by Tripp Ellis
Ronan laughed. “If that's the worst that happens, I think you'll be okay."
“True. But something tells me I'm not getting another mani-pedi for a long time.”
Ronan looked out the window and scanned the area. Across the street, he saw a Fukimoto dealership. It stood untouched at the base of a skyscraper. The first two floors were all dealership. Large glass windows gave a full view of the inventory.
Ronan spotted a Samuri Hypersport H7. It was one of the galaxy’s leading super-bikes. A handcrafted premium racer made of composite materials. It was sleek, angular, and fast as hell. It was essentially a street legal racer. But it was too much power for the average rider. At 1.6 million credits, the only people who could afford them were CEOs, financial managers, and tech giants with more money than sense. Statistically speaking, almost all of them would eat the pavement within the first six months of ownership. Ronan knew more about the super-bike than he cared to. It was the same make and model that Aiden had stolen. Fortunately, when the kid was caught, he was able to return the bike unscathed. Otherwise Ronan would've been paying reparations until well into his retirement.
Ronan glanced up and down the street. It was clear, for now. He pushed through the main doors of the building and ran across the street.
Jessica followed him to the dealership.
"Planning on picking up a new ride?"
"Yes, actually.”
“After seeing you drive, I'm a little hesitant to ride along."
“My driving is not that bad."
Jessica arched a knowing eyebrow at him.
Ronan aimed his plasma pistol at the glass door. With the squeeze of the trigger, the door shattered into a million shards. They danced across the concrete, bringing out delicate chimes as they settled.
Ronan crunched across the broken glass as he stepped into the showroom. He surveyed the sport-bike that was hovering on the pedestal. He looked for the tag number that was affixed to the windscreen—H7-295. He marched from the bike to the manager’s office and surveyed the rack of keys on the wall. He looked for the set that was labeled H7-295 and grabbed it from the hook. He marched back across the showroom and climbed atop the hover-bike. He had to admit, the bike was exquisitely designed. It hugged his form perfectly. Rider and machine would become one. He inserted the key in the ignition and cranked the bike up. The thunderous engine wound up, and the boost thruster glowed. Even sitting still, the bike felt powerful. Ronan was never much of a sport-bike kind of guy, but he was beginning to see attraction.
Jessica hiked up her skirt and threw her leg over the saddle. The bike certainly wasn't designed to be ridden while wearing a miniskirt, but Jessica tried to make the best of it. She clung onto Ronan for dear life and put her feet on the pedal-rest.
"Hang on," Ronan said. He blasted at the main window several times. His plasma pistol shattered the large sheets of plate glass. The fragmented shards dropped to the ground, showering glass across the tile floor.
Ronan throttled up the hyper-bike and eased out of the showroom.
6
The Samurai was scary fast. Ronan could barely hang on as he throttled up. He didn't dare max the thing out. He felt like the crotch rocket was just going to leave him behind.
Jessica clung on so tight, she almost cracked his ribs.
The sport-bike handled like a dream. Ronan made precision turns as he weaved through the damage and debris.
He turned onto Pearl Street and saw a platoon of enemy Tarvaax ahead. He banked a quick right into an alleyway. The rumble of the engine echoed off the narrow concrete walls. He raced past dumpsters and garbage bags, and took a left on Lockwood Drive. The cornering on the hover-bike was incredible. He angled so low on turns that his knee was barely an inch above the concrete.
Jessica’s nails dug into his skin. “If we survive this, I'm never riding in another motor vehicle with you again.”
Ronan chuckled. He continued making his way through the streets towards Aidan's school. The front windscreen was doing a good job of deflecting the breeze. But at such high speeds, it was a challenge to keep his eyelids open. The intense wind was drying them out, and they were burning.
Ronan could hear the fighting throughout the city. Fighters were roaring overhead, and bombs were still falling.
An enemy fighter swooped down behind Ronan and threaded the steel canyon of the skyscrapers. It strafed the roadway, lighting it up with plasma blasts. Volcanoes of debris erupted all around the sport-bike.
