World War 97 Part 2 (World War 97 Serial)

by David J Normoyle

  She straightened and went over to the counter. She ran her finger over the handle of the gun.

  While she wasn’t looking, I wiggled back and forth to make sure I could still move. My head had cleared a bit, and while every motion was difficult, I had to fight through the pain. Listening to Christina, I knew I had no choice but to try to escape. “I didn’t mean to do what I did,” I said. “When I took the plane, it was to avenge my brother. Something came over me.”

  Christina turned back toward me, leaving the gun on the counter. “You’re just so fucking weak. You have a crash and get saved. Modern science fixes you up, but all the military’s psychs can’t put poor Jordi’s brain back together. All my noble husband becomes good for is drinking and whining about his mental fucking suffering. Your brother is traitorous slime, but I have more respect for him than I do for you.” She paused. “Mari told me about your interview with her. How you melted into a dithering heap with a bottle of whiskey in front of you. How you stirred into life in her presence. Did you want to fuck my girlfriend, you good-for-nothing worm? You are not worthy to even be in her presence.”

  She pulled back her leg for another kick—but I was ready. I turned slightly, tensing my stomach muscles. Just as her foot struck me, I wrapped my left arm around the back of it. The impact hurt, but I ignored that and the stab of complaint from my ribs at the sudden motion. I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the ankle of her standing foot. I then wrenched her leg out from under her, pulling with my whole body, leveraging enough force to unbalance her.

  She fell backward, a look of surprise on her face. Even before she’d hit the floor, I was on my feet, racing for the door. I palmed the switch, and while I was waiting for the door to slide open, I dashed to the counter and grabbed for the gun. I’d just gotten my fingertips onto the gun handle when my left leg went out from under me and I stumbled, grabbing the counter for support. Christina had thrown a leg-sweep kick before she was even fully off the floor. The gun had been knocked out of reach, so I just ran for the door.

  My left leg couldn’t take my full weight, and I had my left hand wrapped around my right side, cradling my ribs. I traveled as fast as I could, turning left outside the door, then hobbling for the first junction, twenty paces away. Several people in the passageway turned to watch my strange shambling run. I was just turning the corner when white light flashed, and I fell to the ground. I recognized the sensation from the last time I’d been shot. I suspected it had been merely a glancing blow, since I was still conscious. Just a finger of electricity had touched me. Still, my muscles quivered like water as I stood up.

  Christina came around the corner.

  Holding my hands in the air, I nodded at the gun in her hand. “No need for that, I’ll go quietly.”

  She immediately clicked the safety on and pocketed the gun. She looked up and down the corridor, noting that we were being watched. “I’m a Bureau agent,” she called out loudly. “This man was resisting arrest. I’ve put in a call for backup, and there’ll be uniformed agents here shortly.” She turned back to me and spoke in a lower voice. “Pity you ended our little private chat so quickly. All the time we had alone together, and that was the only time I got to have fun. Still, there are interview rooms in the Bureau headquarters even more soundproof than the first one you were in. I’m sure Mari and I will have a few more questions for you.”

  In desperation, I ran at her again. Christina smiled and turned her body slightly, shifting the weight to the balls of her feet. I knew what was coming, and I didn’t try to resist it. Christina threw her hip against mine and adjusted her weight so that I toppled backward. During the whole maneuver, I was concentrating on one thing.

  And I succeeded. She slammed me to the ground, but I barely noticed the pain. The gun was in my hand. While she was throwing me, I’d managed to get my hand into her pocket. I aimed the weapon up at Christina’s suddenly unsmiling face, clicked off the safety, and pulled the trigger. It didn’t work. Christina’s foot snapped backward, about to kick. I fumbled with the safety and pulled the trigger again.

  Christina fell backward, a smoking hole in her midriff.

  Chapter 6

  No, no, that can’t have happened! a voice inside my head wailed. I scrambled forward to where Christina lay crumpled on the floor. Her eyes were glazed over, and I could see right through the hole in her body. There was no blood; the beam had cauterized the sides of the wound even as it went through her. The gun shouldn’t have been set to laser, though. Christina had caught me with the electric stun just moments earlier. I would never have blindly fired if I’d thought I could kill her. My head fell down against her shoulder.

  A tiny voice spoke, and it wasn’t inside my head. It was coming from the side of Christina’s head. I brushed aside her hair and found an earpiece. I took it off and put it to my ear.

  “Agent Culliver, have you arrested the suspect? Reinforcements are on the way.”

  Culliver. So that was my wife’s real name. Looking down into her unfocused eyes, I didn’t know what to feel. I had cared for her, but it had all been a lie. I’d never known the real person. And how much could I really have participated in the relationship if I hadn’t noticed? Had I just drank my way through the whole marriage?

  I looked up and saw several people watching me with horrified looks on their faces. A woman turned and ran, and several others began to back away. I glanced down at myself and realized I was still holding the gun. I threw it away in disgust.

  “Neither Agent Culliver nor the suspect are at their home. There are signs of a struggle.”

  Shit! There were mibs just around the corner. I pushed myself to feet and started to run, only for my ankle to buckle underneath me at the first step. I grabbed hold of the wall to stop myself from falling, then I continued at a slower pace, keeping all my weight off my injured leg. On instinct, I fled even though I had no real plan of escape. At every junction, I took a random turn, until I was several passageways away from where I had started, close to the edge of the Brooklyn district.

