by David Estes
Slam!
“You’re going to get us all killed!”
“Back off, woman!” There’s the slap of skin meeting skin in a rush of violence and Sheila cries out.
Slam!
“Breach! Breach!” Sheila shouts, presumably into her headset.
Gunshots explode through the door, drowning out anything else Sheila might’ve said. Harrison yells, “Behind me!” shoving first Janice—her hand tearing from Benson’s grasp—and then Benson to the back of the lightless space.
“No!” Benson yells, barreling forward and throwing himself toward his best guess as to where his brother is. At that exact moment, there’s a final SLAM! and the door flies open, light bursting into his eyes as he crashes into his brother. He knocks him hard against a wall as gunshots ring out. He feels a burning sensation in his calf even before he crumples to the ground on top of his brother, their situation bordering on hopeless.
There’s more gunfire, but it sounds further away, different to the deafening explosions in his ears he heard a moment ago. Howls fill the air, followed by the thud of falling bodies.
Harrison squirms under him, but Benson grips him tightly, determined to be his human shield. He can only hope that Janice is well hidden behind them and out of the line of fire. “Get the hell off of me,” Harrison demands, twisting suddenly and throwing Benson to the side, slamming him on his shoulder, which screams, joining the cacophony coming from his calf.
The gunshots continue to reverberate through the facility, but it’s distant, unthreatening. When did distant gunfire become unthreatening? Benson asks himself, while gritting his teeth to combat the pain in his leg and shoulder.
“It’ll be over soon,” a voice promises. Minda. Benson’s cheek pressed to the floor, he looks up to find her brown face peering in at them. “You all okay?”
“My boys saved me,” Janice says. “I’m supposed to save them, but they saved me.”
“What was that?” Harrison seethes, and for a moment Benson thinks he’s asking Minda about the gunfight. But no, he’s looking at Benson.
“What?” Benson says, massaging his shoulder gingerly. He attempts to sit up, but his leg feels numb.
“Um, you tackling me?” His brother looks like he wants to pick him up, tackle him back, and then do it again, over and over.
“I had to protect you,” Benson says matter-of-factly.
“Protect me? I don’t need your protection. That’s my job.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m—”
“Two minutes older,” Benson finishes. “That joke’s no longer funny. I want the real reason.”
Harrison’s eyes seem to tear into him, angry and fierce, but then he sighs and his expression softens. “Because I owe you,” he says.
Benson blinks, dumbfounded. They barely know each other and haven’t known each other long enough for either of them to pile up any sort of debt.
“Look, Bense. I owe you my life and I owe you time. You might not understand what I mean right now, and you might never understand, but it’s true. I got what you didn’t. I’ve felt safe my whole life, you haven’t. It’s your turn to feel safe. And if I have to be the one to take a bullet to give you that feeling, so be it.”
“This time it was my turn to take a bullet.”
“Wait. What?” Harrison says. “What do you mean, ‘take a bullet’?” Harrison’s eyes dance over his body, finally noticing the dark red patch seeping through his pant leg.
“I think I got shot,” Benson announces. “But I can’t really feel anything anymore. It’s just all tingly.”
“Botdammit,” Harrison growls, gingerly peeling the pant leg up to Benson’s knee. “This is exactly why you need to stay behind me.”
In the dim lighting, all Benson can see is a lot of blood. “Am I going to live?” he asks.
“Only if I don’t kill you for being an idiot,” Harrison says. “But yes, you’ll survive. You got lucky. It’s only a graze. We’ll wrap it up and you’ll be fine.”
Benson flashes a grin. “Good. I guess I still owe you that bullet then.”
Harrison shakes his head, but doesn’t respond, pulling him into a quick and unexpected hug.
~~~
The Lab is in shambles. Propped up by his brother, Benson hobbles past smashed workstations and instruments, allowing Harrison to help him step over motionless bodies. Most of them are garbed in Crow’s uniforms, although the few dead or injured “scientists” stand out in their stark white coats, which are stained with blood.