Ronan throttled up, staying just ahead of the blasts. He turned down an alleyway, and the fighter rocketed past. He sped down the narrow passageway, crossed over Market Street, and raced into a covered parking garage.
“Shit!” Jessica grumbled.
“What’s the matter?"
“I lost one of my heels." She reached down, took the other one off, and tossed it aside. She figured being barefoot was better than being lopsided.
Ronan waited for a moment and listened for the fighter. He could hear it circle back around—the sound of its engines growing louder as it streaked by. Ronan waited it a moment, then the sound of the fighter’s thrusters faded into the distance.
Ronan continued through the garage and exited on Hogan Street and headed north. From there, it was almost a straight shot to MacArthur High School.
Ronan felt his heart beat elevate as they drew closer. He didn't know what to expect. He was hoping and praying that his son was okay. He just wanted to get Aiden and get the hell out of there.
Most of the buildings in this area had been decimated. Shattered windows and bombed out walls. There were piles of rubble and rebar. Some structures had been razed to their foundation. Others, miraculously, looked untouched.
Ronan blazed ahead a few more blocks and pulled up to the main steps that led to MacArthur High—only MacArthur High wasn't there anymore.
The foundation was the only thing that remained, apart from a few walls and fragments of the Doric columns that once stood tall and majestic out front.
Ronan's heart sank, and his eyes filled. His stomach rumbled and twisted in knots. His skin grew clammy and cold. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes were wide with panic.
“I'm sure he's okay.” Jessica tried to reassure him.
Ronan killed the engine, snatched the key, and hopped off the sport-bike. He drew his plasma pistol and raced up the steps.
Jessica followed after him.
It looked like the building had taken a direct hit from a bomb blast. There was a deep crater in the center of the structure. Several beams and support columns had collapsed and crashed down into the basement. Bodies lay strewn about in a bloody mess.
“Aiden!” Ronan shouted. His voice trembled. “Aiden!”
A toppled beam served as a quasi-ramp that led down to the basement. Ronan used it to descend into the depths of the structure.
“Aiden!” Ronan shouted again. His worried eyes scanned the basement. Chunks of concrete lined the floor. Ronan carefully navigated the rocky terrain.
Jessica had followed him down to the basement. Her delicate feet were no match for the jagged jumble of concrete.
“Stay put. There's sharp bits of twisted metal. If you're not careful, you'll end up with a puncture wound through your foot. And I guarantee you, you won't be wearing any of those Milavo-Zelnar heels anytime soon.
She didn't listen to him. She stepped down from the fallen beam and gingerly found a place for her foot. She took one careful step at a time. With each movement, bits of debris shifted, and she struggled to keep balance.
Ronan gave her a sideways glance.
She shrugged. "I'm trying to help."
"Aiden!” Ronan shouted again.
There was still no response.
Ronan scoured every nook and cranny, but there was no sign of his son. Every corpse he came across filled his heart with terror, but none of them were wearing the same clothes that Aiden had been wearing when he left the house.
Barely audible moan
s and groans wafted from across the room.
Ronan dashed in the direction of the sound. It was clear someone was buried in the rubble underneath a fallen pylon. His heart raced as he dug out the debris. With each handful he thrust aside, his dread grew. He was desperate to find Aiden, but he sure didn't want to find him trapped under a pillar.
7
Ronan worked at a frantic pace to remove the debris. He hefted large chunks of concrete aside, finally getting down to the source of the moaning and groaning.
It wasn't Aiden.
Ronan breathed a sigh of relief. But he was equally devastated when he discovered the man trapped under the pillar was Mr. Davidson, the school principal. Ronan was on a first name basis with the man. Aiden's disciplinary problems brought the two in frequent contact.
Bill Davidson hardly looked like himself. His face was black and bruised and so swollen his features were almost unrecognizable. His front tooth had been chipped, and a pinkish mix of blood and saliva drizzled from his lips. Bill had dark circles under his eyes, and his nose was broken. Dried blood crusted around his nostrils.
