This Machine Kills

by Steve Liszka

  Even after her confession, he still felt there was something she was holding back from him.

  “Are you ok?” he asked, “is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  “I’m fine,” she smiled “you go have your shower.”

  When he got to the bathroom, Taylor turned to look at her one last time but she had thrown on her dressing gown and moved to the window. Her head was tilted towards the ground as she stared at the City below. Even though he had seen it seconds before, Taylor wanted nothing more at that moment than to look at her face once more and with every fibre of his being he willed her to turn around. After waiting for what must have only been a few seconds but felt to him like hours, he reluctantly gave up and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 19

  The soap had created a giant lather patch around Taylor’s genitals as he slowly washed himself. He was staring at his penis, feeling disappointed that the excess blood would soon return to the rest of his body. As he let the droplets of water wash away the foam, he thought about his encounter with his team earlier that day.

  Out of curiosity more than anything else, he had taken a detour past the university on the way to Milton’s apartment. A small group of students, probably no more than twenty, had been attempting to show their support for the Shepherd. He thought of Milton’s words as he watched them wave their placards in the air. One said ‘This Machine Kills Individualism’, another had ‘This Machine Kills Critical Thinking’ written across it. Others simply had his name emblazoned on them or else a shepherd’s crook, his unofficial symbol.

  Over the sirens the SecForce units were using to drown out their voices, Taylor thought he heard someone shouting something about the poor reclaiming the streets. It made him think back to the Billy Nothing concert he had gone to with Ben. The students, who had started their mini demonstrations on the steps of the main building, had been quickly and forcefully herded into temporary holding pens.

  Even though they offered no resistance and had sheepishly allowed themselves to be moved, he watched as Skinner used his brute strength to push them a little quicker to their intended destination. His run-in with Ben had evidently done him no serious harm. Taylor thought it was his pride that was likely to be hurting most as he watched Skinner manhandle the young dissidents.

  As they entered the pen, Lennox took great joy in snatching the banners off the young men and women. Taylor watched him rip one of the cardboard signs in half and snap the thin piece of wood it had been attached to over his knee. Rudy stood by, watching with his usual malevolent smile plastered over his face. He seemed to be taking great pleasure in wilfully ignoring the instructions of the young man standing next to him who could only have been his replacement. The kid looked around the same age as Doyle and just as green as he had been when he first joined the unit. Taylor immediately felt sorry for the boy; the team would eat him alive.

  Although he kept his eye out for him, he didn’t catch sight of Doyle the whole time. He thought there would now be divisions in the unit caused by his and Spike’s betrayal of the others at the co-op. The two of them were probably sticking together; covering each other’s backs. At least that’s what he hoped.

  Despite his appearance, Taylor knew Spike was a tough motherfucker who would look after Doyle if necessary. But it was his old friend rather than the rookie that he was really worried about. Spike wasn’t scared of the rest of the team and that was what concerned him most. Rudy would never let him get away with pointing the gun at him, and knowing how Spike was willing to challenge the others, further confrontation could only be inevitable.

  He turned the shower off and carefully wiped himself down before stepping onto the marble tiled floor. He couldn’t help but treat the place with the utmost respect, being careful not to dirty anything whilst he was there. The apartment made him feel uncomfortable, like it was far too grand a place for someone like him. It was either that or his guilt at sleeping with another man’s wife in his own house that made him treat the place with such servility.

  For some reason, he felt strangely bashful about re-entering the bedroom in his naked form. Deciding it was appropriate to cover himself, he grabbed the towel and secured it tightly around his waist. When he opened the door he smiled when he saw Charlotte had returned to bed. She was laying on her side with her back to him, still staring out of the floor-to-ceiling window. Taylor looked past her to share the view, and quickly understood her interest. It had been an unusually cloudy morning but now the sun’s rays were beginning to burn their way through the grey sky.

  A solitary, uninterrupted beam of light seared through the clouds and directed itself onto the earth’s surface. Where it made contact, Taylor couldn’t see due to the presence of the wall. He imagined the beam burning a hole straight through the ground, obliterating whatever was unlucky enough to be in its path. Judging from the distance, he estimated that it was somewhere to the far south of the Old-Town’s border.

  “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” he said.

  When she didn’t answer he started to chuckle, “Don’t tell me you’ve gone to back to sleep.”

  He walked across the room, and sitting on the bed, placed his hand on her shoulder. As gently as he could, he pulled her towards him; turning her onto her back.

  “Come on sleepy head,” he said, “I thought you said you had things to do.”

  Halfway through the manoeuvre, he knew something was wrong. Whilst her body had willingly rolled into position, Charlotte’s head remained in exactly the same place. By the time both her shoulders were flat on the bed, her neck was twisted at an impossible angle. The unnatural pose her body had adopted made him feel nauseous.

  Without thinking, he placed one hand on her face and the other underneath her neck, then as carefully as possible rolled her head into the position that matched her body. As his hand took the weight of her head he immediately understood what had happened. He could feel one of her vertebrae pushing awkwardly against the skin; her neck had been broken. When he looked at Charlotte’s face he saw a small welt had appeared on her cheek. Other than that, she looked remarkably peaceful and for a second, against all evidence to the contrary, he thought she was caught in a peaceful dream and about to wake at any moment.