They can’t linger, as surely city law enforcement will already be sending in reinforcements as news travels of the failed inspection.
“We’re just going to leave?” Harrison asks Minda, who hasn’t left Benson’s side.
“There’s a contingency plan.” Of course there is. If there’s one thing Benson’s learned about the Indian woman he first met when she was posing as a Lifer operative, it’s that she doesn’t leave anything to chance.
“Care to elaborate?” Harrison practically carries Benson over a pile of dead enemies blocking their path.
“No, but you’ll find out soon enough,” she says.
“You know, I’m getting tired of being left in the dark,” Harrison says.
“Relax,” Benson says, tired of the argument. “We’re alive.”
“Yeah, and I want it to stay that way.” Harrison’s eyes flick to the floor. “Mom, can you grab my board?”
“Ooh,” Janice murmurs as she scoops up Harrison’s hoverboard with both arms, the long wide plank looking comically unwieldy as she balances it awkwardly.
“Planning on going for a joyride?” Minda asks.
“I like to have my own contingency plan.”
Benson ignores his brother, noticing Minda tapping furiously on a holo-screen as they hustle into an empty lifter. Other lifters are already full, their doors closing to transport the survivors to street level. “What is it?” he asks her.
“Just arranging transport. I didn’t want to move you guys, but it seems we have no choice now.”
“You think?” Harrison says.
As the lifter doors close, Benson cranes his neck to look over Minda’s shoulder. A familiar chat forum is open, already in progress. He remembers it from when the same secret group of rebels helped them find Boris Decker.
JoseCuervo: Don’t leave the key. Not for one second.
ShirleyTemple: That’s the plan. We got lucky. This could’ve been disastrous.
Benson remembers that ShirleyTemple is Minda’s screen name, and he takes a small measure of comfort from the fact that she’ll be staying with Janice for whatever comes next. He plans to do the same, regardless of the gunshot wound in his leg.
BloodyMary: Don’t worry. Follow the planned escape route. Which safe house are you planning on relocating to?
ShirleyTemple: I don’t want to specify over the holo-network.
SamAdams: Are you suggesting today’s attack wasn’t random?
The lifter eases to a stop and the doors open. With Janice and Harrison flanking him, Benson’s unable to see Minda’s response as they’re hustled into a waiting aut-car, one of many in a line, all of them high-end private vehicles.
Simon’s the last one in, squashing himself next to Harrison, who gives him a disgusted look. “Sweat much?”
“Like only a man can, pretty boy. Heard your brother saved your sorry ass.”
“You heard wrong.”
“Seems he’s got the bullet hole to prove it.”
Harrison shuts up, not even bothering to correct him on the fact that there’s no hole, just a graze. Benson suspects there’s no difference between the two in his brother’s eyes. If not for the blazing pain in Benson’s leg, he might laugh. As it is, he tucks his head firmly between his knees as the car screeches forward, guided by Minda, who instructs it while continuing the conversation on her holo.
“Fast,” Janice comments. She’s right—Benson can feel their speed in his bo
nes. In his stomach, too, which feels like it’s dropping rapidly to his feet. As he guessed, these are no ordinary aut-cars, apparently unbound by standard speed limits.
“You okay?” Simon asks him. Benson feels the big man’s hand on his shoulder, and he can imagine that means his sweaty armpit is just about in Harrison’s face.
Benson eases himself up and opens his eyes, dying with laughter on the inside when he sees Harrison’s expression. But then his stomach lurches again and he says, “Nauseous.”
“Don’t barf on me,” Harrison says. Apparently he’s still angry about Benson’s actions earlier.
Benson stares straight ahead, watching the city whiz past and trying to control his roiling stomach.
Minda says, “Now,” and while she stares impassively forward, there’s a thunderous BOOM! like a thousand fireworks going off simultaneously. Or like a bomb exploding.
The street shakes beneath their vehicle, which says, “Unexpected turbulence. Please ensure seatbelts are fastened.”
