by J. N. Chaney
I looked up to see Rachel take a whip lash to the forearm. But she let the leather tool wrap around her limb, and then jerked it taught. The man fell off balance and stumbled toward her, meeting Rachel’s rock-hard fist. I heard the man’s nose crack before he crumpled to the ground in a heap.
The last man was about to try and stab me with his twin blades when the side of his face blew off. More bullets followed, stitching a line of holes along the back wall.
“Rachel!” I said, diving into the right hall.
“I’m with you!” she replied. Her body rolled to a halt next to mine. I looked back as bullets riddled the gang bangers’s bodies, shredding them to pulp. “Come on,” she said, pulling on my arm. “There’s a door.”
I looked ahead and saw the exit. I was on my feet a little slower than I intended—the pain in my thigh was agonizing. But I didn’t dare back down. At least not yet.
Footfalls echoed down the corridor as our pursuers approached. Rachel took the lead, sprinting toward the door. She smashed into the crash bar, through the opening, and into the darkened street once more.
“Lars?” I demanded.
“Turn left, sir.”
Rachel responded right away and took off running. I was right behind her, but still moving more slowly. She turned back around to look at me—and her eyes widened.
“Duck!” she yelled, withdrawing her pistols from beneath her dress again.
I dropped, my thigh protesting so badly it made my eyes water. I heard gunfire and felt rounds break the air mere centimeters over my back. A man screamed, and others yelled. I chanced a look behind me to find our assailants pouring out of the door…
And right into Rachel’s weapons fire.
She squeezed her triggers methodically, picking one target after the next, alternating weapons. I ran forward in a crouch despite the pain searing my leg.
“I’m almost out,” Rachel yelled. “Need a break to reload. A little help?”
I grunted, then raced to her side where she handed me one of her pistols. I turned back toward the door and continued her smooth pattern of fire, giving each man a moment to step out onto the landing before firing. Meanwhile, Rachel reached back up her dress and removed two extended magazines.
“Really?” I said. “Where were you keeping those?”
“Mind your manners, Mr. Reed,” she said. She ejected her spent magazine onto the pavement and drove a new one home. Then she handed the newly charged sidearm to me and I continued firing while she took the spent pistol and reloaded it. As soon as she had, she resumed firing with me until no one else emerged from the door—either because no one was left or they feared the suppressive fire.
“Let’s go,” I yelled, turning to continue down the sidewalk. We dodged pedestrians who’d dropped to the ground for cover, leaping over them in a race to put distance between us and whoever might be on our tail next. There was no way such a well-prepared force would be taking this lying down.
“We’ve gotta find a way back up,” Rachel said, looking skyward. The sun must have dipped below the horizon as the clouds had grown dark.
“Time to call our cabby back,” I said.
“Really?”
“You have a better option?”
Rachel hesitated. “No, not really.”
“Lars?”
“At your service, sir.”
“Get that cab driver back down here. Offer him a thousand credits now, and another grand later. Tell him to meet us at whatever intersection we’ll be at by the time he gets here based on his current location. You do that math. And tell him to crush it!”
“Right away, sir.”
Rachel had turned and was tapping my shoulder. “Uh, Flint?”
I looked back and saw one of the armored hover trucks come around the corner. The kinetic round from earlier—the one that had sent us flying—had clearly come from the railgun that sat above the trap doors which had opened on the truck’s roof. The weapon looked to be remotely operated, and—like the truck—was turning our way.
“Son of a bitch!” I yelled. We leaped inside a storefront when the sidewalks exploded in a dizzying display of debris. The ringing in my ears was back. Glass pelted us from the blown out shop windows, and people inside the store screamed. I looked up, recognizing this as an all-hours convenience store with low end synthetic food boxes, drink pouches, and cheap smokes.
