Whatever she had said politely, they ignored. Instead, the leader hopped up onto one of the steps. “Come on sweet thing, don't you want to play with us?”
“Please, just let me inside.” This time Terry’s high-pitched voice was clear and rang with fear.
At my feet, Binksley started barking, sensing his owner in trouble. I kicked at him gently. “Stop,” I whispered, but the little dog was agitated and paddled to the front door, pawing at it.
I looked through the window at the scene unfolding on the stoop below. Why couldn’t the guys just leave her alone? My knees shook, and my breath came rapid and raspy. As if I was having a stress reaction, a surge of adrenaline coursed through me.
Passersby on the street spotted the group of men hovering around Terry like killer whales encircling a seal. They lowered their heads and quickened their paces. What was wrong with people? Was that how it was around here? Nobody would challenge these thugs?
I pounded on the glass and yelled, “Let her go!” I searched for an opening to raise the window, but it was painted shut. Furious, I yanked the blinds up, and the cord swung like an out-of-control pendulum. Closing my fist, I banged on the clear pane, then pressed myself against it, trying to catch their attention, but either they didn’t hear me or they ignored me.
Terry stood with her arms crossed as the men encircled her. The leader was talking to her now, softly, and then she slapped his face. He shoved her down the front steps.
And that's when I lost it.
Six
Something snapped inside me. Like a pot boiling over on a stove, I couldn’t bottle my rage. As I raced down the dank hallway stairs after bolting out Terry's door, my vision was crisp, sharp, as if my eyesight had become pixelated. My usual pain and stiffness were pushed aside as I pumped my legs, clearing each step effortlessly. Somehow my body was lighter, as if a burden had been lifted from my muscles. Everything flowed.
At the bottom of the stairs, I reached the building's front door and stepped outside. The leader—presumably the one they’d called Benny—faced me and went slack-jawed for a moment before he recovered.
“Hey, fellas. We got company. You didn't tell me you had a friend, blind girl.” He chortled, and I wanted nothing more than to kick him in the nuts.
Terry spun, revealing teary eyes. “Diya?” Her voice shook. “Go back inside.”
But I straightened, knocking my shoulder blades together so fast that something in my spine cracked.
“What's with the frown, new girl? What, are you two sisters or something?” Benny teased.
“Nah,” one of his friends said. “They’re lesbos.”
Benny guffawed and slapped his knee. “I have an idea. We go up inside your apartment and the two of you take turns getting us off.”
Terry stiffened and squeezed her eyes shut. Behind me, at the top of the stairs, Binksley growled and sprinted out the door, finding Terry and barking at the men as he lingered by her ankles.
“What's this? Your guard dog?” Benny kicked Binksley in the side, making the small dog yelp as he flew through the air and smashed against the wall of the building. Benny and the others roared in laughter.
“No!” Terry shouted and lunged for Binksley, but Redbeard grabbed her around the middle and pulled her against him, trapping her in his arms.
I clenched my fists, and my strange grid vision homed in on the man holding Terry. “Let her go,” I said, and a voice I didn’t even recognize came out—firm and commanding.
Benny reared his head. “Whoa! Blind girl's friend has serious attitude.”
My target vision locked on his face—seeking first the bridge of his nose, then the base of his throat as a slow sickening realization dawned on me. These were all pressure points that I could use to kill him.
He swaggered forward, lurching toward me fast, but I raised my arms in front of my chest, fists clenched, and stepped back on my right leg, bracing myself.
“Hey,” he said, suddenly stopping and holding his hands up, palms open. “I don't mean any harm. We just want to party.” His breath reeked of cheap booze and stale halitosis. My vision was so crisp I could see his white-coated tongue.
Passersby on the street saw the group gathered around us and hurried off. Nearby food vendors started dragging their carts away.
“You and your friends need to leave,” I said.
“You hear that, Paul? We need to leave now.”
Redbeard, who still held Terry, laughed. “But I was just getting started.” He ground his hips against Terry's back, and I wanted to vomit.
Enough.