  “Agent down. I repeat: agent down. Agent Culliver has been shot and killed, and suspect is on the run. Reinforcements requested.”

  I reached a conveyor station and entered the pod. I entered a destination without paying attention to where I was going.

  “Culliver’s radio is missing. Probably taken by the suspect. Request that it be disabled.”

  And then use the radio to track him. I imagined that was what would have been said next if they hadn’t known I was listening in on their conversation. As the pod came to a stop, I took off the earpiece and dropped that and my ID on the floor. I entered a destination on the other side of Under Nyork then stepped out of the pod before the doors closed.

  There was only one place inside the undercity where I could evade the mibs: Harlem. I hobbled through several corridors, until I found another conveyor station, and inside that pod, I entered a destination that would get me close to a little-used entrance to Harlem. Sometimes, being familiar with the dark underbelly of a place was useful. I couldn't have imagined that one of those times would be after I’d killed my wife.

  I was worried that even that entrance would be blocked by the time I reached it, but it wasn’t. I was able to enter the district without any trouble. The mibs mustn’t have had the time to mobilize a full response. Once inside Harlem, I continued moving, figuring I was more vulnerable near the entrances. My ankle was beginning to feel better, and I was walking more freely. On the other hand, the pain in my side had gotten stronger and had begun to hurt with every breath. Definitely broken ribs. My face was sore to the touch and seemed to be swelling up in places. And my brain was trying to pound itself out the back of my head, like a hangover headache, only more intense.

  I made sure to avoid eye contact as I passed other people. I didn’t want to be recognized, and in Harlem, someone was usually looking for a fight. I wasn’t sure whether my bruised and bloodied face would attract or repel someone looking for
trouble. A man with a scar on his left cheek scowled at me, and I increased my limping speed as I passed him. Then I heard my name mentioned. He was watching the news on a wall monitor, and I went to stand beside him. And there was Alan Levitt, with my picture displayed behind his left shoulder.

  “—extremely dangerous. Now we go to Bureau Director Mari Burnett for more on this story. Mari, is it true that this man is actually related to our recently departed president?”

  Mari appeared on the screen. Her hair was tied up, and she looked serious and professional. “I’m afraid so, Alan. He is the president’s brother, and I really hope that his actions won’t tarnish the president’s reputation.”

  Alan came back on screen. “I’m sure our viewers have the discernment not to allow the actions of his brother to affect how we see our beloved president. What details can you give us about his brother, Jordi Roberts? I believe he was in the military until recently.”

  “Yes. He served with distinction until an unfortunate accident a year ago. Since then, his mental state has been in question, and he has displayed violent tendencies. The military showed great patience with him because he was wounded while serving his country. Unfortunately, Jordi Roberts took advantage of that goodwill. During the Battle of Rockall, he stole one of the V-Tips and fled the battle.”

  “So a plane that should have been used to help defend the Eisenhower was used by this Jordi Roberts to escape the battle. How did he get away with such extreme cowardice under enemy fire?”

  “The military was lenient yet again. With his brother having just heroically died, they didn’t want to publicize such an ignoble act. But it now appears that the truth is even worse. Investigations have revealed connections between Jordi and Celeste, so it’s likely that stealing the plane was an act of sabotage.”

  “Motherfucker,” I said under my breath.

  The man with the scar on his face backed away. I glanced over at him, and he turned and ran. So much for me being wary of the denizens of this district—the tables had turned on that. Along with every fucking other thing. Rage boiled the marrow in my bones. Now I’m the one who was in Celeste?

  “And the Bureau have already had a tragic loss while chasing this monster, I understand,” the two-faced cocksucker said.

  “I’m afraid so,” the lesbian ballbreaker said. “Christina Culliver, one of our brightest young agents, was shot down in cold blood in front of horrified witnesses just a short time ago.” Larsen shifted her gaze so that she was staring right at the camera; she seemed to be looking straight through the screen at me. “Make no mistake, though. Jordi Roberts will be caught, and he will pay.”

  Author’s Note

  Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Consider leaving a review on your favorite book site to spread the word.

  This is part 2 of a 5-part serial. Parts 3, 4, and 5 are due out in July, August, and September. Each part is around sixty pages long. Check out all my releases: www.amazon.com/author/davidjnormoyle

  Join my new release mailing list to get alerted when each new part is published www.davidjnormoyle.com/mailinglist

  Check out my website www.davidjnormoyle.com to find out about me and my other books.

  Alternatively, like my facebook page: www.facebook.com/DavidJNormoyle

  The Narrowing Path: Out of over a hundred teenage boys, only six will be found deserving of survival by the leaders of the great families. Bowe is expected to die on the very first day of the path; instead he begins a journey no one could have anticipated.

  Find out more: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB4KOTK

  COPYRIGHT

  WORLD WAR 97—PART 2

  Copyright © 2015 by David J. Normoyle

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art © 2015 by S. Frost Designs

  Edited byRed Adept Editing Services

  First eBook edition: June 2015

  Published by David J. Normoyle

  www.davidjnormoyle.com