“Everyone stay down!” I yelled, noting that my voice was getting hoarse. I noticed a man behind the counter peering at me. “Back door?” His eyes went wide and he pointed to the rear of the store. “Thanks.” I reached in my pants pocket and flipped him one of my hundred-credit chips. Call me the frickin Tooth Fairy.
Rachel and I bolted toward the back of the store, moving around frightened shoppers, and pushed through the door marked Employees Only in faded letters. It smelled like shit and piss, and I noted a bathroom without a door. But further back, near a small loading bay, was a door marked Exit. We pushed through it and found ourselves, once again, in a side alley.
“Flint, you’re losing blood,” Rachel said.
“Yeah, happens when you have a big hole in your body.”
“You’re looking a little pale.”
“Well, you find us a way out of here, and I promise I’ll let you take my clothes off and fix me up. Deal?”
“Lars?” Rachel asked.
“Awaiting your instructions, Miss Fontaine.”
“How’s the cab coming?”
“I’m happy to report that he kicked his passengers out and is headed to meet you now. ETA in thirty seconds. I recommend proceeding left down the alley you’re presently standing in and—”
“Great,” she said, grabbing my arm and slinging it around her neck. “Tell me as we run.”
“As you wish.”
We ran forward in tandem, but I was getting tired. And pretty cold. Still, I managed to keep up with Rachel, though I doubted she was running at full speed. We made it to the end of the alley’s L-shape and turned to see a main street at the opposite end.
“The cab you hired will be arriving ahead in fifteen seconds,” Lars said over comms.
“Great job, buddy,” I replied. “I owe you one.”
“You owe me one what, sir?”
“Never mind, Lars,” Rachel snapped, winded from exerting so much force to keep me upright.
Sometime in the last few moments, it had started to rain. Hard. We raced forward, the hope of escape propelling me with renewed vigor despite the cold seeping into my bones. Our feet splashed through more puddles, driving away rodents and several cats. Every step made my thigh burn more—I swore my leg was going to fall off any second.
“Almost there,” Rachel yelled.
“Ten more meters,” Lars confirmed. The criss-crossing traffic was getting closer. Suddenly, the hover cab pulled up. The driver looked around, searching for his fare. I could pretty much guarantee he wasn’t expecting the sight of us.
“Hey!” I waved my free arm at him. I had to repeat myself several more times before I caught his attention. But when I did, the man’s eyes widened so big I thought they might pop out of his head.
“Open the door!” Rachel yelled.
She’d barely gotten the words out of her mouth when—of course—more weapons fire erupted from behind us in the alley. Bullets slammed into the cab, causing Rachel to throw me in the back seat. She dove in after me and crushed the Door Close button with her fist. Our weapons clattered to the cab’s floor.
“DRIVE!” Rachel yelled.
The cab lurched forward as more bullets peppered the glass. I tried to sit up, but my head was pressed hard against the seat’s fake leather. I needed to get an arm under me.
Suddenly, the cab decelerated. From my spot on the back seat, I looked forward and noticed the driver slumped against the steering yolk. A gout of blood flowed from his right temple, and another from his neck. The vehicle slammed into a street pole. Not hard enough to do any damage, but hard enough to send me
to the floor.
“Dammit!” Rachel swung her legs over me, reached behind the dead driver’s back, and pulled the lever to open the door. Then she used both legs to kick the man’s body out and slid into the driver’s seat.
4
Rachel backed the cab away from the pole and into incoming enemy fire. Bullets chewed up the rear end as Rachel changed gears. Then she squeezed the throttle trigger and the cab leaped forward, darting across three lanes and straightening out in the fourth and farthest. Gun fire ebbed as Rachel put some distance between us and our pursuers.
“Nice job,” I said, pushing myself up in the back seat. “I didn’t know Scarlett Mason had her driver’s license.”
“She doesn’t,” Rachel said. She shot me a quick wink and then put her eyes back on the road. “Hey, that needs a tourniquet.”