I lunged toward Benny and struck him in the left shoulder. He staggered backward, his arms pinwheeling like a distorted jack-in-the-box. The others backed up a step, and one of them went to Benny’s side.
“Get this bitch!” he said.
I sidestepped over to Redbeard—the one named Paul—and raised my elbow, slamming it into the side of his head. It happened so fast, he groaned in surprise and fell to the ground, dragging Terry down with him. They landed on the concrete hard, and I leaned down and grabbed Terry's hands to help her up. Trembling, she stood. Her eyes were glassy.
“Get inside,” I whispered.
She wasted no time and teetered toward the front door, calling out for Binksley who whimpered.
I spun—just in time to dodge the baseball bat swinging at my face; it slammed into my torso instead. The impact knocked the wind from my chest, and I reeled backward, then crashed onto the asphalt, my right shoulder slamming into the ground. Then Benny and his cohorts were there, driving their steel-toed boots into my stomach and back.
Each kick rocketed ripples of pain through my already-tender torso. I cried out, but nobody could help me.
“You bitch,” Benny said. “You think you can hit me? Think again. You'll be sorry you ever laid eyes on us.”
He loomed above me with the heavy, aluminum bat, poised and ready to strike.
Threat level 9.2. Benny was going to kill me. The bat rested against his shoulder as he swiveled his hips and tilted his head. I rose, forcing myself to get off the pavement, feeling every tender inch of my bruised skin, convinced my torso was now engraved with their boot marks.
“Oh, I'm gonna love this,” he announced with a creepy grin. His friends urged him on, clapping, hooting, and stomping.
I glanced sideways, searching for Terry—relieved she had made it inside her apartment building. She clutched Binksley in her arms and waited, listening behind a window adjacent to the front door. Good, at least she's safe. As for me…
Despite the fact that I was a fugitive, I wished that police or NeuroDyne soldiers would arrive—anything to save me at this moment. But instead, Benny kicked my ankle, sending me sprawling again onto the thick asphalt. He followed up with another kick to my left rib cage, forcing me to roll over onto my right side. Instinctively, I pulled my legs in and curled up like some kind of small worm folding in on itself. Above me, Benny cackled.
“Wait,” one of his friends said, maybe the one named Paul. “Before you bash her brains in, don't you want to have some fun with her?”
Benny hawked and spit a wad of phlegm onto the concrete next to me. “Nah, I just want to waste her.”
“But she's kind of hot in a weird way. I don't know, man,” said the other. “I’d at least get one off on her.”
Silence reigned as Benny considered. Coughing and half-groaning, I rolled onto my knees and started to crawl away. That's when I spotted two men wearing dark gray uniforms; their visors said, Police. They flinched, noticing the gang of men. One of them—the taller one—started toward us, but the other cop grabbed his arm, nodding at my punishers. After a moment, the two police officers continued walking, ignoring the scene. I grunted and struggled to cry out. What kind of police ignored an active crime scene and let violent hoodlums assault people on the streets?
I was on my own, and I needed to figure out something fast, or I was dead.
If I was truly cyborg—
enhanced, special—why couldn’t I fight them off? Why did pain affect me so much? Also, the tingling I’d felt—the electricity that had raced across my body—had vanished. I had no idea how to turn it on when I needed it. There was no time to reflect because I heard, “Get her,” from behind, then someone grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of my head and dragged me up and onto my feet.
“Up against the wall,” Benny commanded. “I’ll do her right now.”
They shoved me against a grimy, concrete wall as the one named Paul gripped my arm tightly on one side, and another guy yanked my other arm to the side, fixing me in place. Swaggering, Benny approached, unbuckling his pants. His lecherous eyes studied my body. He leaned in, nearly touching his face to mine, and grabbed my left breast. Then, he ran his hands down my torso before gripping my waist. Benny pushed the elastic waistband of my cotton pants down. I struggled, trying to thrash my arms, but the men held on with firm grips. Benny pressed his body against mine, sending rivets of pain across my sides and back; several ribs must have been broken. He started to gyrate against me and then stepped back, a vacant look crossing his features. He slapped me hard across the face.