  As he leaned over her body, he thought he should have been emotionally numb or consumed with grief, but he was neither. He had spent too long doing a job that relied on making split second decisions in the most difficult circumstances to allow his body to react in that way. Instead he grabbed his jeans, cursing himself when he remembered he never carried his pistol in the City. Just as he got them over his hips, he heard a banging noise directly beneath him. Kicking his boots to one side, he moved to the door in a motion that successfully married speed and stealth.

  When he reached the balcony, Taylor cautiously peered over to survey the area below. At the same time he realised the place was now empty, he heard the faint buzz of the elevator kicking into action.

  “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, realising he had probably just lost his only chance of finding Charlotte’s killer. The stealth mode he had adopted was abandoned as he stepped heavily down the stairs.

  Halfway down, he froze to the spot when it hit him that the noise coming from the elevator motor was growing louder. He had been wrong, it wasn’t the killer leaving that he could hear; someone else was coming up. He quickly backed up the stairs as the whirring sound ceased, stepping back onto the balcony where he would be invisible to the new arrival.

  For a few brief moments, muffled noises could be heard coming from the elevator lobby room where the guards stood. Seconds later, Taylor heard the main doors to the apartment fling open, and judging from the familiar sounds of trooper’s voices and the heavy footsteps of military boots, he knew they were there for him; someone had set him up.

  A man’s voice echoed around the room and Taylor’s heart sunk as he recognised it. They had sent his own team to capture him and Rudy was taking great pleasure in it. />
  “Where are you Sarge?” he yelled, “I’m going to carve you up, you little bitch.”

  A high pitched voice followed that he didn’t recognise, “Remember Rudy, our orders are to take him in alive.”

  It must have been the new boy who had replaced him.

  “Sure thing,” Rudy answered. Taylor imagined the smile on his face that he wasn’t bothering to hide.

  “I can’t believe he killed the guards as well,” it was Lennox he could now hear, “that motherfucker is cold.”

  He crept silently back into the bedroom and closed the door behind him, careful not to make any sound.

  “Shit,” he whispered to himself.

  He was all too aware of the situation he was in; trapped in an enclosed space with at least two well-armed thugs after him who would shoot long before their boy-leader could stop them. He looked around for a weapon and quickly chose the lamp that rested on the bedside table. Removing the shade and flipping it over, he tested its weight in the palm of his opposite hand. Happy at the density of the marble base, he went back into the bathroom and turned the hot water tap in the shower on as far as it would go. As the steam quickly filled the room, he manoeuvred himself into the position he would launch his counter-attack from.

  It took another minute before he heard the bedroom door open. A layer of steam had settled on the sweat that already lined his face and he willed whoever it was in the adjacent room to hurry their search. Just as he was able to work out that the footsteps were getting closer, the door flung open with such force it almost crushed him. He had to repress the urge to scream when the door smashed into his foot.

  Lennox stepped into the room with his rifle aimed directly at the shower. The device had done its job perfectly and completely engulfed the room in steam. He chuckled quietly to himself, then not caring if he was heard, stepped forward and with the muzzle of his rifle pushed the shower curtain open.

  “Got you, motherfucker,” he said.

  Before Lennox had the chance to realise it was empty, Taylor made his move. He took a couple of quick steps forward then brought the heavy lamp down on the top of the man’s skull. Lennox didn’t even have time to see the identity of his attacker. By the time his body hit the floor, Taylor was already on it. He snatched Lennox’s pistol from its holster and stuffed it into the back of his jeans, making sure to take the spare magazine from the oaf’s belt.

  Stepping over the fallen slab of muscle and into the bedroom, he was about to make his escape when he heard another pair of boots reach the top of the stairs and head in his direction along the hallway. He pulled the gun out from his jeans, and deciding to use the same trick again, hid behind the bedroom door in anticipation of the intruder’s arrival. Taylor longed for it to be Rudy who appeared. He was looking forward to killing him so much it made the glands in his jaw ache.

  “Lennox?”

  Disappointment struck him when the high-pitched voice rang out. He put the gun back in his jeans, knowing there was an easier way of dealing with this inexperienced boy he had no real desire to hurt. The door promptly opened in a far gentler manner and the kid cautiously entered the room; completely forgetting the golden rule to always check behind the door you had just entered. It only took a couple of steps before he could see Lennox’s feet peering up at him from the adjacent room.

  Before he could speak into his throat-mike to alert the others, Taylor pounced. He wrapped his right arm around the boy’s neck so his elbow hinge clutched his fragile windpipe and at the same time pushed against the back of the boy’s head with his left hand, forcing him deeper into the choke. As he feebly struggled, Taylor squeezed his elbows together, completing the technique. In less than five seconds, he had rendered the boy unconscious and he hadn’t even had to hit him.

  He gently laid his victim down, then after hearing nothing but silence coming from the hallway, decided to make his move. The others were most likely searching the main floor of the apartment, making this his only chance of escape. He thought about taking one of their assault rifles but decided against it; the plan was to escape, not get into a firefight. Plus, he didn’t know how many of the team were in the building and didn’t want to risk hitting the ones he still considered to be friends.

