Storming the Fortress
I hailed a horse and carriage to take us to the Fortress. It was too damned far to walk, especially after that business outside Strangefellows, and I felt in distinct need of a bit of a sit-down. And it was probably a good idea to get my face off the streets for a while. The horse came trotting over, glaring down any traffic that looked like getting in his way. He was a huge brute of a Clydesdale, white as the moon, with broad shoulders and massive silver-hoofed feet, hauling an ornate nineteenth-century hansom carriage, of dark ebony and sandalwood, with solid brass trimmings. The man sitting up top, wrapped in an old leather duster, was carrying a five-foot-long blunderbuss, its long stock etched with offensive charms and sigils. He looked carefully about him as the horse manoeuvred the carriage in beside Joanna and me, clearly ready to use his huge gun at a moment’s notice. Joanna had recovered most of her composure by now, if not all her old arrogance, but she was immediately charmed by the horse. She went immediately over to him, to pat his shoulder and rub his nose. The horse whinnied appreciatively.
“What a wonderful animal,” said Joanna, almost cooing. “Do you think he’d like some sugar, or a sweetie?”
“No thanks, lady,” said the horse. “Gives me cavities. And I hate going to the dentist. Wouldn’t say no to a carrot, mind, if you had such a thing about your person.”
Joanna blinked a few times, and then looked at me accusingly. “You do this to me deliberately. Every time I think I’m finally getting my head round the Nightside, you spring something like this on me. I swear, my nerves are sitting in a corner, crying their eyes out.” She looked back at the horse. “Sorry. No carrots.”
“Then get in the carriage and stop wasting my time,” said the horse. “Time is money, in this business, and I’ve got payments to make.”
“Excuse me,” said Joanna, diffidently, “but am I to understand that this … is your carriage? You’re in charge here?”
“Damn right,” said the horse. “Why not? I do all the hard work. Out in all weathers, wearing grooves in my shoulders from this bloody harness. And I know every road, route, and resurfaced bypass in the Nightside, plus a whole bunch of short cuts that aren’t on anybody’s maps. You name it, and I can get you there, and faster than any damned cab.”
“And the … gentleman up top?” said Joanna.
“Old Henry? He’s just there to take the fares, make change, and ride shotgun. No-one messes with us, unless they fancy going home with their lungs in a bucket. Handy things, hands. Once I’ve paid off the bank, I’m thinking about investing in some cybernetic arms. If only so I can scratch my own damned nose. Now are we going to stand around talking all night, for which I charge extra, or are we actually going somewhere?”
“You know the Fortress?” I said.
“Oh sure. No problem. Though I think I’ll drop you off at the end of the block. Never know when those crazies are going to start shooting again.”
Old Henry grunted loudly in agreement and hefted his blunderbuss. I held open the carriage door for Joanna, and she climbed in, somewhat dazed. I got in after her, slammed the door, and we were off. The seats were red leather, and very comfortable. Not a lot of room, but cosy. It was a smooth ride, which argued for some fairly sophisticated springs somewhere down below.
“I don’t like cabs,” I said, just to make conversation while Joanna got her mental breath back. “You never know who they’re really working for, or who they’re reporting back to. And the drivers always want to talk politics. The few horse and carriage outfits working the Nightside are strictly independent. Horses are stubborn that way. You might have noticed Old Henry doesn’t even have any reins; the horse makes all the decisions. Besides, Old Henry probably needs both hands free to handle that massive shooting iron of his.”
“Why does he need a gun?” said Joanna, her voice back to normal.
“Keeps the other traffic at bay. Not everything that looks like a car is a car. And you never know when the trolls are going to take up carjacking again.”
“I feel a distinct need to change the subject,” said Joanna. “Tell me more about this Suzie Shooter we might be running into at the Fortress. She sounds … fascinating.”
