by Cliff Hedley
Chapter 23
Chase cast a quick glance to make sure Grange and the other officers had found the girl, then pushed through the throng, laser-focused. The figure looked up, perhaps aware now that something was amiss. Chase lost sight again, then caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure running off. He’s seen me. As he neared the edge of the Square, he caught another glimpse of the figure running off down Forty-sixth Street.
It was hard to keep track in the crowd. Explosions boomed from different edges of the Square. As each device went off, the people running swerved and changed direction, only to find the next device erupting ahead of them moments later. More drones flew overhead, falling, killing. The crowd was panicking; confusion and terror reigned. Then as Chase rounded the corner he saw the figure swerve out of the mob and sprint into an alley.
Chase followed, his ears ringing from all of the explosions that had gone off around him. His lungs were burning but he wasn’t sure if it was from the smoke or exertion. At the entrance to the alley he hesitated. He remembered what had happened last time he followed Miller down an alley. He glanced at his forearms to check his batteries. Into the red. Come on, just last long enough for me to nail this son of a bitch.
Then he remembered the canyon in Afghanistan. The gauntlet. Miller will have this rigged to cover his escape.
He stepped into the relative gloom of the alley, shaded by the buildings around it. He waited for his eyes to adjust and began to scan all around him for anywhere a device could be hidden. Every angle. He was at a massive disadvantage. If the alley was set with explosives, Miller knew what he had rigged and where. He could run through, while Chase had to pick his way carefully. Anyone who happened to wander this way and didn’t know what they were looking for would probably get themselves killed, so slow and steady was his best policy. He had to figure out how to disarm whatever he came across as he went, for the sake of the public.
It was quieter here. The throng of the crowd, the screams and shouting all faded into the background. When he had been on foot in Afghanistan, he had often led his team the long way around rather than taking obvious paths. He figured the same applied to the alley. Walk up the middle and die. Somewhere ahead of him, he heard the metallic clanging of someone climbing a ladder. Miller was heading for the rooftops.
The first obvious obstacle was a dumpster. Nothing in front of it, or on his side but he had to assume that there was a motion-sensing device strapped to the far side. He couldn’t risk moving past it, so he climbed on top. He was glad it had steel doors on top, rather than the plastic kind, as they could easily take his weight. Thankful too that they hadn’t been rigged with a pressure switch, he trod carefully to the far edge and looked down. Sure enough, there was a bulky package. He had no robot, no suit and no Bottlers. No fifty-cals to back him up, either. He would pick his way through this as quickly and carefully as he could. He couldn’t let Miller get away from him again.
He jumped clear and landed on the far side of the dumpster. No boom. There was a steel sheet laid down in the alley ahead of him, the kind that got laid down all around the city to cover road works. A perfect place for a weight-sensitive trigger. Again he looked around him. He skirted the edge of the steel plate and used the end of a fire escape to swing himself to the far side.
“Chase!”
He swung around and saw Grange running into the alley behind him. “Stop there!” he yelled. “He’s set up a gauntlet. I’ll go after him. See if you can suit up and grab some Bottlers to start disarming these. You’ve got to stop anyone walking down here. There’s a device on this side of the dumpster and possibly something under this steel plate.”
“Got it. I’ll let SWAT know. You see which way he went?”
“Not sure but I’m going to find out where this alley goes. My guess, like last time, he went up a fire escape.”
Chase kept moving. Nothing else obvious lay ahead of him, so he moved as quickly as possible to the end of the alley and found a ladder. There was no other exit that he could see, so this must have been the way Miller went. He twisted his forearms over: he had battery power enough to keep going, albeit in the red and running low. He heaved himself upwards, scanning the side of the building and the edge of the rooftop as he went.
At the top he peered cautiously above the edge of the brickwork. He thought he saw a flash of movement and ducked down just in time, as a chunk of brick splintered above his head. The bullet had just missed him.
Shit. I’ve got no way past this. He raised his head again for a split second, trying to pick the direction of the shooter. He saw a blur to his eleven o’clock, and ducked down as another piece of brick exploded above his head. OK, only one way through. He could take the safer option and wait for backup but he had no idea how long Miller — if this was him — would stay put. He poked his head up again but so fast that he was down below the edge again before the shooter could pull the trigger. This bullet missed him by a wide margin and he had counted on that slow reaction. He’s a bomb-maker, not a sharpshooter. Good.
A split second after the bullet hit, Chase hauled himself up and over the edge, rolling onto the rooftop as another shot whistled overhead. Still in the open, he sprinted for a nearby air vent for cover. Bullets bounced off the ground behind him and another hit the steel vent, sounding off like a gong.
Chase took a breath. He had cover now. His next step was to cut down the line of fire so he could flank the shooter. He peered from behind the vent, keeping his head at ground level. Another shot rang out. He was on his feet again a split-second later, moving for a larger piece of cover. There was a stairwell ahead of him and he dashed towards the far side of it. Too quick for the shooter to get a round off, he skidded to a stop and flattened himself against the brickwork. Ducking his head around to the corner on his left he saw no movement. The shots must have come from behind the next corner, or the air vent next to it. He rounded the next corner and a figure in a dark hoody turned and aimed a gun at his head.