  Taylor peered over the edge of the mezzanine but could see nothing; they must have been searching one of the numerous rooms that belonged to the lower floor of the apartment. Once he was down the stairs, it was a relatively straight dash to the entrance and lobby. He had no other option but to go for it whilst the opportunity still presented itself.

  With the pistol at his shoulder he moved down the stairs as quickly and silently as he could. When he was halfway across the room, he heard a clanging noise coming from the kitchen and instinctively threw himself at the ground. He stayed there for a few moments, aiming his pistol at the offending area, then when only silence followed, continued his escape.

  Taylor knew when he got to the doors that one of the team would likely be guarding the elevator. That was how he would have done it if he was in charge. He almost resigned himself to his fate as he placed his hand on the doorknob but there was no alternative; it was his only way out. He pulled down the handle and threw the door open, aiming the pistol towards the elevator as he quickly stepped into the lobby. Doyle had a look in his face that suggested he had been expecting him for some time.

  Taylor held his spare hand up in a motion to tell Doyle not to fire, but his protégé was already lowering his rifle to the floor.

  “I didn’t do it,” he whispered as he closed the door behind him. He looked down at the bodies of the two guards whose throats had been slit. Whoever killed them had taken them completely by surprise.

  Doyle took a step away from his weapon, “I know.”

  “Who sent you here?” Taylor asked.

  “That’s just it,” Doyle said, “that’s why I knew something was wrong. We got a call at the university. It was all very hush-hush. They told us to come straight here and apprehend you but not to involve any of the other units. It all sounded wrong.”

  “Who called you?”

  Doyle shrugged, “Jenkins didn’t say.”

  “Jenkins? Is that the kid?”

  “Yeah,” Doyle paused, “you haven’t hurt him have you?”

  Taylor shook his head.

  Doyle pressed the button and the elevator doors opened, “You better go, before the others realise you’ve gone.”

  Taylor went to step past him but Doyle stood in his path, blocking the way.

  “You’re going to have to hit me, otherwise they’ll think I helped you,” he smiled weakly, “just make sure it’s a good one.”

  Without saying anything, Taylor hit him with a left hook, catching him flush on the jaw, just below the ear. Apart from the temple, it was the best place to guarantee a knockout and he had landed it perfectly. Stepping over Doyle’s body he entered the lift and pressed the button to send him to the ground floor.

  With the carriage in slow descent, he ran the morning’s events through his head and no matter how he looked at it, kept coming to the same conclusion; it had to have been Milton. Charlotte was right, he had discovered their affair and come up with a perfect revenge; kill her and blame it on Taylor. That’s why he made sure that it was his own team who arrested him. He knew they would never let him out alive if they got hold of him. It was also, no doubt, why he’d put Jenkins in charge of them. He was all too aware the boy would never be able to reign them in.

  When the doors re-opened it was Spike whose rifle was now being directed at him. Taylor couldn’t help but smile when he saw his friend in the downstairs lobby. He couldn’t think of anyone else in the City he’d rather see under the circumstances.

  He stepped out of the lift and stuffed the pistol back into his jeans,

  “Jesus Spike, thank fuck it’s you.”

  Spike’s face remained serious as he continued to keep his rifle trained on Taylor.

  “I’d prefer it if you put the gun on
the ground boss.”

  At first he thought his friend was choosing an ill-opportune time to fuck with him.

  “Come on Spike,” he said, “I need to get going, now.”

  The smile he was expecting never materialised.

  “Sorry Taylor but I’ve got to take you in. Now please, put the fucking gun on the floor.”

  Taylor could feel himself growing angry, “Come on Spike, it wasn’t me, you must know that.”

  “Exactly,” Spike said, “I do know, and that’s why I’m trying to protect you. If you run you’re going to get yourself killed.”

  Without taking his eyes off Taylor, Spike nodded towards the main entrance of the building, “Where are you going to go? There’s more surveillance in this city than anywhere else in the world.”

  “Don’t do this,” Taylor said, shaking his head.

  “Look at yourself,” Spike answered, looking down at Taylor’s semi-naked body, “you’ve got no shoes, no shirt, how far do you think you’re gonna get before you get your ass shot to pieces. I’m doing you a favour here, let’s go see Milton and we’ll work this whole thing out. I’ll make sure those assholes don’t get near you”

  Taylor took a few steps closer to Spike and was shocked to see his friend take an equal number back.

  “You don’t understand,” he said, “it was Milton who set me up. I was having an affair with his wife and he found out. This is his pay back.”

  Spike lowered the rifle slightly, “Shit.”

  “You need to let me go or they’ll kill me before I even get back to headquarters. You’ve got to believe me.”

  Spike dropped the rifle to his side, “Fuck Taylor, what have you done?”

  Before he could attempt an answer, the doors of the second lift car opened accompanied by a gently pinging sound. Taylor turned just in time to see the butt of Skinner’s shotgun drive towards his head. The blow knocked him to the ground causing him to slide along the shiny floor like a well-polished bowling ball.