“Oh, she’s all that and more, is Suzie,” I said, smiling. “She tracks down runaway villains like a hunter on the trail of big game. There’s nowhere they can hide that she won’t go after them, no protection so overwhelming that she won’t go charging right in, guns blazing. Not the most subtle of people, Suzie, but definitely one of the most determined. No job ever turned down, no target ever too dangerous, if the price is right. Suzie’s been known to use every kind of gun known to man, as well as a few she’s had made up specially, but mostly she favours the pump-action shotgun. You can usually tell where she’s been, because it’s on fire. And you can track her down by following the kicked-in doors, scattered screaming and blood splashed up the walls. Her presence can start a fight, or stop one dead. Hell of a woman.”
“Were you ever… close? You said you had a history…”
“We worked some cases together, but Suzie doesn’t let anyone get close. I don’t think she knows how. Men have been known to enter her life from time to time, but they usually exit running.”
“Razor Eddie, Shotgun Suzie… you know the most interesting people, John. Don’t you know any ordinary people?”
“Ordinary people don’t tend to last long, in the Nightside.”
“Is she likely to be a help, or a hindrance?”
“Hard to tell,” I said honestly. “Suzie’s not the easiest of people to work with, especially if you prefer to bring your quarry back alive. Suzie’s a killer. She only became a bounty hunter because it provides her with a mostly legal excuse for shooting lots of people.”
“But you like her, don’t you? I can hear it in your voice.”
“She’s been through a lot. Endured things that would have broken a lesser person. I admire her.”
“Do you trust her?”
I smiled briefly. “You can’t trust anyone here. You should know that by now.”
She nodded. “Razor Eddie.”
“And he’s my friend. Mostly.”
We spent the rest of the ride in silence. We both had a lot to think about. Joanna spent a lot of the time looking out the window. I didn’t. I’d seen it all before. The carriage finally lurched to a halt, and the horse yelled back that we’d reached our destination. I got out first, and paid Old Henry, while Joanna got her first look at the Fortress. (I made sure Old Henry got a good tip, one he’d remember. Never know when you might need a ride in a hurry.) The horse waited till Old Henry nodded that everything was okay, and then he set off again. I went over to Joanna, who was still staring at the Fortress. It was worth looking at. Hadn’t changed a bit in five years.
The Fortress started out life as a discount warehouse. Stack them high, sell them cheap, and absolutely no refunds. It dealt mostly in weapons, from all times and places, no questions asked, but it made the mistake of flooding the market. Even in the Nightside, there are only so many people who need killing at any given time. So the warehouse tried quietly instigating a few turf wars, to stimulate demand, and that was when the Authorities took an interest.
Next day the property was up for sale. The alien abductees took it over, lock, stock and a whole lot of gun barrels.
The Fortress was a squarish building of several storeys, with all its windows and doors protected behind reinforced steel shutters. There were heavy-duty gun emplacements on the flat roof, looking up as well as down, and all kinds of electronic gear. No-one ever approached the Fortress without being carefully scrutinised well in advance. The word FORTRESS had been painted in big letters across the front wall, over and over, in every language under the sun, and a few spoken only in the Nightside. They weren’t hiding. They’re proud of what they are. The Fortress is still primarily a last refuge for alien abductees, but it was there for anyone in need, for short-term stays. They’d provide counseling, an
other address more suited to your needs, and whatever kind of weapons you needed to make you feel safe. The Fortress firmly believed in the Kill them all and let God sort them out school of therapy. Being abducted from the age of ten will do that to you. Those few people stupid enough to abuse the Fortress’s hospitality never lived long enough to boast about it.
The Fortress stood between a Voodoo Business School and an Army Surplus Store. Joanna just had to stop and look in the windows. The Voodoo establishment’s current display boasted St. John The Conqueror’s Root in easy-to-swallow capsules, Mandrake Roots with screaming human faces, and a Pick & Mix section of assorted charms. They’d dressed up a window dummy as Baron Samedi, complete with mock graveyard, but it looked more tacky than anything.
The Army Surplus window had uniforms from throughout history, a display of medals from countries that didn’t exist any more, and a single executive’s suitcase, closed, marked Backpack nuke; make us an offer. Joanna looked at that for a long time, before turning to me.
