car and ran to join Everard's cover. "Who is that?" he yelled.
"You expect me to know?"
"Were they following us? Is it Inc?"
"Again, I don't know!"
A round hit the radio and the music died. "Well shit," said Brian.
"What happens when the cops get here?" asked Everard. "There's no way people could just not notice an explosion and gunfight on the freeway."
"If they manage to arrest anyone before the NSA shows up," said Brian, wincing as a bullet whizzed by, "then the local cops stick us in a cell until they get there. Can't you do something about these guns?"
"Sorry, I was a little distracted by you steering a flipped car."
"I didn't tell you? I'm the Stig. Stop the guns."
Everard pushed aside all thoughts except for the idea that the guns of their attackers were loaded. No. The mental mist clung to him, but he forced his denial through.
The automatic bursts stopped. The sound of passing cars grew louder as his ears recovered.
Another bark of gunfire. Everard's denial had only partly worked.
"Hey," said Brian. "It's something. You didn't grab my Bluetooth speaker, did you?"
"It slipped my mind," said Everard. "Sorry."
"You know what your problem is? You only think about yourself."
"Shut up." Everard was glad to have Brian back to his ironic self. "Where's Loretta?"
Less frequent gunshots pinged off the car's engine.
"Hopefully, about to save us."
Everard peeked over the bumper, the heat from the still-running engine emanating onto his face. The radiator whirred, although the lime green antifreeze splattered everywhere said its days of cooling engines were over. He aimed the flintlock at the open window of their attackers' SUV and fired. Someone yelled inside.
Another man fired back from over the hood of the SUV. Everard finally got a look at him. His skin glistened with dull rainbows, and hung slightly loose from his body. Reskinned. This one looked like he'd used snakeskin to replace his own. He raised a pistol, and Everard ducked back down as the shot whizzed by.
"It's Undone Duncan's men," said Everard. "I guess he still wants to turn me into one of them."
"They're firing plain old lead," said Brian. "I'm not sure they got the memo about keeping you alive."
"Everard." Loretta sounded like she was right next to him, but when he turned around she was across four lanes of traffic, in the median. "They're trying to flank you."
He stuck his head to the side of the car in time to see a reskinned leap over a cement barrier to dash into the woods. Everard shot at him, but missed and knocked over a sapling instead. The reskinned dove into the undergrowth.
"You've got about sixty seconds until that car isn't giving you any cover," said Loretta. "We'll use their own strategy against them. Assault them from the front, and I'll swing around the side."
"Why don't you just go invisible again?" said Everard. Charging straight at two armed men felt a little suicidal.
"If you work with me, you do what I say."
"Or," said Brian, "we could head to the woods ourselves. The extra cover would be nice."
"You stay where you are, Brian," said Loretta, "unless you've got a weapon you haven't mentioned."
"Are you trying to get him killed?" Brian sounded exasperated.
"Thirty seconds," said Loretta, "and you'll have gunfire coming at you from two directions."
She'd said to listen to her when the moment arose. Maybe she had some kind of plan. "Let's do it," said Everard. She wouldn't let him die. Bill Bill was paying her too much.
"When I open fire from their flank, you move in."
Everard flexed his legs, ready to go.
"I can use the music from my phone speaker to create a small shield," said Brian, "maybe the size of your chest. But my Bluetooth speaker's in the car. If you can get it for me, I'll be a lot more help."
Another bullet found the radiator, which died with a final hiss.
A lull in traffic, and Loretta's rifle roared from across the street. She'd thrown aside the silencer. Everard ducked out from the cover, moving as fast as he could without ruining his aim. The two reskinned fired over the hood of the SUV. The flintlock punched through the steel over the Ford's wheel-well, knocking the reskinned back.
Everard glanced into their own flipped SUV. The Bluetooth speaker lay on the ceiling by a headrest. He could grab it and toss it to Brian, so his frontal assault would have two prongs, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to trust Loretta.
The two reskinned behind the SUV opened fire again, one at Everard, and the other at Loretta, who was making her way across the highway, gracefully stepping through three lanes of traffic who didn't realize a gunfight was going on until they were already through it.
Running in a zigzag pattern, Everard felt the rush of bullets shoot past him. What was Loretta doing? The only thing keeping him alive was this guy's terrible aim. Everard returned fire. His own aim was thrown off by moving—he'd always practiced standing still at a gun range—so he shot the Ford, knocking it inches at a time at his attackers. They couldn't back too far away, for fear of losing their cover, but they couldn't get a steady shot with two tons of steel bumping into them.
A string of gunshots exploded from the trees. A small mass of lights appeared by Everard's side to deflect the attack.
