The Pack-Retribution

by LM. Preston

  She walked in haste to her motorcycle. Hearing rapid footsteps behind her she stopped short.

  “Glad I caught up to you,” Kurt said.

  Every time she looked at him, she felt indebted. He’d saved her life once. For that she’d always be his friend, and couldn’t bring herself to totally shut him out. “What’s up? I’m in a hurry.”

  “I got a lead for you—us.” His almond-shaped eyes narrowed.

  “Lead for what?” She held her tongue before she blurted out that he wasn’t welcomed to go with her.

  “On Snake. The girl said something about Freaksheep and Snake picking up people at the fiend pits. I know what Snake looks like, and I know how to track him. The hangout she talked about, I hit the streets—did some research and found out exactly where it’s located.”

  Shamira folded her arms, a bit elated that he’d done the hard work of finding the location of where she hoped to find the two degenerates. “Where is it?”

  He smirked, an expression rare on his usually serious face. “You know I’m not going to tell you. But you can go with me. The others are hitting the streets trying to find out if there is a new drug in town. Monev usually introduces a new product as a tease, before they start major production.”

  “Fine, you got me. Let’s go.” She pivoted and led the way to the elevator.

  “So, what you driving these days? I heard Pearl got pretty beat up when your house collapsed.” He followed her onto the elevator.

  “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” She slid a glance at him and tapped the floor.

  He smirked. “You know I don’t talk much.”

  She nodded her affirmation. “Definitely don’t. That’s what I used to like about you.”

  “What you saying? I’m talking too much for you now?” He led the way out of the elevator to the concrete garage and pointed to his motorcycle. “I’m parked by the window. Where are you?”

  “I’m driving Cal’s motorcycle.”

  A brief look of shock marred his expression. “His squad cycle,” he said quietly.

  “No, his personal one. It’s black; the helmet is black and gold. I’ll meet you at the exit to the garage.” Her lips thinned making obvious her resistance to share more.

  After a brief stare, he nodded and walked to his ride.

  A few minutes later, while driving behind Kurt, she ran over the unanswered questions. If Cal figured someone was setting up a copycat crime organization, why didn’t he tell more people? He was the head of Mars Security Force; he had a ton of people at his disposal. If this Snake, a former Monev assassin, was after her, what did she have that he wanted? She did remember when she destroyed the Mons and had her confrontation with Tiger after she rescued David, Tiger told her there was a price on her head. That Renu called out a hit on her. But if he was dead, and Monev destroyed, who would pay the hit men? Who was driving the vendetta?

  She growled. Fiend pit? What the heck was a fiend pit anyway? Monev was known for gaming hells where they sold a drug called scream that gave the players and edge—a high. For the rest of the poor people who couldn’t afford the gaming they sold dream, a drug that was like a hallucinogenic, but the user got to pick the trip they took. That’s why the drug did so well, because the addict actually believed they had control since they decided where the crazy trip the drug would take them on for their high.

  The dry terrain of Mars passed by her in a blur as the road got rocky at their approach to the city of Sector 1. She was confident they’d get more answers. If anyone would know about Snake, it was Kurt or maybe Dion. Kurt was a more mature Assassin, and had been a captive of Monev longer than Dion. What she remembered of Kurt’s story was that he was on his way to his final mission to prove himself worthy to stay alive within the organization. Instead of fighting it out to the death, he’d sneaked away and joined up with them.

  Kurt slowed, his signal pointing left, and cut down one of the seedy areas of Sector 1. The street cleaner androids never visited this area, mainly because they’d been stolen or dismembered for their parts. They drove by deserted building after building, and Shamira’s anxious fingers tightened around the handles of her ride.

  The place Snake and Freaksheep did their recruiting was an abandoned building where kids and homeless adults hung out. Several teenagers were scattered outside of the tall, imposing stucco building. Some were smoking cigarettes, others were just watchful. Kurt pulled around the side of the building and parked his cycle.

  Shamira saved the location in the computer on her helmet and locked up the bike to follow Kurt.