“Are they serious? Could that actually be the real thing?”
“Must be something wrong with it,” I said. “Otherwise, the Fortress would have bought it. Maybe you have to supply your own plutonium.”
“Jesus wept,” said Joanna.
“He did indeed,” I agreed. “And over worse things than this.”
We approached the Fortress’s front door, and that was when I first got the feeling that something was seriously wrong. The security camera over the door had been smashed, and the reinforced steel door was standing slightly ajar. I frowned. That door was never left open. Never. I stopped Joanna with a gentle pressure on her arm, gestured for her to be quiet and stay well behind me, and then I carefully pushed the door open a way. From inside came the faint sounds of distant gun-fire and the occasional scream. I smiled briefly.
“Looks like Suzie’s here. Stick close to me, Joanna, and try to look harmless.”
I pushed the door all the way open and looked in. The lobby was deserted. I walked in, very quietly, and studied the situation carefully.
The lobby had probably been very comfortable originally, designed to put new visitors at their ease, but now it was just a mess. All the up-to-the-moment furniture had been overturned, the country-side scenes on the walls hung crookedly, punctured with bullet holes, and the tall rubber plant in the corner had been riddled with extremely unfriendly fire. Normally you had to pass through a bulky ex-airport metal detector to get into the lobby proper. Someone had thrown it half-way across the room. There was still some smoke drifting on the air, and the unmistakable smell of cordite. Someone had let off a whole lot of rounds in here, and pretty damned recently at that.
But there weren’t any bodies, anywhere.
I slowly crossed the lobby, Joanna sticking as close to me as she could without actually climbing into my pockets. I checked out the security cameras in the ceiling corners. The little red lights showed they were still operating. Someone had to have seen what went down here, but there was no sign of any reinforcements. Which could only mean the real action was still going on, somewhere deeper inside the building. I was beginning to get a really bad feeling.
The door on the other side of the lobby, that gave access to the inner layers of the Fortress, was also standing ajar. All its locks and bolts had been smashed, and one of the door’s hinges had been torn clean away from the door-jamb. I carefully pushed the door aside and peered out into the corridor beyond. There were fresh bullet scars on the walls, but still no bodies. From further ahead came the sound of multiple gun-shots and angry shouting.
“Maybe we should nip next door to the Army Surplus and pick up some guns of our own?” said Joanna.
“Would you know how to use one, if we did?”
“Yes.”
I looked at her. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? I don’t like guns. They make it too easy to make the kind of mistakes you can’t put right by saying ‘Sorry’ afterwards. Besides, I’ve never felt the need.”
“What about the Harrowing?”
“Guns wouldn’t have stopped them anyway.”
Joanna gestured at the cameras up by the corridor ceiling. “Why all the security?”
“Abductee logic. They have cameras in every room, every corridor, every nook and cranny. And more hidden booby-traps than I feel comfortable thinking about. And, a whole team of people whose only job is to sit and watch the monitors, in shifts. These people are genuinely afraid that the aliens will come for them again. And since no-one knows how the little grey bastards come and go, the cameras are always running. The idea is, that while human eyes might be fooled, cameras would still catch them. I suppose once the security team spots them, they hit every alarm in sight, and everyone grabs the nearest weapon and shoots the shit out of anything that doesn’t look entirely human. They even have cameras in the toilets and showers, just in case. No-one here is being taken again without one hell of a fight first.”
Joanna pulled a face. “No privacy anywhere? Seriously paranoid.”
“Not if They really are after you. And the more I look at what’s happened here … the less I like it. All the signs are that someone, or something, crashed into the lobby, and the Fortress people opened fire. To no obvious effect. From the sound of it, they’re still fighting, but they’re clearly on the retreat. Something is pushing them further and further back, into the heart of their own territory. So far, so obvious. But, where are the bodies? Maybe, just maybe… the aliens have come at last, looking for their missing specimens…”
“Are you serious?” said Joanna. “Aliens?”