“Holy botballs,” Harrison says, craning his neck to look behind them. Benson, momentarily forgetting the precarious nature of the contents of his stomach, twists around to see what’s going on. His eyes widen at the sight.
An enormous building is on fire, sending tendrils of black smoke into the atmosphere. Chunks of stone and other construction materials are crumbling away from the building, falling to the street below.
“You blew up the Lab,” Benson whispers.
“Yes,” Minda agrees. “We did.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ahead of them, Benson watches as the other vehicles in their convoy turn down different side streets. He knows the city well from his days as a Picker, and he immediately tries to figure out where they all might be going, but quickly shakes his head. “Doesn’t make sense,” he murmurs.
“That’s the point,” Minda says. One arm is slung casually over her knee, which, funnily enough, is an almost exact mimic of Harrison’s current posture. Her other arm is raised to the roof, gripping a handle. “These vehicles are smarter than the average aut-car. Not only are their interfaces linked autonomously, but they have certain other defense mechanisms.”
“Like what?” Harrison asks. “Machine guns and missiles?” The edge of his upper lip quirks up.
“Precisely,” Minda says, rummaging through a first aid kit under her seat. She comes up with a bottle of antiseptic and some bandages.
His smirk vanishes. “Seriously?”
“Would I joke about something like that?”
Benson doesn’t think so, and apparently neither does Harrison, because he doesn’t question it further. Minda gets to work on his leg, ripping away his pants to reveal torn flesh and gobs of blood. “Doesn’t look like the bullet went in,” she opines.
“A graze,” Harrison says. “Benson’s just making a big deal out of nothing. Baby.”
“While saving your life,” Benson says, gritting his teeth as Minda pours the antiseptic directly into the wound.
“I was already ducking.”
“Keep telling your ego that and it might not shrink.”
At that, Simon lets out a hardy laugh. “Benson’s my new best friend,” he says. Harrison glares at him.
Minda follows up the cleaning by wrapping the bandage around his leg in tight coils. “Got to stop the bleeding,” she says. But Benson’s not thinking about his injury, which is no more than a dull throb in his calf. He’s still stuck on what she said about the other aut-cars.
“So the other cars are taking various routes to the same place?” Benson asks, still trying to understand the strategy.
Minda finishes up with his leg and says, “Hang on.” The car veers sharply to the left. Once they’re out of the turn, she says, “Not exactly. There are multiple safe houses set up in the event that the Lab is compromised.”
“Does compromised mean ‘blown up’?” Harrison says.
The ghost of a smile plays on her lips. “In this case, yes. The key to the whole escape is randomness. These aut-cars were pre-programmed to go to a specific safe house; however, they were also instructed to lineup randomly in the event of an emergency. None of us know which car is going to which safe house.”
“Wait one bot-lickin’ minute,” Harrison says, leaning forward. “You did all this in case there’s a traitor in our midst, didn’t you?”
For a tense moment, the question seems to hang in the air, but then it falls with a resounding “Yes” from Minda’s lips. “There’s always that possibility. We’ve got our spies within various government and state organizations, and we can only assume they’d attempt to do the same to us.”
“Great,” Harrison says. “There’s not really any such thing as a ‘safe’ house, is there?”
“Watch your tone, pretty boy,” Simon says, finally chiming in. “They’re doing their best.”
“Not good enough,” Harrison says. “Can’t you use truth serum and polygraphs before accepting new members?”
“Yes,” Minda says. “And we do. But the best spies are trained to pass those sorts of tricks. Look, I think we’re okay, but there are no guarantees in our world.”
The car jerks right and Benson clutches the seat to avoid sliding off. This is a particularly rough ride. It’s not normal. Typically aut-cars are programmed for the smoothest ride possible, using sensors and cameras to moderate traffic, make perfectly arcing turns, and avoid jerky stops. This vehicle almost seems to be purposely roughening the journey. “Is someone following us?” he asks, coming to the only conclusion that makes any sense. In response to his question, all heads in the car swing around to look behind them, finding only an empty stretch of wet pavement. Everyone except Janice, that is. She’s mesmerized by the blinking lights on the aut-car control panel. She’s hugging Harrison’s hoverboard, peeking around it.