“She's almost too ugly for me to screw,” he said, smirking.
“Let her go,” Terry shouted from the building. I hoped she wouldn’t come charging out here like an idiot. She distracted them, but only for a moment.
“Go shut her up,” Benny muttered to Paul.
Obedient, Paul released my left arm, and Benny latched on to it, pressing against my side as he reached into my pants. And then my cyborg brain woke up—a jolt began inside me that started at my core and spread into my legs, all the way to my toes, through my arms and up into my neck until it flooded my face with a tingling sensation like the one I’d felt before—when the men were harassing Terry. The strange enhanced vision returned, and everything was crisp—so sharply vivid that I could see the beads of sweat on Benny’s face in nearly microscopic detail. The droplets pooling as if suspended in slow motion.
Pressing my right heel against the wall, I kicked away. The motion sent me surging forward, toppling Benny and freeing my other arm from the man holding me. Surprised at my own momentum, I couldn’t recover in time and landed on top of Benny.
“What the fuck?” he grunted. Fueled by the strange intensity, I rolled sideways, away from him. Somehow my pain—the broken ribs, the bruises, and cuts—was muted. I rose and shifted into a fighting stance as the criss-crossed target in my vision scanned my adversaries. Benny, the largest member of the gang, was trying to pick himself up off the street. His heart thumped at 171 beats per minute.
The man who held me against the wall hurried over to Benny. “Are you all right, man?”
Paul was attempting to break down the front door separating him from Terry. I glanced over, zooming in on the situation. Terry had disappeared from view, and I hoped she’d escaped to the sanctuary of her apartment. Benny was back on his feet, lumbering toward me with clenched fists.
“You bitch,” he said. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
But now I was light on my feet, the pain no longer holding me back. Benny lurched forward, reached his arm back, and swung a meaty hook. I ducked and landed two fast jabs against his belly. He grunted in surprise and doubled over.
From behind, Paul landed a hit on the side of my head, knocking me several steps off-balance, but I recovered as he shadowed me, swinging madly. Dodging his blows, I shoved him away, propelling him using his own forward motion. Then I moved behind him, kicked out, and landed my heel on his ass so forcefully that he crashed into the metal garbage cans with a thunderous clatter.
I spun, locking my augmented gaze on Benny, who was still reeling, when the third punk careened toward me with a baseball bat. I lunged sideways just as he swung.
“Fucking kill her,” Benny roared. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t about to attack. Not yet, but he was recovering—and quickly. Meanwhile, my baseball attacker surged forward, wielding the bat. This time, I caught it in mid-swing, grasping the smooth aluminum between my palms, stopping it before it hit my face. His jaw grew slack, and he tried to yank it away from my grip but failed. He let go and staggered backward. I lunged forward and jammed the bat between his legs, then pushed him to the pavement where he writhed in pain. Then I turned to face Benny.
His sweating had increased considerably, and his heart pumped like a hummingbird on steroids. “Be nice now,” he said as I gripped the baseball bat, taking a step toward him. “We were just having some fun. No harm done.”
I took another step forward, and he backed away. “I don't want you ever coming back here.”
“Hey,” he said with a sheepish grin, “I get it. We’ll just be on our way now.”
But I stepped forward, swinging the bat and just missing him. “Never come back to this building.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as shaky as my legs felt. “If you ever do, if you ever hurt that woman again, I'll find you and kill you.”
His devilish grin faltered, and I knew he was scared. A red alert flashed onto my vision. Footsteps pounded in my eardrums—someone running behind me—and Paul, who’d been at the door, was now charging at me. I spun a half-second too late as he leaped, his right arm raised, arcing. Silver flashed from a blade, the metal reflecting the street’s neon lights. And in another second, it was done. I looked down—he had sliced a gash across my left shoulder. I reached up, found the wound, expecting blood until I remembered when Drive Nine had cut me open. No blood or tissue, just cold metal and a network of mesh.