I looked down the empty corridor, considering the possibilities. “All sorts end up in the Nightside. Past, present and future. Aliens are no stranger than a lot of the things I’ve seen here.”
“Maybe we should come back another time,” said Joanna.
“No. These are good people. I can’t walk away, when they might need help. I never could. And Suzie’s probably in there somewhere … Damn. Damn. I really didn’t need this right now. You can wait outside if you want, while I check this out.”
“No. I feel safer with you, wherever you are. My hero.”
We shared a quick smile, and then I led the way down the corridor. The sound of gun-fire slowly grew louder, along with incoherent shouting and cursing. Lots more structural damage along the way, but still no bodies. Not even any blood. Which, given the sheer amount of gun-fire, was disturbing … The corridor ended in a sharp right turn. We were right on top of the fire-fight now. I made sure Joanna was standing well back, and then peered quickly round the corner. Whereupon everything became extremely clear. I should have known. I sighed deeply, and stepped round the corner and into clear view. I raised my voice, cold and commanding and really annoyed.
“Everybody cut it out, right now!”
The shooting stopped immediately. Silence fell across the corridor before me. Smoke curled thickly on the still air. At the far end of the corridor, a whole crowd of people were sheltering behind furniture they’d dragged out of adjoining rooms to pile into a barricade. I counted at least twenty different kinds of guns protruding through the improvised barricade before I gave up. Most of them looked to be full automatic. And facing them, at my end of the corridor, was a tall blonde in black leathers, with a pump-action shotgun in her hands, kneeling behind her own improvised barricade. She looked back at me and nodded briskly.
“John. Heard you were back. Be with you in a minute, soon as I’ve dealt with this bunch of self-abuse experts.”
“Put your gun down, Suzie,” I said sternly. “I mean it. No more shooting from anyone. Or I am going to get seriously cranky with everyone. Suddenly and violently and all over the place.”
“Oh hell,” said a voice from behind the far barricade. “As if things weren’t bad enough, now John Taylor’s here. I could spit. All right, which of you idiots upset him?”
Suzie Shooter stood up and snarled at me. She had to be in her late twenties now, a
nd still looked good enough to eat. If you didn’t mind a meal that would very definitely bite back. As always, Suzie was dressed in black motorcycle leathers, adorned with steel chains and studs, and two bandoliers of bullets crossing her impressive chest. Knee-length leather boots with steel toe-caps completed the look. Suzie had seen Girl on a Motorcycle and Easy Rider more times than was healthy, and loved every Hell’s Angels movie Roger Corman ever made.
She had a striking face, with a strong bone structure, ending in a determined jaw, and she kept her shoulder-length straw-blonde hair back out of her face with a leather headband supposedly fashioned from the hide of the first man she’d killed. When she was twelve. Her eyes were a very dark blue, cold and unwavering, and her tightly pursed mouth rarely relaxed into a smile, except in the midst of mayhem and bloodshed, where she felt most at home. She’d never been known to suffer fools gladly, spent her money as fast as it came in, and in general kicked arse with vim and enthusiasm. She liked to say she had no friends and her enemies were dead, but a few people have been known to sneak their way into her life, almost despite her. I, for my sins, was one of them.
Standing there, set against the curling smoke and swaying lights of the corridor, she looked like a Valkyrie from Hell.
“Let me guess,” I said, just a little tiredly. “You smashed your way in, demanded they turn your bounty over to you, and when they declined, you declared war. Right?”
“I have serious paper on this guy,” said Suzie. “And they were very rude to me.”
I considered the matter. “I’m sure they’re very sorry. Well, try not to kill them all, Suzie. I need someone alive and mostly intact to answer a few questions.”
“Hey! Hold everything!” said the voice from behind the far barricade. “It’s possible … we may have been a bit hasty. Nobody here wants to take on Shotgun Suzie and John bloody Taylor unless it’s absolutely necessary. Can’t we talk about this?”
Something From the Nightside Page 7