Davidson was always expertly manicured, clean-shaven, and had a conservative haircut. To see him disheveled like this was disconcerting. His navy suit now looked gray, coated in a mist of concrete dust.
"Bill, it's me. Ronan Nash."
"Good to see you, Mr. Nash." He could barely choke the words out.
"We're going to get you out of here," Ronan said.
"Unless you can lift this pillar, I'm not going anywhere. Both my legs are crushed."
Ronan surveyed the situation.
Davidson's lower half was pinned underneath the heavy concrete. Even if he could move the slab, Davidson would likely bleed to death once the pressure was released.
"The kids,” Bill muttered. “They took the kids."
"Who took the kids?" Ronan asked.
"Those slimy bastards.”
"Where have they been taken?
"Each student is required to wear a tracking bracelet while they're on campus. Reach into my coat pocket and grab my phone. There's a tracking app. If the kids are within a couple of miles, you might be able to find them."
Ronan reached into Davidson's inside pocket and pulled out his phone.
"I need your thumbprint to access the home screen,” Ronan said.
Bill tried to move but couldn't. "I can't feel my hands."
Ronan found Bill’s hand and pressed his thumb against the bio identification pad. The display came to life.
Ronan accessed the device’s settings and turned the security feature off so he could access the phone later. He tabbed through the screen, looking for the tracking app. He launched it, and the app displayed a map of the area. Several pins dropped into position, representing the students. They were several blocks away, heading north on Sussex.
Ronan's eyes lit up—each icon had an abbreviated name. He breathed a sigh of relief when he read the name A. Nash.
Jessica could see the relief in Ronan's eyes. "Go get your son. I'll stay here with Bill. I’d just slow you down anyway.”
Ronan nodded. "I'll be back for you both." He paused for a moment. "If something happens, and I don't make it back…"
Jessica leaned in and kissed him before he could finish. Her full lips melted into his.
She felt amazing.
“There's more where that came from if you make it back. Just a little incentive.” She winked at him.
“That's a good incentive.”
Jessica smiled.
Ronan stood up and navigated his way back to the fallen pillar that served as a ramp into the basement. He climbed to the surface level and scanned the area. He didn't see any enemy activity, but he heard the clatter of combat several blocks away. Black smoke billowed into the sky from multiple parts of the city. The air had grown thick with the smoky haze of battle.
Ronan sprinted down the steps to the sport-bike. He slung his leg over the seat and cranked up the engine. He sped away, holding Bill's mobile in one hand, steering the bike with the other. He kept an eye on the tracking screen and headed in the direction of the students. He zigged and zagged through the debris and took a right on York Street.
Ronan didn't get very far before he heard the unmistakable sound of a fighter engine.
Ronan glanced to his rearview mirror, and his focused eyes found the attack fighter as it emerged from the haze. It swooped down between the buildings, threading the narrow passageway and opened fire. A steady stream of plasma bolts cratered the roadway. Ronan dodged and weaved, doing his best to avoid the blasts. But he lost grip of Bill Davidson's mobile phone. It slipped from his fingertips and smacked the concrete shattering into a million pieces. The display separated from the frame. The device tumbled to a stop by a nearby sewer opening. It was beyond repair.
Ronan had to find Aiden before they moved too far from their last tracked location.
The attack fighter roared past Ronan and circled back for another run. It was probably the same fighter as before, and he was determined not to let his target go.
Ronan swung a hard left on Yale and throttled up the bike. He raced down the avenue with blistering speed. He saw the attack fighter plunge low, streaking toward him head-on. A flurry of glowing plasma bolts raced in his direction, impacting on either side of the sport-bike.
Ronan could feel the searing heat as the blasts narrowly missed him. He was constantly pelted with chips of concrete and debris as the projectiles cratered the roadway.
One of the blasts erupted in front of the bike. The overpressure sent the Samurai tumbling, throwing Ronan from the saddle.