I looked down at my leg and got my first good look at the injury. No wonder I was in so much pain—the gash looked like somebody had used a set of pruning shears to try and remove a simple splinter. The hole was large enough for me to fit two fingers into, and I was pretty sure I could see my bone. Blood had turned my pants a glossy black, and more was coming.
“You got any recommendations?” I asked.
“Hold on,” Rachel said, making a sharp turn onto a secondary street. “Try cutting off the bottom of your pant leg.”
“Smart thinking.” I pulled out my folding knife and started to cut away the fabric below the knee. “Say, Lars, buddy?”
“At your disposal, sir.”
“You care to direct Miss Scarlett Mason here on the best way to get back to the ship?”
“Right away, sir. Miss Fontaine, I am sending coordinates to this particular vehicle's flight computer now. Its robust onboard navigation system will make your return trip to the ship much easier. However, I will continue to monitor your progress and provide voice commands in addition to the visual cues from the onboard holo display.”
“That would be great, Lars,” Rachel said. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure. And, if I might add, you played a very convincing Scarlett Mason back there.”
“Why, thank you, Lars.”
“Of course, miss.”
“Hey, you two,” I said, preparing myself for the pain that was about to come. “Can we keep the chit chat down a little? We’re not out of the asteroid belt yet.”
“Asteroid belt, sir?”
“Gods, Lars,” I said, grabbing the ends of the tourniquet I’d cut. “It’s another figure of speech.”
“Ah, very good, sir. It seems that—”
I cut Lars’s voice off with a cry so loud it even startled me. But the pain was easily one of the worst things I’d ever felt. “Godsdammit.”
“You okay?” Rachel asked.
“Fine,” I said, gritting my teeth as the improvised medical tool squeezed off the arteries supplying blood to my leg. “But I’m pretty sure this cabby is going to have one hells of a cleaning bill when he gets his car back.”
“Sir,” interjected Lars, “might I note that—”
“The cabby’s dead. I know, Lars. We all know.”
“Ah, I see. Based on your comment, I wasn’t sure if you missed that point.”
“Didn’t miss it, pal. Was right here when it happened.” The pain in my leg was beginning to subside, and I could see the blood flow slowing around the wound. I put my hands on the front seat headrests and pulled myself forward. It wasn’t as graceful as I would have liked, but I did have a pretty severe injury. By the time I got myself situated in the front seat and looked over at Rachel, she looked worried.
“What is it now?” I asked.
Here eyes darted between the small rearview holo screen, the main nav screen, and the rain-soaked windshield. “I don’t think we’re out of this yet.”
I turned around and looked through the remains of the back windshield. “I don’t see anything.”
“You will,” Rachel replied. There was a long bend in the street, one that went out of sight between buildings. All I could see were headlights in the distance. I was about to tell Rachel she was seeing things when cars started to pull over. Sure enough, two large hover trucks with flood lights came barreling around the bend, headed straight for us.
“What is with these guys?” I asked to no one in particular. “And where are all the cops in this damn city?” I turned to Rachel. “How soon to the next ascend point?”
“According to the map,” Rachel said, “we still have another two kilometers before we reach a controlled flight area.”
“We’re never going to make it. Rachel, take us up.”
“Wait, now?”
“Right now, yeah.”
“But that will get every cop in the district…”
I nodded. “On our tail faster than we can blink.”
“And then what?”
“Well, I haven’t figured that part out yet, but it sure beats being shot.”
The words had barely left my mouth when a kinetic round from one of these damned trucks struck a car traveling beside us. The bullet tore through the vehicle and must have hit the condensed drive core because the explosion was terrific. Our cab lurched sideways. The remaining windows blew out, showering Rachel and I in safety glass and water. I saw the vehicle flip end over end, transformed into a charred husk caught on the wind.
When Rachel finally got the car level, a second round gouged out a hole in the pavement less than a meter from our right front quarter panel. The cab bucked, causing my head to strike the dashboard. I blinked away motes of light.
“Get us up, Rachel!” I roared.