Everard used the distraction to sprint to the SUV, coming around the back to put it between him and the flanker. He shot the first reskinned—whose skinned flesh was wrapped in copper wire—in the gut with a shaky hand. The thug collapsed, holding his gut and gasping for air. The second—covered in a stitched layer of feathers—t
urned too slowly, and Everard shot him in the side. He hit the ground like a rag doll. Blood spilled from his mouth, staining the feathers beneath dead eyes. The blast must have forced a rib into his heart.
Training his gun on the writhing reskinned, Everard looked around for Loretta. The steady traffic continued by. The three reskinned from the crashed car were less than fifty yards away now. One stopped to kneel and fire a rifle. The high caliber round struck the SUV and continued through. Everard dropped and rolled under the Ford, pavement rough against his cheeks, then scrambled out the other side.
He tried to think of the rifle's loaded chamber. More gunfire erupted from the trees. A round grazed Everard's thigh. Completely flanked now, Everard fired blindly into the undergrowth. If Loretta was going to do something, it better be quick.
"Use their radio!" shouted Brian.
He should have thought of that himself. Everard flung the front door open and jumped inside. Another rifle round disintegrated the headrest into a puff of upholstery. The SUV still idled, although the temperature gauge was the in the red. Keeping his head below the windows, Everard mashed the power button on the radio and turned the volume knob as far to the right as it would go.
An impassioned voice pleaded with the listener to stop trusting the Democrats. Everard cursed and found the tuner knob. Crackling static and momentary bits of talk radio or commercials deafened Everard as he searched for music. A calm voice narrated a pitcher's communication with his catcher. Daniel Murphy hit a double for the Nationals as a back window shattered.
He was on AM stations. He jammed the button to switch to FM, where it was already tuned to DC101. A band who was almost certainly wearing all black screamed along to heavy guitars and drums.
A dome of pastel sparks appeared around the SUV, bathing the interior in soothing tones, a sharp contrast to the angry song. The echoing crack of the rifle still made it through the lights, but they blocked any view of the outside, and Everard wasn't going to try walking through them.
After about thirty seconds of death metal, the dome faded. Everard rolled out of the car, ready to put a beam of sound into another reskinned's chest. The reskinned from the woods was sprawled on his face in the grass. His skin was made of leaves of all shapes, sizes, and colors, which explained why Everard hadn't been able to spot him.
Brian stood over the other three, who sat unarmed with their hands on their heads. Brian's body still glowed.
Everard turned down the music enough to talk. "Thanks."
"Thanks for turning on the radio. I hate feeling powerless, you know?"
"Yes."
The traffic continued by. A siren wailed in the distance.
"Think these guys can tell us about the booms? Maybe where to find the machines?" Everard got a closer look at the reskinned. Two were the man and woman who had brought him to Undone Duncan last night. The third was the neckbeard who'd thrown himself into the machine.
"Hey there, Joshua," said Everard.
"We're not telling you shit." A needle and thread stuck through Joshua's felt skin. He'd finished stitching it himself.
"Quiet," mumbled the woman.
"You're the one who shook George. I kinda like George." Everard pressed the flintlock against her forehead. "Why are you telling Joshua to be quiet? Do you guys know something useful?"
"They might know what's powering the machines," suggested Brian.
"They don't have time to question us," said the third reskinned. Compared to Joshua's loose fabric, their carpet skin almost passed for normal.
"He's right," said Brian. The sirens were slowly growing louder. "We gotta get out of here before the cops show up."
"Sure," said the woman. "Cops."
Loretta sprinted into view from across the street. "Get in their truck," she yelled.
With Everard distracted, the reskinned woman yanked a gun out of her boot. Everard fired the flintlock. She slammed backwards against the pavement. He'd punched a bloody, cracked dent into her skull. Her companion leapt at Everard, howling.
Loretta put a bullet through the reskinned's neck. "Brian, get the truck moving!"
Behind her came a swarm of ants or beetles, dark splotches on the road that moved like a school of fish, even crawling up onto passing cars. They came like a mudslide. Following the swarm, calm and composed, was a woman with wild dark hair and a self-assured smile.
Those weren't insects, they were perforations. They demanded Everard's attention, refused to let him look away.
Loretta punched him in the chest. "Get moving."
Lightheaded, he ran for the SUV.
Loretta fired at the Perforated Woman. The swarm of holes slid across her flesh to catch the lead. She didn't even flinch.
Brian leapt into the driver's seat. He flung a whip of light at their attacker. Tiny bits of the light disappeared, the holes multiplying until they swallowed the whip.
