Cloak Games: Rebel Fist

by Jonathan Moeller

  Sick bastards. I’m not even remotely a good woman, but the Rebels were worse.

  A flare of red light caught my attention, and I moved forward another few steps, peering down through the catwalk grill. Four Rebels stood guard around a metal table, and on that table rested a…a…

  I had no idea what it was.

  From what I could tell, it looked like a crystal or glass sphere about the size of a bowling ball. It seemed to burn with crimson flames, painting the table the color of blood. A strange black cross floated in the center of the sphere, and it made me think of the vertical pupil of a snake’s eye, albeit a pupil that had been crossed with another.

  This had to be the source of the power I had sensed. I had no idea what the damned thing was. Some sort of magical device or relic, obviously, but I could only guess at its function. Maybe the Rebels had used the sphere to open the rift way and allow the Archons entry to Milwaukee. Maybe the thing was a magical weapon the Archons had given to the Rebels.

  Part of my mind, a big part, screamed at me to keep going, but curiosity won out. I had to know more about this thing. On a more practical level, I had a better chance of getting Russell out alive if I knew more. If this thing really was a weapon the Archons had brought to destroy Milwaukee…

  I gestured for Russell and Lydia to stop, and I slipped my phone out of my pocket. In addition to the module that let it detect jamming, it had a telescopic lens on the camera. I unlocked the phone, tapped the camera app, and pointed the lens at the table and zoomed in, hitting the RECORD button as I did. That gave me a clearer view of the sphere and the Rebel guards around it. The sphere did indeed look like a giant, crimson eye, albeit an eye with a black cross for a pupil. The Rebels were all middle-aged, with the hard look of veteran men accustomed to killing. They turned as another Rebel approached, a big, strong-looking man with graying black hair, and…

  A bolt of pure, nauseating fear shot through me.

  I knew the Rebel commander.

  His name was Sergei Rogomil. I had first met him in Los Angeles a few years ago, when I had made the stupid mistake of falling in love with the leader of a Rebel cell. More recently, I had run into Rogomil on a job for Morvilind, and wound up stopping him from assassinating the frost giant ambassador to the High Queen. In the process, I stole his phone and emailed its entire contents to the Inquisition. I had assumed the Inquisition had killed or captured Rogomil, but it looked like he had gotten away.

  I had screwed him over twice, and consequently Sergei Rogomil wanted me dead. He wanted me dead on a visceral, personal level, and if he got his hands on me, he would make me wish that he had just shot me full of drugs and dumped me in a brothel for Rebel soldiers.

  A worse fear occurred to me.

  If he realized that Russell was my brother…

  Through the phone’s display I saw Rogomil conversing with the Rebels. All five men looked pleased, and if they happened to look up, they might well see me recording. I shut off my phone’s display, jammed it back into my pocket, and urged Russell and Lydia forward. We crossed the catwalk in silence, and I strained to hear shouts of alarm or the sound of bullets.

  Yet no one noticed us. I’d read somewhere that people rarely looked up, and I guess that must have been true. We reached the door on the far side of the catwalk, and I unlocked it in silence, urged Russell and Lydia through, and shut it behind us. We found ourselves in another HVAC room of grumbling machines, but this room had a metal ladder that led to the mall’s roof.

  “Hang on a minute,” I said, leaning against the cinder block wall. The surge of adrenalin when I had seen Rogomil had made my legs rubbery. “Need to get my breath back.”

  “Those men,” said Russell. “They were Rebels, weren’t they?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Probably working with the Archons.”

  “Rebels?” said Lydia, her disgust plain. “Rebels? What kind of men would betray the High Queen?”

  “Do you want to go back and look?” I said. Lydia gave a vigorous shake of her head. A malicious part of me wanted to explain just what the Rebels would have done with her if the orcs had taken her captive, but I had enough sense to keep my damn mouth shut.

  “That…glowing thing,” said Russell.

  “Yeah?” I said, pushing away from the wall. My legs felt steadier, and my heart was starting to slow down.

  “It looked like a big red eye,” said Lydia.