  “You know anybody here?” Shamira flexed her fingers on her gloved hand.

  “I do, but I told them not to be here tonight.” Kurt cut a glance at Shamira and waved her to walk closer with him. He uncharacteristically put his arm around her, then whispered, “Pretend we are together.”

  She nodded absently as she observed kids talking, making out, and smoking. Young kids darted in and out of the doorway that was partially boarded up, while she and Kurt navigated around them to get in. Shamira almost gagged at the odor inside. The windows were boarded up and there was an open fire in the middle of the room, which cast a haunting glow on the concrete walls of the destroyed building.

  “What is this place?” She swallowed down the putrid stink around her.

  “A place where the homeless crash, and you can get some dream-ash if you ask the right questions.” He pulled her with his gloved hand.

  “I can’t believe he recruits assassins here? There are mostly kids here! And the adults look,” she peered closer, deep within a sleeping man on the dirt-filled floor. He had a blue residue in his chest, like a blue smoke was trapped within, “drugged.”

  Kurt grunted. “Are you surprised? People want to get high…someone just found a way to help them—the way of the world. We fight it, and the fools choose it over life.”

  She looked around, eyeing every corner of the large room that had a faint sound of music playing as it warred with the howling wind from outside. “Who are you looking for?”

  “Snake,” he spat.

  Shamira inhaled deeply, her eyes landing on a familiar face. “Over there.” She tilted her head to the left. “That’s Freaksheep.”

  “How do you know?” Kurt answered, skeptical.

  Shamira shrugged. “I was tracking him yesterday. He works with Snake. I know it.”

  “I bet he does, Keeper does the killing and Snake points out the hits.” Kurt tugged at her jacket, leading her between the scattered crush of people.

  They leaned on the wall for several moments, watching Freaksheep and the others, while he spoke to a few kids, young ones and teens, who stood around. Passing of blue filtered cigarettes made its way around the room. Shamira followed the distribution of the drug and realized that it zigzagged but started near Freaksheep.

  “He’s recruiting. Look, see what he did with that kid over there?” Kurt directed his stare.

  “Oh, I got it, he gives them a signal and sends them out the back door.” She tilted her chin. “The young ones through the broken window. What’s with the blue smoke coming out of the cigarettes?”

  “It’s called dream-ash. By-product of dream. I guess someone collected remains from when we blew up the Mons and is pushing a new product.” Kurt shook his head, watching another kid crawl out the broken window behind Freaksheep. “Sick bastard. I bet Snake’s close by. We better track him. Once he’s out of here, I bet he moves fast.” He started to walk toward Freaksheep who appeared to be leaving.

  She followed, ready for a confrontation. Walking through the crush of people, Shamira couldn’t help but hold her nose. The smell from the tiny cigarettes the kids were smoking had a burnt, sickening sweet residue that reminded her of vomit. Both Monev’s drugs of choice were hallucinogens of sorts but they were liquids, not this smoke form that was being sold now.

  Outside, kids of various shapes, ages and sizes were being loaded into a van at the end of the dark alleyway. Shamira st
arted running with Kurt alongside her. Freaksheep saw their pursuit and slapped the side of the van. The last kid was jerked inside, before the van sped off, leaving Freaksheap behind.

  Looking undaunted, Freaksheap smiled and sprinted down the alleyway.

  “I’m calling backup—looks like a setup.” Kurt punched in a code on his computerized wristwatch.

  “No kidding.” Shamira picked up speed as they tracked Freaksheap down the alley and into another abandoned warehouse that was missing a door.

  Kurt pointed. “The bastard’s leading us to another alley.”

  “Yeah, I think that one’s a dead end,” Shamira confirmed by commanding her GPS tracking watch on her wrist to show 3D image of their location.

  Kurt’s watch beeped. “The others are here. They were nearby, and closing in on him from the other side.”

  “On bikes?”