Everard reached the back of the SUV, glanced over his shoulder. The Perforated Woman met his gaze.
His sore jaw twitched as pores in his cheek stirred. The perforations slid across the pavement, but they'd already arrived. He clawed at his cheek, fingernails digging into skin.
No. The mental mist was light, but his focus was erratic.
Loretta flung open the door, threw Everard inside, jumped in behind him.
"The engine's overheating!" Brian whipped the wheel around, swerving onto the highway.
Loretta cupped her hands on Everard's cheek, enclosing the perforations. "Breathe, Everard. You need to deny this. Make it go away."
Everard knocked away her hands, scratched deeper at his cheek. "I can't! I have to get them out." The holes inched upward, toward his eye.
The engine roared and then died. "Fuck!" screamed Brian. "I hope you're done with your conversation back there."
Death metal shook the SUV.
Loretta yelled something, but Everard couldn't focus on reading her lips.
"No," he moaned. His will pushed weakly against the mist.
A spot appeared in his vision. The hole in his eye filled the world, blocking out every other thought until only the absence remained.
No. He denied the only thing that existed. The mist gave, and his will limped through.
The interior of the SUV returned. Brian swerved through traffic, propelling them with the music. Loretta felt Everard's cheek, pushed her fingers through his hair to feel his scalp.
"They're gone," exhaled Everard.
"You need to figure out your bent." She collapsed into the seat beside him. "I don't know how much longer I can protect you."
Chapter Thirty
It took Everard the better part of an hour to stop swatting at any itch on his skin.
They'd swapped the SUV for a car someone had left at a mechanic's over the weekend. They had more than an hour before the Ailuromancer's soiree even started, so Loretta had told Brian to just drive for a while.
Panic and fear slipped away to be replaced with anger at Loretta for her dangerous order.
"What was that about?" Everard asked, leaning forward to look at himself in the rearview mirror. Fallout from his denial had turned his eye from blue to hazel.
After she didn't answer, Brian said, "I think she's asleep."
"She almost got me killed back there. And after that bullshit she was spitting about how I should listen to authority I trust! I trusted her, and she left me to charge straight ahead at reskinned with automatic weapons."
"She's trying to help you. If you don't figure out your bent, someone's going to kill you."
"Like the Ailuromancer we're headed to right now?" Everard grunted and leaned back in his chair.
"I almost feel sorry for her, you know?" said Brian. "She's so convinced she has to be all big and bad, it's like she can never be happy."
"She's doing it to herself."
"I don't know. If she was just being stubborn then I wouldn't feel as sorry for her. But she's not. I know what I said a minute ago about the reality benters not cari
ng about everyone else, but that wasn't fair to Loretta. She's the only reality benter in the city with a family. If for one second someone thinks they can get away with hurting her kids, they'll do it. She has to send a message every single day."
"No one's making her do what she does."
Brian shook his head. "The shit you've seen today, you don't think she's needed? I've actually avoided most of these conflicts until yesterday. I'd never had a run-in with one of Undone Duncan's gangs, I'd only seen a reskinned a few times, and I'd only heard of the Perforated Woman. Until you told me about it, I thought the Bloat was a myth. That shit's terrifying, but it's a little less terrifying knowing it's all scared of her. Or at the very least, she's keeping it focused on her. I used to judge her for what she did to her husband, but not anymore. She can't let up for a second."
"What do you mean? What did she do to Jose?"
"Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn't know about that."
"That's been the theme of the last twenty-four hours."
Brian scratched at his bruise. "Bowman's only been CFO for Inc for a couple years. Before was a guy named Smoot. The CFO's head of security for Inc, right? And Smoot didn't like that the CEO was afraid of Loretta. Every one of those minds inside that suit, they're all afraid of her. Smoot wanted to get promoted, so he could jump out of his suit and into the CEO's. He figures the best way to get promoted is to take care of Loretta. He starts letting the rumor circulate that he's got a plan that will really break her, which of course everyone assumes means he's going after her family. But Smoot's not stupid—he's got security on him twenty-four seven. Doesn't go ten minutes without burning a few hundred dollars."
"Why didn't she just kill him?" Everard imagined the body in the shredded suit hanging from the lamppost outside Inc's office.
"That's what I said. But I guess she wanted to send a message. Make sure everyone knew it was her. That's where Bowman comes in. He was second in command to Smoot. And he was new. These guys who join Inc, they've got decades of experience getting rich with their corporate schemes, but only a few come from the Periphery, so they can be pretty naive at first. Loretta decides that to get a fair shot at Smoot—a shot that will let the world know even the CFO can't threaten her family—she has to get close to Bowman. So she does."