  “What was it?” said Russell.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “At a guess, it’s some sort of magical relic the Rebels used to open a rift way to the Shadowlands so the Archons and their pet orcs could cross over.”

  “Why were you taking pictures of it?” said Lydia.

  That wasn’t a question I wanted to answer.

  “My phone has a telescopic lens,” I said. “I wanted to see what it was. I was afraid the Rebels had dug up an old nuclear bomb or something.”

  “Did nuclear bombs glow?” said Lydia.

  “No idea,” I said. “You can look it up when you get home.” I slung my gun over my shoulder, crossed the room to the ladder, and started climbing. “Let’s go.”

  Mr. Loman’s key unlocked the trapdoor to the roof, thank God. I pushed it open, squinting at the glare of sunlight, and hauled myself up. The roof was a flat expanse of concrete, layered with loose gravel. I wondered how the mall dealt with snowmelt in the winter, and then decided that I didn’t care. Big metal cabinets stood in rows, each the size of small trucks, giving off humming and clanking sounds. Likely these were the air handlers Lydia had mentioned, and I saw several things that looked like backup generators.

  There was no sign of anyone, human, orc, or Elf. Russell and Lydia came after me and I closed and locked the trapdoor behind us to discourage any pursuit. Then we hurried over the gravel to the edge of the roof. I looked around as I did, and I saw plumes of smoke rising from several places in Brookfield, and a noticeable lack of traffic on the four-lane street next to the Ducal Mall. The traffic lights were dark at an intersection.

  I wondered how many more of the rift ways had been opened, how many more of those weird glowing spheres were scattered around the city.

  We crossed something like three acres of gravel to reach the edge of the roof. Below the edge the covered skyway stretched over the street to the employee parking ramp. The Archons might have been clever enough to block the skyway, but they hadn’t put anyone on the roof. We climbed down the narrow steel ladder, crossed the over the top of the skyway, and climbed onto the parking structure. There were very few empty spots.

  Given the number of corpses I had seen in the skyway, I doubted any of the employees had escaped.

  I pulled out Loman’s wallet and checked his parking pass. Thankfully, the pass included the license plate and make and model of his car, a green Conquest Year 299 model Royal Motors Charioteer, which was a grandiose name for an old four-door sedan. We jogged along the rows of cars until I found Loman’s car on the second level of the garage.

  “This feels like stealing,” said Lydia as I unlocked the driver’s door.

  “He’s not going to need the car any time soon,” I said. Lydia blanched, but bit her lip, nodded, and got into the back. Russell climbed into the front passenger seat. “Russell, roll down the window and keep your gun ready. If any orcs try to shoot at us, shoot them first.”

  “What about Archons?” said Russell. “Bullets won’t work on them.”

  If we ran into any Archons, we were probably dead.

  “If we run into any Archons,” I said, “I’ll run them over.”

  “That’s elfophobic,” said Russell and Lydia in unison.

  “Not when they’re trying to kill us,” I said, adjusting the seat. Loman had been a lot taller than I was. Of course, that was true of most people.

  A flash of color caught my eye.

  A picture was pinned to the dashboard near the turn signal. It showed Loman, his equally plump wife, and three children, all of them smiling at the camera.
I realized that I was looking at a widow and three orphans.

  Unless they had been inside the mall, and then they were likely dead.

  Those Rebels. Those goddamned Rebels.

  I felt Russell staring at me, and I looked at him. He looked at the picture, blinked a few times. Then he reached over and squeezed my arm.

  “Thanks for getting us out,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Lydia. “Thank you, Russell. And…and thank you, Miss Moran. I…I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.”

  I almost laughed. Apparently I was “Miss Moran” now. That was an improvement over “Natalie.”

  “Don’t thank me,” I said, starting the engine. “We’re not out yet.”

  Chapter 5: Not A Good Time

  I eased the car through the parking ramp, looking for orcish soldiers. So far none had showed themselves, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. The Archons had attacked Earth before, so presumably they knew about cars, and they would figure out they should blockade the parking structure sooner or later.