The two men stared, wide-eyed and uncomprehending.
“That should have taken her down,” Paul said.
“What the fuck are you?” Benny asked.
I stared down at my shoulder. My outer flesh had been torn open. The wound should’ve been serious. My assailant had managed to cut deep, tearing some of the mesh, leaving a few stray wires hanging out, so that a few drops of oily blue liquid leaked and stained my torn shirt.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Paul said, tugging at Benny.
“You freak,” Benny hissed. He backed away, still watching me. Then they fled through the dark streets, leaving their friend behind—the one I’d injured. I stood over him and told him to get lost; he groaned and crawled away.
Now that the altercation was over, the pedestrian traffic picked back up. Food vendors emerged from their hiding spots, glancing at me warily. On the apartment building’s second story, Terry waited beside the window. Her lips were drawn tight, and I yelled, “It's okay. They're gone.”
She disappeared, ducking away from the window. Trash and debris were scattered across the grimy pavement. I shuffled over—the pain was returning with a vengeance—and placed one of the cans upright, then bent down and started picking up trash.
Terry came out, walking fast down her apartment’s familiar pathway. “Are you okay?”
“Tired,” I said. “But I'm alive. Gonna need some zandal.” I stared down at my shoulder. “And a bandage if you have one.”
“Of course. Oh, thank Earth and Mars that you’re okay.”
“Binksley?” I asked.
“He's had a big scare. I think he’s still in shock. But his injuries don’t seem life-threatening. Thank the Earth. If I’d lost him…”
“Those men won’t be back for a while.” At least I hoped.
“I heard.”
Terry helped me pick up trash, and we were nearly done when I noticed a tattered piece of paper on the ground. WANTED, the words read in bold, capital letters underneath a black-and-white image of a woman’s face. I picked up the page to study it, smoothing out the wrinkles. The face looked oddly familiar.
And that's when I realized the woman on the poster was me.
Seven
I folded the poster in half twice and slid it into the waistband of my pants carefully so Terry didn’t hear. My augmented vision—the display and bioinformation readouts—had stayed on and indicated her increase
d body temperature and heightened heart rate meant she was undergoing a stress reaction. I didn’t need to add to her dismay.
We finished cleaning up the spilled trash, and I arranged the garbage cans into a row.
“How does it look?” she asked. “Does everything appear normal? I don’t want anyone showing up asking questions.”
The road in front of the apartment building was clear of debris, no sign remaining that there had been a struggle. I scanned the small, square windows of the building’s facade, and in one, a man startled and flicked his curtain closed. In another second-story window, the face of a young boy stared out, unflinching with a slack jaw. A woman came and dragged him away.
“It's fine,” I told her. “Let's get inside.”
We trudged up the stairs, and Terry's steps were heavy, her shoulders hunched. After crossing her doorstep, I plopped down on the couch and gasped as the pain in my ribs flared up. Damn. I’d hoped that pain wouldn't affect me as much anymore—that some cyborg power would kick in.
“You poor thing,” Terry said as she rushed to the cabinet to retrieve zandal and bandages. On his small bed in the corner, Binksley rested, lying flat on his belly and regarding me with one raised eyebrow. His breathing was strained and heavier than usual.
Terry poured a glass of water and hurried to my side. I gulped down the pain pills, shut my eyes, and rested my head against the arm of the couch as I waited for the numbing effect to hit me. It usually took about five minutes.
“Where are you cut?” she asked, peeling apart the bandage wrapping.
“Left shoulder,” I grunted and yanked my flimsy T-shirt’s shoulder down, exposing the gash. Terry had readied a cotton swab with alcohol, and I used it to wipe away the remnants of the strange blue liquid oozing out of my mesh-like subcutaneous skin.
“Do you need stitches?” she asked.
“No,” I said, recalling how the skin on my forearm had healed on its own after Drive Nine cut me. I fixed the bandage over my new wound and hoped it would heal just as well. “Why the hell didn't your neighbors call the police or do something? Anything.”
Stolen Future Page 4