Flung into the air at nearly 100 miles an hour was not Ronan's idea of a good time. Neither was hitting the ground at 100 miles an hour without a helmet.
8
There was a brief second of bliss before the catastrophe. The world slowed down and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Ronan soared through the sky. This is what a bird must feel like, he thought. Then he smacked the pavement.
The impact knocked all the air out of his lungs. He heard the crunch of ribs cracking. Ronan had missed a light pole by millimeters, and was now tumbling across the sidewalk. Each roll was taking chunks of flesh from his knuckles and joints as they dragged across the concrete. The uneven cracks in the sidewalk were murder as he slid across them. Ronan kept sliding for a ways, then smacked into the side of the building, finally coming to rest.
He couldn't breathe. He gasped for air, but his body said no. So traumatized by the impact, every muscle spasmed in an attempt to protect him from further damage. Finally, his body remembered how to breathe, and he sucked in a huge gulp of air.
His hands were bloody, and he had multiple spots of road rash. The pavement had worn through his clothing on his elbows and knees. He was lucky that his head didn't collide with a solid object during the crash.
He could hear the attack fighter circling back around.
Ronan staggered to his feet. He was stiff and sore, but it seemed that he had avoided any broken bones. The pain in his back was like an electric shock that ran down his leg. It hurt to stand up straight. He took a few steps, hobbling with a limp.
Ronan could hear the stern voice of his high school football coach screaming in his head, ”Walk it off!”
You could have been run over by a truck, and Coach Barnes would've said, “Walk it off!” It was the answer for everything.
In this case, Ronan didn't have much of a choice. A platoon of Tarvaax soldiers marched around the corner and opened fire. The attack fighter was coming in for another strafing run. Ronan took fire from both directions.
He crouched down behind the twisted wreckage of a parked car and fired a few shots at the oncoming ground forces.
Plasma bolts exploded all around him, blasting at the remains of the car, catching it on fire. Bits of metal and debris showered out. The air filled with smoke and the scent of seared plastic and electronics. There wasn't much left on the car to burn, b
ut it was enough to fill Ronan's lungs with smoke. He hacked and coughed in between volleys of gunfire. His eyes were red and burning from the airborne irritants. But that was the least of his concern.
The fighter made its attack run, lighting up the street with plasma blasts. The roadway erupted with craters, one after the other, on a path straight to Ronan.
Ronan spun around and took aim at the oncoming fighter. He fired a barrage of plasma bolts as the craft soared between the buildings. It was almost impossible to take down a Tarvaax fighter with a pistol. Their composite armor plating would absorb the relatively low energy impact of small arms fire, leaving little more than a small blast mark. But Ronan knew if he could hit the intake port, he could do some real damage.
He sent a stream of weapons fire in the air, leading the fighter just enough. Ronan got lucky. One of the bolts threaded the intake port and a moment later the sleek black craft exploded.
Bits of the fuselage rained down as an amber glow enveloped the craft. The ball of flame tumbled across the sky, roaring overhead. Red-hot bits of shrapnel showered down. The molten craft slammed the pavement, taking out the entire platoon of Tarvaax infantry soldiers.
Some of them ran screaming, engulfed in flames. They only made it a few steps before they collapsed and were burned to a crisp. Their bodies bloated and swelled with the heat, then shriveled. Others were cut in half by flying shards of the fuselage. Alien blood painted the roadway.
The fuselage of the fighter screeched across the concrete and finally came to rest. Flames and black smoke billowed high into the sky. Tarvaax bodies lay scattered everywhere.
Ronan staggered to his feet and hobbled toward the carnage. If he was going to take on another platoon and rescue his son, he was going to need more than a plasma pistol.
His steely eyes scanned the area, looking for weapons. The first plasma rifle he picked up was charred and non-functional. He kept sifting through the dead until he found one that looked unharmed. He checked the magazine and the power cell, then took aim at a nearby car and fired.