  Or maybe they were not here to conquer territory but to spread terror, which meant it made more sense just to blow up the parking ramp.

  Either way, we had to be careful.

  I hated leaving my motorcycle behind. It was a stupid thing to worry about when so many people had been killed, but I loved that bike. But there was no way I could get Russell and Lydia out using a motorcycle.

  Speaking of Lydia, if the orcs started shooting at us, their bullets were going to tear through the Charioteer’s sides like paper.

  “Lydia,” I said. “If there’s shooting, get down. Like, on the floor, with your hands over your head. Got it?”

  I saw her give a jerky nod in the rearview mirror. Her lips were moving in silence, and I realized that she was reciting the Lord’s Prayer over and over in silence. I doubted God would listen to a thief and a liar like me, but maybe he would listen to a terrified teenage girl and deliver us from evil.

  “Should I get down?” said Russell.

  “Nope,” I said. “I need both hands to drive. If someone shoots at us, shoot back. Feel free to shoot out the windshield if necessary.”

  “Man,” said Russell. He adjusted his grip on the AK-47. “We never practiced this in rifle club.”

  “Just been an educational day all around, hasn’t it?” I said, turning the last corner in the parking ramp. Before me the concrete ramp sloped down to the entrance, and I saw four orcs standing by the attendant’s booth. I don’t think they expected to see anyone. For a moment the orcish soldiers gaped at us.

  Then they raised their weapons.

  “Lydia!” I snapped. “Down!”

  I stomped on the gas, and the Charioteer surged forward, the engine roaring.

  The orcs hadn’t expected to see a car, and they definitely hadn’t expected to a crazy woman to attempt to run them over. Muzzle flashes appeared at the barrels of their weapons, but I was going too fast, and the orcs scrambled out of our way. One of them was too slow, and the car’s bumper hit his left shin. We must have been doing at least forty, and with a hideous crunching noise the orcish soldier’s leg bent at an angle not seen in nature.

  I heard him howl in agony, and the car rocketed through the gate, breaking off the booth’s arm, and skidded into the street. I shot a quick look around, trying to see everything at once while I struggled to bring the car under control. The way back to the Ducal Mall’s parking lot was clear, but the broad driveway that led to the street was guarded by a dozen orcish soldiers. They had found concrete highway dividers somewhere, and were using them to blockade the street.

  But they weren’t finished yet.

  I spun the wheel, the ties squealing as we skidded across the asphalt, and I pointed the car at the half-assembled barricade. The orcish soldiers started to turn in surprise, raising their weapons.

  One burst on full auto from any one of those AK-47s would kill us and cripple the car, and we had a dozen of the guns aimed at us.

  I stomped on the gas, and the engine roared, the car shooting forward. Lydia screamed in the back seat, and Russell yet out a startled yelp, struggling to aim his AK-47 as the car shuddered. The orcs opened fire, and the window to my left shattered in a spray of safety glass, and I heard the pinging sound as the bullets hit the fiberglass side panels of the car.

  But I kept the gas pushed to the floor.

  “We’re going to hit the barriers!” shouted Russell. The orcs scattered, still taking shots at the car, the bullets pinging against the side.

  I kept the gas pressed down, and then wrenched the wheel as hard as I could to the right.

  If I had tried that in a pickup truck or an SUV, I would have rolled the car right into the highway barriers, and the orcish soldiers could have amused themselves by digging our twisted bodies out of the wreckage. But the Royal Motors Charioteer was, to be blunt, a pretty crappy car, and the tires were narrower than they should have been.

  So when I spun the wheel, the car went into a sideways slide. The driver’s side of the trunk slammed into an orcish soldier like a massive club, and I heard the cracking sound as the impact broke every bone in his legs. The orc hurtled backwards and flipped over the concrete highway dividers, discharging a few rounds from his gun into the air. The car skidded sideways through the gap and into the street, and I wrenched the wheel around and slammed on the gas again. The engine made a distinctly unhappy sound, but the Charioteer howled forward.