He didn’t have time to think. Years of training kicked in, prosthetic arms or not. He burst forward, driving the shooter’s right hand and the gun it held away with his left forearm, striking towards the shooter’s neck with his right. The gun fired, just missing Chase’s head but making him roar in agony as it went off next to his ear. The shooter pushed down against Chase’s arms, trying to counteract the strikes and give himself room. Chase tried to wrap up the gun hand by tucking it under his left arm but the shooter pulled back, squeezing the trigger again. This time it ripped through Chase’s clothes, taking a chunk of flesh from his left side.
Again he roared in pain. It didn’t drop him but it hurt like hell. Probably a flesh-wound. He drove forward again, desperate to close the distance between them and take away the advantage of the gun. This time he got lucky. He managed to catch the barrel and drive it upwards as another shot rang out, just grazing his hair. He gripped the barrel as tightly as he could and rotated it so that the barrel pointed to the sky, then towards the shooter as he pulled it downwards. There was no way the guy could hold on to the gun and Chase came away with it in his right hand, with the grip hanging out past his little finger and the barrel protruding past his thumb. He swung it in a smooth arc and smashed it into the guy’s head, barrel-first.
It missed the temple as his target stepped backwards a fraction, catching him on the cheek instead. He swung it back the other way but the guy blocked his arm. Chase pulled the gun in close to his torso, turning it outwards and grasping for the trigger. He cursed that he couldn’t feel what he was doing. The arms were now just giving him constant vibrations from all of the impacts. He fumbled a finger into the trigger guard and pulled. The guy was right in front of him and Chase had tight control of the gun. Then it clicked empty.
He saw a grin from under the hood as the man lashed out at him. Chase dropped his weight and ducked under the lethal king-hit. His own momentum coiled him up to his right and he came
back up, uncoiling his body as he swung an uppercut with his right hand. With the weight of the gun still in it and the solid prosthetic, Chase landed a heavy blow on the guy’s chin.
His opponent stumbled backwards for a moment, shaking his head and laughing as he surged forward again. Chase stopped him with a front kick, driving it hard into the man’s gut, pushing him backwards.
Below them in the alley, an explosion ripped towards them, shaking the building, and causing Chase to flinch. His attacker used the chance to come at him. Chase lunged backwards as the guy unsheathed a knife and slashed it through the air towards him. Again the knife flashed and again Chase moved himself backwards to keep just out of reach.
“Miller!” he bellowed.
The guy paused, still smiling. “So, you know my name.”
He pushed back his hood, revealing a hideously scarred face. There were burn marks all over him and his hair had been burned off his head — or he had been scalped.
“Do I still look like my ID picture?” He swung the knife back and forwards between them.
“What the hell happened to you? You’re supposed to be one of the good guys. You’re supposed to stop the bombs, not make them.”
Miller laughed again, lunging with the knife, driving Chase backwards again. “Oh but I was. Right up until my team left me for dead. Left me to be half-vaporised by friendly fire, then tortured by the Taliban. They at least kept me alive long enough to get what I needed.”
“What’s that?”
“Revenge,” Miller growled.
He lunged again. Chase tried to move to the side but he was stuck between the air vents. Miller was trying to herd him to the edge of the roof and he had nowhere else to go. He almost tripped on the vent, before moving backwards again. The knife sliced through his shirt, into his left side below his ribs. Chase eased backwards, looking for an alternative direction to move but his back foot felt the edge of the low roof top wall instead. He was out of room.
“Come on, you’re an EOD. You’re not a killer. Or at least, you weren’t. Your team can’t have left you to die on purpose. If they had known—”
“If they had known? They knew where I was and they called in an airstrike. I’d say they knew,” he spat.
Chase had his hands raised, ready to spring forward and deflect the next attack. As Miller sprang forward, a crack boomed through the air across the rooftops. He spun awkwardly to his right as a bullet caught him in the left shoulder. He was still driving forward towards Chase but now he was off-balance. Chase managed to deflect the knife to the side with his left arm as he drove his right fist into Miller’s ribs. He dropped his weight into a low stance and used it to pull Miller completely off-balance, hurling him downwards and towards the roof edge.
Miller’s momentum carried him over as he grasped at the brickwork. His left arm was completely useless, hanging limply at his side as blood began to pump from his shoulder. He scrambled for a moment, flailing to find a grip with his right arm. It was too late. He was going over the edge.
On instinct Chase dived towards him, his own right arm outstretched. With his left, he gripped the edge of the roof, as he managed to clasp onto Miller’s sleeve with his right. He hooked his feet behind the brickwork, fighting to keep from going over the edge himself. He now had Miller, several storeys above the alley, swinging below him. He felt the knife gash in his side tear wider under the strain.
Miller twisted his right hand around so he could in turn grip Chase’s forearm. “What are you doing?” he yelled.
“I’m trying to save you, you piece of shit. Nobody gets left behind. Just like my team saved me when you took my arms.”