  He nodded. “I think, but they have to get on foot, that alley ahead is narrow.” Kurt kicked through another broken door in the second building they’d followed Freaksheap into. This building was completely gutted; all the windows were missing as well as the doors. It was devoid of walls and was just another concrete box of a building.

  They pursued him out the final door and into the alley ahead. Dark, burnt sides of buildings crushed in on them as the alley appeared to narrow with each step. Its end closed off by a brick wall.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Kurt pumped his arms harder.

  Shamira was right beside him. “It’s a dead end. Where’s he running to?”

  Suddenly, after her next breath, she heard it. Tap…tap…tap. “Assassins! Trap!”

  Kurt looked up as he ran. Shamira’s eyes followed, and in the darkness, from several levels, men dropped to the ground out of broken windows scattered throughout the alley. Ropes whipped closed, and they silently landed around them like rapid raindrops.

  “You get that bastard! I’ll fight these off until the others come!” Kurt pulled his protective hood down over his face. He grabbed his gun and started shooting. Periodically, he’d jerk or flip out of the way of raining fire.

  Shamira slid her protective mask over her face. She flicked her wrist and sent the cutting star through the air to slice the arm of an attacker. Blood gushed, and his hand slackened before his gun fell to the ground. Building anger and fury filled her, and in an instant, she’d landed an uppercut to his chin. Pivoting, she kicked his chest and dropped to her knees to avoid laser fire from his partner, who hit the falling body of his comrade instead. A few charged her and she landed a kick, back-flipped over another and kneeled to toss another star at an attacker.

  Sliding her gun from her jacket, she fired at another then another. She made her way toward Freaksheap, who was getting away.

  A yell vibrated around them and she turned briefly to hear Mitch’s war cry. A smile slipped to her face when Kurt answered with his. Picking up speed, she was gaining on Freaksheap, when from behind, a blow to the back of her head sent her reeling forward, tripping her as she tried to regain her balance. The assailant didn’t give Shamira time to recover and came down on her back with two heavy fists, knocking her to the ground.

  Pain sliced Shamira’s back, her chin, and the air escaped from her lungs. She flipped over onto her back to kick him square in the neck with such force he gagged. Pushing up on her arms, her back bowed as Shamira wrapped her legs like scissors around his neck. With a squeeze and a twist, his eyes went vacant. Tendrils of black streaks multiplied on his face and his cindered body fell around her in pieces.

  She flipped up and took off toward the dead end. Freaksheap was frantically rubbing his hands on the wall, apparently looking for a hidden exit. The fighting behind her continued, but she only had eyes for him. Shamira charged him. Grabbing a ball from her waist, she threw it squarely at his face. The metal ball opened and a beaded metal web surged forward, slapping Freaksheap’s head securely on the wall with a sickening crack.

  Taking several deep breaths, she calmed the angry power just under her skin, pushing it down, and willing herself to keep this man alive long enough to get the information she needed. Disgust filled her at his feeble attempts to remove the metal webbing, whose hooked ends pulled him tighter against the wall.

  “Give me information and you may live tonight! Where is Snake? His hideout!”

  “Kiss off.” He coughed. “What you’d do to me is nothing compared to him, kid,” he spat, but it didn’t have any power. The spittle dribbled through the webbing around his face to slide down his neck.

  Her eyes squinted. “Really?” She reached in her belt and took out a syringe, figuring the truth tick was too gentle an option for him. The syringe filled with the truth serum would work much faster, besides she could make it a heck of a lot more painful for the man who persuaded kids to be sold into slavery.

  “Wh-what the hell is that?” A flash of fear crossed his face.

  She smirked. “Something kids do to bad guys.” With anger she jabbed the needle deep within his neck until he screamed in pain. Then she broke the tip off, leaving the needle deep within.

  “Is there a hit on Special Nobles?! When? Who?”

  His eyes glazed over, his lips plumped from the side effect of the drug. He groaned. “Please…take…needle,” he coughed.

  “Answer me!” She kneed him in the groin.

  “Yes, he will die.” Phlegm fell out of the side of his mouth. “By one of your…own, a friend.”