“No,” Minda says, surprising him. “But good guess. This car has technology that will help it lose a tail from another aut-car.”
Benson nods. “It turns quickly and sharply to confound the programming of another aut-car.”
“Exactly. Their system won’t allow them to make such a sharp turn.”
“That’s nothing,” Harrison says. “I’ve ridden in Crow cars before.”
Benson, Minda, and Simon stare at him, eyebrows raised. “Why am I not surprised?” Simon says.
“Ha ha. As a passenger, not a prisoner,” Harrison says. “My best friend was—is—son of Charles Boggs. He used to pick us up from hoverboard practice.”
“You mean the kid that screwed you over and got you tortured and nearly killed?” Simon asks, although it’s a question he clearly already knows the answer to.
“Thanks for the reminder,” Harrison says. “But yeah, him. Anyway, Boggs used to always let us override the aut-cars programming. For fun. He said in the old days the police chases used to reach insane speeds, typically ending in violent crashes. Now the Crows have the advantage.”
“Not with us,” Minda says. “We’ve got a whole lot more tricks up our sleeves.”
Benson’s processing the information, sorting through it, trying to poke holes in the logic. One question seems more important than any others. “Was the raid on the Lab a random inspection?”
Harrison’s eyes meet his and his brother offers him a nod of approval. For some reason it makes him feel proud.
Minda closes her eyes, as if lost in thought. When she opens them, she says, “Tensions are high because of the riots. The government is more suspicious than ever. According to a source of mine—”
“BloodyMary,” Benson blurts out, interrupting.
“How did you…”
“I’m observant,” Benson explains.
“Yes. One of the key members of the consortium warned me that ‘random’ government inspections might increase.”
“And you did nothing?” Harrison says, his fists curling into tight knots. “We were almost killed back there.”
“It wasn’t my decision alone,” Minda sa
ys. “We were split down the middle. But yes, I voted to stay in the Lab. In my opinion, moving the key—I mean, all of you—was the riskier option.”
“And yet here we are,” Harrison says. Despite the heat in his tone, his fists unfurl.
“Do random inspections normally have so much…firepower?” Benson asks.
Minda shakes her head. “No. I must admit, that was unusual. Usually it would just be a couple of bean counters checking that laboratory safety protocols are being followed. They’d have a Crow or two with them, but not an entire squad. But again, tensions are a lot higher than normal.”
Simon grunts. “Clearly they’re actively looking for rebels. But that doesn’t mean they knew we were there. If they did, they’d have had ten times more Crows with them. Hunters too.”
“True,” Benson agrees. “Still, something doesn’t seem random about the whole mess.”
While the rest of the passengers chew on that thought, a red light begins blinking from the main consol.
“Damn,” Minda spits.
“What does that mean?” Harrison says.
“Pretty,” Janice says, reaching around the hoverboard to try to touch the light.
“It means we’ve got company,” Minda says, swiveling around to face the back.
Two black aut-cars with blue lights flashing race forward, closing the gap. They ride in tandem, barely able to fit in the wide lane, avoiding traffic moving in the opposite direction down the two-way street.
Crows.
~~~
Not good, Harrison thinks wryly. Most of the time he loves being right, but not now. Despite everything Minda’s told him about the advanced aut-car they’re riding in, he knows they’re no match for two Crow cars. With their manual overrides, the law enforcement vehicles will be able to match them on speed and handling. No problem.
As if to prove his inner thoughts, one of the sleek black vehicles accelerates, pressing in beside them, far too close to be considered a safe maneuver.
“Full evasive action,” Minda instructs their own car, her voice surprisingly calm and composed. As critical of her as he was earlier, Harrison knows he’d rather have her on his side.