“I don’t want saving. I just want to get even.”
Chase’s arms began beeping as the last red LED began to blink. Come on, not now.
Miller didn’t seem to want to climb up. Instead, he was fumbling with the zipper on the front of his hoody. His barely functioning left arm shook as he fought through the pain of his bullet wound to manoeuvre it. Chase saw in horror what he was trying to do. He was wearing his own vest.
Chase had only a second to decide what to do next. In a moment he would have no power left in his arms. As long as Miller hung on, he had Chase. If Miller blew himself up, he would take Chase with him.
Chase let go his grip with his left hand on the roof edge. His body jerked violently downward, causing Miller to flail as Chase slipped further towards the edge. He twisted himself sideways, desperately digging his feet into the edge of the brickwork. Then with the last of the power in his left hand, he reached for the recessed button tucked on the inside of his right elbow.
Just as Miller regained his composure enough to struggle with getting his own left arm shakily back onto the vest, there was a whirr and click. Miller suddenly dropped, with Chase’s right prosthetic forearm still in his hand. With the weight gone, Chase rolled himself back onto the roof. A fraction of a second later, still in mid-air, the vest exploded. White-hot phosphor tore through the air as shrapnel shredded the side of the building and devastated the windows. There were screams from below as the device wreaked havoc with fire and projectiles. What was left of Miller fell to the street in a haze of blood and flesh, as shards of glass and rubble rained down.
Chase rolled onto his back, a large pool of blood forming underneath him as the wound in his side flowed unrestricted. The rooftop turned scarlet, as everything for Chase faded to black.
Chapter 24
Chase blinked his eyes open, greeted with a bright white light. He wasn’t sure if this time he was dead, or yet again he was in hospital. He wondered for a moment if he had lost any more body parts but a quick check confirmed that while he had no prosthetics on, everything was accounted for. The bright white faded as his eyes adjusted and he confirmed that he was lying in a hospital bed.
There was a tightness in his left side below his rib cage, which he guessed to be stitches holding together the gash inflicted by Miller. It didn’t hurt too much, probably because he’d been given some kind of painkiller. That would wear off sooner or later and he wondered how long this one would take to heal. He felt a twang of pain as he tried to sit upright. OK, so the painkillers don’t completely mask it. Must be a good one.
“Lie your ass back down, soldier.”
The voice had authority but it sounded soothing as much as an order. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and grinned.
“Hello, Jane,” he managed to croak, his throat hoarse. “I guess this means I’m not dead.”
“You were. We brought you back. You owe Grange a drink for finding you as quickly as he did and slowing down your bleeding. You also now have a sizeable mortgage with the blood bank.”
“Already had one. This would make it a second mortgage, if I’m not mistaken.”
He coughed and winced at the tightness in his side.
“Try not to do that.”
“I’ll do my best. What happened?”
“You stopped the bomber. The police are keeping things under wraps for the time being, so I don’t have much information. Ongoing investigation and all that.”
Chase managed a nod.
“You also caught a knife wound, which tore further open. The blade nicked an artery, and once the wound opened up, you started bleeding out.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“You coded on the paramedics on the way here.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit. You cheated death again Chase. Carlton isn’t too happy that you got one of his new prosthetics fragged either.” She laughed, so Chase figured that was a good sign — she wasn’t too worried about him, so he would probably be OK. He chuckled in response and immediately winced as he felt a sting of pain from his wound.
“Take it easy. I’ll check back on you later and Grange wanted to stop by as well.”
“Will you help me in the shower later?�
�
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll give you a smack around the head. How’s that?”
“Sounds good.”
Chase grinned as she hustled away. He drifted off into a deep sleep, feeling at ease for the first time in several days.
***
He stirred much later, feeling rested. There was a gentle knock at the door and his father pushed his way in carrying a coffee in a paper cup.
“Wow, you knocked. What’s the special occasion?”
“Figured I’d take it easy on you for a while. You earned it.”
“Did you get one of those for me?” Chase nodded at the coffee.
“Don’t think you’re allowed any yet. It’s crap from the perc machine in the waiting room anyway.”
“Once I’m up and moving, I’ll take you somewhere better.”
“I’d like that.” His father reached for his phone. “I was saving this for you — for when you got back from Afghanistan. I wasn’t sure for a while if you’d be able to work on it but figure it’ll give you something to look forward to if I show you now. Plus, you seem to be pretty good with your hands again.”
He swiped the screen and scrolled through his pictures until he found what he was looking for. He held it in front of Chase. His son’s jaw dropped.
“That’s a 1968 Dodge Charger! In your barn!”
“Yep. Needs a lot of work but I figured it would keep you occupied when you got back home. I came across it for sale a while back.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome, son. It’ll be there whenever you’re ready to tackle it.”
Chase found himself grinning from ear to ear. He couldn’t help it — he’d been trying to get hold of a Charger for as long as he could remember.
Grange knocked and swung the doors open. “You up for visitors?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered, still grinning. His father patted him on the shoulder and moved out, giving them some space.
