by Cliff Hedley
He lost sight of them again behind the roof-access structure and a series of more air vents. They emerged just on the edge of the roof to his left. He got a good look at the second man, who was backed up against the edge of the roof. It was Chase all right.
Freeman moved the gun sight to the right. The hood was off the man with the scars, and he was staring at Sergeant Kelvin Miller, US Army, K.I.A. It was no ghost he’d bumped into on the street.
Miller had the knife raised and lunged at Chase. He was herding him off the roof. The knife or the fall. Neither option would be good for Chase’s health. Freeman’s finger moved from where it rested on the trigger guard. It found the trigger, his breathing slowed and calmly, gently, he squeezed. The crosshairs were on Miller, centre-mass, just as he took one final lunge at Chase. He moved just enough that by the time the bullet found him, it hit his left shoulder instead of his heart. It knocked him off-balance and he spun as Chase burst towards him.
Then Miller was off the side of the building and Chase was desperately hanging onto him with one arm. Freeman could see Chase but Miller was now below the edge of the building. He had no shot on Miller and Chase was scrambling to stay on the roof.
A second, maybe two passed and another explosion ripped through the air. This one was much closer. Freeman instinctively ducked for cover as the glass below Chase shattered and sprayed everywhere. He popped his head up again, finding Chase through the scope. He was lying on his back, not moving. Miller was nowhere in sight.
It was excruciating. Freeman couldn’t traverse the rope that Miller had used to get to the next building, let alone jump across to where Chase lay beyond that. Through the scope, Freeman could see a pool of blood growing around him. He went for his phone again. This time it connected and he felt a glimmer of hope.
“Nine One One. What is your emergency?” It was a woman’s voice, calm but confident.
“I need an ambulance. To an alley between Forty-sixth and Forty-seventh Streets, west of Times Square. There’s a man on a rooftop. He’s bleeding badly.”
“Can you give me an exact address?”
Freeman went to switch to his map application then stopped as another man clambered on to the rooftop. He seemed to be looking around, unable to see anything, unsure where to go next. Freeman got his eye back on the scope. He picked out a Bomb Squad logo and a nametag. It read Lt. Grange.
“Hey! Hey!” Freeman yelled, waving at him but he was too far away to hear. The gentle breeze carried Freeman’s shouts away as they blended with the hum of the city. Freeman put the phone back to his ear. “Ma’am?”
“I’m still here.”
“Put me through to Lieutenant Grange in the NYPD Bomb Squad. He’s closest to the scene but can’t see where to go.”
“Uh . . .” The operator seemed to be considering the request for a moment. Given everything that had just happened in the Square, she must have thought it legitimate under the circumstances. “I’m trying to patch you through now.”
There was a click and a ringing tone. Freeman watched through the scope as Grange fumbled for his phone. “Grange,” he barked.
“Lieutenant, this is Sergeant Andre Freeman, US Army, retired. I don’t have time to explain but I need you to listen carefully. There is a man bleeding out on the rooftop you’re standing on. Get to the far side, past all the air vents. Hurry. His name is—”
“Chase?”
“Yes. Go!”
Grange sprinted to the far side of the rooftop. He weaved his way through the vents and found where Chase lay, almost hidden from view. There was no way he would have spotted him unless someone had seen him from above. Grange went about applying pressure to the wound, then more officers clambered onto the roof. Freeman could hear it all through his phone. Neither man had hung up. Grange was yelling muffled orders as they swarmed on Chase. The other men helped stabilise him and kicked the roof-access door in. There was no way they could get him down the ladder. When they had lifted him and carried him away Grange remembered his phone.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Freeman, sir. I may need some help getting down. You should probably send some officers to clean up this gear as well.”
“Where are you?”
“Look up and to your left.”
Freeman angled the scope lens to blink a bright flash of sunlight.
“We’re on our way.”
EPILOGUE
After a few weeks confined to his bed, Chase was feeling a whole lot better. His father was there most days, as was Freeman, so now there was a second chair in front of Chase’s TV where they all watched the re-runs together. Frank and Freeman got along quote well, sharing the same dry wit, much of it at Chase’s expense.
From his fight on the rooftop, Chase had a long jagged scar on his torso. Another battle wound to add to his extensive collection. He’d seen Doctor Levitz, his Army-appointed psychiatrist, a couple of times since his run-in with Miller and had to admit that the sessions were useful. The physios gave him some exercises for his arms while he was bed-ridden as well.
What he was most looking forward to, however, was having the next visit from Carlton and Jane. He’d been making do with one working prosthetic and was glad that the Mark Two worked in the shower. It gave him a little sense of independence — and dignity. He couldn’t wait for the replacement to arrive. Or to get out and have a decent coffee.
Carlton and Jane arrived late in the afternoon during one of his re-run TV binges — not that there was a lot else for him to do. The Dukes of Hazzard had just gone to commercial with the General Lee suspended mid-jump when Jane pushed her way in with a brief knock. She held the door open for Carlton, who had a pair of prosthetics sitting on a tray clipped to his wheelchair.
Carlton beamed. “Chase, these are your new Mark Threes. They have an improved software interface, meaning they should calibrate without being wired in downstairs. We’ll let you test them for the day and tomorrow I’m told you should be healthy enough to come down and see us. We’ll find out how well they’ve worked for you then.”
“Any other new bells and whistles?”
“I’ve made improvements to the touch sensitivity. Refined it, more than anything. Likewise with the articulation you asked for. Oh, one more thing I should add. There’s a layer of Kevlar under the composite outer shell.”
“What! They’re bullet-proof?”
“Bullet and blade-resistant. No need to test it just yet, please.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Doc.”
“It’s my pleasure. You’ve proven to be quite the guinea pig.”
Chase grinned as Jane removed his remaining Mark Two and slipped the Mark Three prosthetics on. They seemed to work the same as before, taking a few moments to boot up as they gripped his upper arms snugly.
“Can you clench and unclench your hands for me?” Carlton asked.
Chase did as instructed and the arms responded.
“Touch each finger to your thumb, one at a time.”
The prosthetics continued to work perfectly.
“All right. They look good to me. I want to see you tomorrow morning for tests but see how you go with those and let me know if there are any issues. I’ll take the old Mark Two.”
Jane passed it over to him and Carlton placed it on his tray. Pushing his way out the door he said, “You can head off too, Jane. See you both tomorrow.”
Chase was a little surprised at how easy and short the session had been. He’d been expecting to have to jump through more hoops. He looked down at his new arms, turning them over to get a good look. They were sleek and like the Mark Twos, made of carbon-fibre composite and titanium.
“You seem pleased,” Jane smiled.
“I am. Things haven’t turned out too bad.”
“No, I guess not.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
&nbs
p; “Maybe tomorrow.” She smiled suggestively. “Right now you could use a shower.”