  She grabbed his coat, shaking him. “When? Who?”

  “Don’t know who, but…” His eyelids swelled, tears fell from his eyes during a coughing fit. “Tonight, he dies.”

  “No!” She stomped on his foot. “The kids, where are you taking them? Who’s taking them?”

  “Snake. To make…ash.” His head fell.

  “I’ve got to go, get…to my dad,” she mumbled and tugged on the metal ball, causing the hooks to release and retreat within.

  His body slumped to the ground as she spun away. Shamira jogged down the alley toward the others who stood waiting, the ashes of their attackers blowing in the wind. Her eyes landed on Valens and a rush of need filled her. She wanted to run into his arms, but instead she bit her lip to regain control of her anger.

  “What did you do to him? He was the only lead we had,” Valens asked harshly.

  A lump formed within her chest at the unusual roughness in Valens’ demand. She whispered, “I didn’t kill him. I’ve got to go and check on my father and figure out where Snake took those kids.”

  “We’re right behind.” Kurt fell in step behind her.

  “You, Valens and Mitch meet me at headquarters. I have someone I’ve got to check on.” Shamira bolted into a run and didn’t stop until she got to her motorcycle. The one final thought before she took off was of her father.

  Chapter 33

  Shamira made it to headquarters in record time. She stood in the hallway, pushing the UP button on the elevator as well as repeating the floor number. “Nineteen. Nineteen. Hurry up. No other passengers!”

  Tapping her foot impatiently, she hurried off the elevator in the direction of her father’s room. Heart beating fast, she just had to check, had to make sure that he was all right. Four guards stood in front of his door. More than before. Cold fingers of anxious fear clawed up her back. Something was wrong; she just knew it.

  The hallway was a blur, she was running, then slid in front of the guards, who stood ready to fire.

  “Let me through, it’s my dad!” Busting past the burly bodies guarding the door, she pushed one, then another who attempted to hold her back. “My father. Dad! What’s wrong? Someone’s trying to kill him.”

  Tears ran from her eyes. The doctors were covering his face with an oxygen mask, fighting to hold down his convulsing body. “God! What happened! Who did this?”

  “Please, Cadet Nobles, you have to stay back. Stop fighting us!” Elite Officer Lloyd slid slightly from her push.

  “You will move out of my way before I hu
rt you. I have to see him now!” Shamira screamed. She couldn’t lose him again. Her insides felt like they were being ripped in two. The pain so unbearable, she sank to her knees and sobbed.

  Warm hands tentatively touched her shoulders. Valens soothing voice, her haven for this last year, whispered softly to her, “It’ll be all right. My father’s in there with him.” With a gentle squeeze, he lifted her and turned her into his arms. “He’ll let us in as soon as your dad is stable.” He hugged her tightly. “Shhh…”

  Gradually she composed herself and unraveled her fisted hands from his shirt. “Than…thank you. I’m okay now.” She pulled out of his arms, the back of her hand wiping away her tears.

  “You sure?” Valens studied her, concern, longing and love showing brightly in his eyes.

  Shamira nodded, afraid to speak, because she’d probably beg him to take her back right then and there. But she couldn’t, she chided herself, risking telling him until she figured out who, on their team, would try to murder her father. Freaksheap had taunted her in his truth telling, and his threat had come true. Someone may have killed her father tonight. Somebody she called friend.

  With a sigh, she turned away and stood quietly in front of the wall of guards that protected her father. On her tiptoes she peered over one of their shoulders and spied Special Andrews shooting medicine into her father, which caused his convulsions to subside.

  “Even though we aren’t together. I’m here for you. I wish I could do something to make you…to take all of your pain away,” he said quietly.

  Shamira swallowed. “You being here right now is helping—a lot.” She tilted her head to the side, unable to bring herself to look him in the eye when she asked, “Please, Valens. Can we still…can we be friends? I really need you to tell me you are still my friend.”

  Valens stepped close, almost touching and whispered. “Always.”