  There were a few scattered orcish soldiers in the street, and they started shooting at us. I made a snap decision and went right, driving with as much speed as I could coax from the old car. I spun the wheel again, swinging the fender towards an orc bringing his AK-47 towards us. He tried to line up a shot, but the left side of the front bumper rammed into him. A horrible jolt went through the car, and the orc fell backwards, the Charioteer driving over him with a loud crunching noise. Two sharp jolts went through the car, and then a moment later we were clear. I saw the orcish soldier rolling away from us in the rearview mirror, leaving a trail of blue blood in his wake.

  The street ahead of us was clear.

  I let out a long breath, my hands holding the wheel in a death grip. Deliver us from evil, Lydia had prayed. Maybe God had listened.

  Though I don’t know if running over an orcish soldier in a 299 Royal Motors Charioteer four-door sedan counted as delivery from evil, but I wasn't going to argue.

  “Anyone hurt?” I said.

  “I don’t think so,” said Russell, his voice shaky.

  “Good,” I said. “Lydia? You okay?”

  Silence answered me.

  “Lydia?” said Russell in alarm, twisting around in his seat.

  “One of the bullets went right through the door,” said Lydia. She sounded stunned. I wondered if she was going into shock. “Right through the door. I felt it tug at my hair. I can see the road through the hole in the door.”

  “Russell,” I said, “check if she’s bleeding.” If Lydia had been shot, we would have to get her to a doctor. There was a hospital in Brookfield, and if I remembered right they had an urgent care center. Or I could try for the medical college in Wauwatosa, not far from my apartment. If it was only a minor wound, I might be able to take her to one of the clinics in Brookfield, or just patch her up myself.

  “No, no, I’m not hit,” said Lydia, pushing herself up. “It’s just…it was so close. So close. Another inch and it would have gone right through my head.”

  I twisted around to look at her. She wasn’t hurt, and she wasn’t bleeding, but her face was stark and white, and a little tremor went through her hands. I had seen that kind of thing before. As soon as the adrenalin wore off she was going to fall to pieces. Sometimes I had the same sort of thing happen to me on my more dangerous missions for Morvilind. I got through the job, but once I survived and got home I had to lie down for a while.

  She seemed like such a child…but I was only six or seven years older than she was. I could
n’t remember ever freaking out that badly in the face of danger. Morvilind and his teachers had beaten that out of me early on.

  “You’re bleeding,” said Lydia.

  “Eh?” I said, turning back towards the windshield. As I did, I realized that my lap was full of shattered safety glass, that I felt something wet trickling down my left temple. I glanced in the mirror and saw a shallow cut on my left temple. One of the pieces of glass had nicked me.

  “She’s right,” said Russell. “Nadia, you’re hit, you’ve been shot…”

  “What?” I laughed. “No, no. This is just a cut. Little one, too. I’ve been hurt worse than this.” I shook some of the broken glass from the folds of my left sleeve. “Good thing we took my bike to the mall. Jacket stopped most of the glass. Otherwise it might have cut up my left arm pretty good.”

  For a moment Russell didn’t say anything. We came to an intersection, the traffic lights dark, and I looked around. There was no sign of any other traffic, which was eerie. The middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, the streets should have been packed. I suppose with the power out and the network jammed, people were hunkering down at home and waiting to see what happened next. For a moment I considered heading for the freeway, and decided against it. If the Archons were launching a major attack on Milwaukee, they might have seized the freeways already. Or if the Rebels had supplied them with helicopters, they might shoot at any cars on the freeway. On the freeway, we would be sitting ducks. On the surface streets, at least, there were buildings we could use for cover.

  “Where did you learn to drive like that?” said Russell, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  “Oh, you know,” I said. I certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. One of Morvilind’s retainers had taught me how to drive, the lessons focusing on rather more extreme techniques than most teenagers learned. “I watch a lot of dramas where Homeland Security chase Rebels through downtown Los Angeles.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Russell. “You hate TV.”

  “Well, yes,” I said. The car made a grumbling noise.

  “The check engine light just went on,” said Russell.