Rachel responded right away, activating the vehicle's advanced flight system and diverting power to the ion thrusters. “Hold on,” she said.
The cab pitched backward and pulled away from the road. I watched the traffic beneath us, the cars instantly shrinking in size. We’d gotten only a few meters above the tops of the nearest buildings when an alarm sounded in the cabin.
“Warning,” said an automated female voice, “your vehicle has exceeded the maximum flight ceiling for this traffic zone. Please return—”
“Yeah, no shit,” Rachel said, swiping the message away. She held the throttle and pulled back even more, pitching us into a steep climb.
The wind and rain whipped my hair, and for a split second, I almost forgot about being chased, stabbed, and shot at—all within the first few minutes of our very first mission. We surged between skyscrapers, heading toward the cloud ceiling. The sensation was awesome. It reminded me of chasing criminals through Sellion City—weaving between buildings and hunting down perps. Only this time, we were the perps. Well, kinda. We had killed a few people already—but that was self-defense.
“Heh, Flint?” Rachel asked.
“What is it?” I looked down at the cars. From this height, they looked like tiny toys, with their little headlights and their—
“Where are all the cops?”
I snapped out of my revelry. Maybe the blood loss was getting to me. “Cops?”
“Yeah. We should be surrounded right now, shouldn’t we?”
I looked around, then looked behind us—nearly a straight drop out the back windshield. The only thing following us were those trucks and a few support vehicles.
I sat forward and let my head fall back against the headrest. “Dammit,” I said with a sigh.
“What?” Rachel asked. “What is it?”
“They’ve bought off the cops.”
Rachel looked between me and the front glass at least three times before asking, “You’re not serious right now, are you?”
“Very. Whoever these guys work for, they’ve got pull. Lots of it.”
“Like Oragga,” Rachel said.
I raised my head up as much as I could. “You’re not saying—”
“No, not like this is Oragga’s doing. Gods, Flint. I mean, these guys work for their own type of Oragga.”
“A rival enterprise,” I concluded.
“Right
. Maybe they’re after the same thing we are, but we’re one step ahead.”
“We might be one step ahead but they came with more guns.”
Suddenly a hail of bullets pinged against our back bumper and skittered through the blown out windows. Rachel and I both ducked.
“They’re gaining on us!” she yelled.
“Can’t you go any faster?”
She shot me a death glare and pulled her hand away, revealing her index finger pinned against the throttle.
“So this is all she’s got,” I said. More bullets thudded against the vehicle as I realized what we had to do. “You have much experience flying inner-city?”
Rachel shook her head. “Probably not as much as you, Mr. Police Detective.”
I grinned. “Change seats.”
“But I thought you were afraid of heights.”
“I am. But I’m more afraid of getting shot. Change seats!”
Rachel stabbed the button on the holo display that read Course Hold, and then pulled herself out of her seat. She climbed over me as I slid sideways, moving from one seatback to another. I winced as I brought my legs under the flight yolk and got settled.
“You have any ammo left?” I asked her, depressing the Course Hold button.
She reached in the back seat and collected her pistols. “A little, between the two magazines.”
I reached a hand under the driver’s seat and searched around with my fingers. “Here,” I said, pulling another pistol from a holster fixed to the seat-bottom. “Add this to your collection.”
“Very nice,” Rachel said, admiring the old-school weapon.
“Just use it sparingly. We don’t know how long this is going to last.”
“Copy that,” she said. Then she looked over her shoulder. “They’re gaining on us, Flint.”
“I know, I know.”
The enemy’s vehicles were certainly faster than our taxi, and fighting gravity was not doing us any favors. We were still headed toward the cloud ceiling’s bottom—now less than a kilometer away. The buildings on either side extended through the haze and up to the city’s greater heights. Which was where we needed to get. But with all the heat on our tail, we’d put the Horizon in jeopardy if we went there now, and that was not something I wanted to do.
