Acts of Violence

by Ross Harrison

  ‘But you will keep an eye out for them.’ She wasn’t looking for confirmation. She was telling me.

  ‘I will.’

  I took the comm unit back and put it in my pocket again. Then the mountain exploded. We both swore and I slammed on the brakes. Not necessary, since we were so far away, but a natural reaction.

  ‘The train,’ Sixteen said. Just a statement. No feeling.

  She was right. The mountain hadn’t exploded. That was stupid. The fireball and distant rumble had come from much closer. The train had been blown up. Either the off-worlders had packed it full of explosives and sent it off like an on-rails missile, or Webster had planted explosives on the track in case they tried to come that way. I suspected the latter. The explosion didn’t seem to be quite as far down as the station.

  I accelerated again. About four miles down the road, the wreckage became visible. What was left of the first two cars was ablaze. Pieces of burning metal were scattered all around. Somehow, one car still sat on the rails and only a small fire crept up the side. The other five were on their sides. They lay all over the place. One had slid, and perhaps rolled, past the first car.

  Webster’s men had planted the explosives too close. Off-worlders were climbing out of the cars and heading towards the camp. I counted about twenty, but more were still emerging. They were hurt, but not badly enough to be deterred. I hoped enough had survived to give Webster’s guys trouble.

  I swung off the road and forced the cab to full speed. We were aimed towards the gorilla. I could just make out his shape in the dark. The storm had passed now. I wished it hadn’t. That was the first time I’d actually wanted heavy rain. It would have given us a little extra cover.

  As we pulled up beside him, the gorilla didn’t even look at us. He was staring at the camp. A motorbike lay in the dirt behind him. Slung over his shoulder was an assault rifle. He was ready.

  ‘Are you sure I can trust him?’ Sixteen asked.

  ‘Pretty sure. He looks scary but as long as you both have the same goal, he should be a good ally. Just keep a fair distance from him. I don’t know how long he’ll go without making a lot of noise, and he’s a big target. He wants payback for Van and he wants the girl he’s soft on. If anything gets in the way, he’ll go right through it. Stick with him as long as he’s not drawing attention.’

  She nodded. We climbed out of the cab.

  ‘We don’t have long,’ the gorilla said, finally turning. ‘Girls might get hit in the crossfire. Webster might still try to get them shipped out. And if he sees that he’s losing, he’ll kill them to stop the off-worlders getting them.’

  I nodded. I hadn’t thought of that. ‘This is Sixteen. She knows where they’re being kept.’

  He stared down at her and grunted. He’d turned to her when I said her name. Or designation, or whatever. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Didn’t try to guess.

  I walked back to the cab. Opened the trunk. I was met by wide eyes and frantic, fruitless kicking.

  ‘Finished?’ I asked when he’d run out of energy.

  ‘The fuck is wrong with you?’ he shouted, struggling to haul himself out.

  ‘I needed a ride. But I’ve got another one now. Thanks.’

  After a double take in the gorilla’s direction, the cab driver seemed to abandon any thoughts of attacking me. He sidled round the cab and climbed in, making sure not to turn his back on us for a second. A minute later, he was halfway back to the road.

  ‘I need to use your bike,’ I told the gorilla. He shrugged.

  ‘Keep your eyes open for the other girls,’ Sixteen told me again.

  ‘They’re on the train.’ The gorilla pointed to the wreckage. ‘Fifth car. Don’t know which that is now. Saw them loading the girls at the station. Too many men to do anything then.’

  I looked at the cars. It was impossible to tell which car was which now. I couldn’t see any girls. If the majority of the off-worlders had survived the crash, then maybe the girls had too. There were still too many gunmen around the wreckage at the moment, but I’d circle back to it after I paid Webster a visit. The gorilla, too, would wait for the gunmen to clear out.

  The bike must have looked ridiculous under his bulk. I pulled it upright and swung my leg over as he started towards the shipping containers. Sixteen hesitated a moment before following. No ‘good luck’ or ‘be careful’. Just a curious, not entirely trusting look. I wondered if she thought I was going to just drive away and leave them all. At this point, I wasn’t even tempted.

  I started the engine and listened to the quiet hum under me for a moment. My eyes followed my intended path across the cracked dirt. It was so densely compacted that even the heavy rainfall didn’t break it back down to mud. A layer of brown sludge covered it and sank into the deep cracks, but the ground was hard. I guessed that meant there’d once been a lot of hot sun. That was hard to imagine.

  Once my path was decided, I revved the engine needlessly. Then accelerated. The back wheel spun a couple of times in the mud before it kicked enough out of the way to bite into the dirt below. I angled it left, to take me back to the road, then across and over the train line behind the overturned cars.

  I was nearly at the road when I felt a couple of light taps against my face. The rain was starting again. It might help cover me a little outside, but the real danger was inside the mansion. In seconds, the air between me and the train station became hazy with grey rain. I could make out shapes and the odd flash. Webster’s people were still holding back the off-worlders. The off-worlders were still giving them trouble.

  The bike’s wheels liked the road. Didn’t like the train line. I had to slow right down so I wouldn’t get thrown off. On the other side, I accelerated again and curved round to come in at the side of the mansion. I wasn’t sure if any off-worlders would have reached the place yet. Didn’t know if that would help me or make things worse. More people to shoot at me, but more targets to spread their concentration between.

  As I neared, I saw something I hadn’t spotted on the way in. A flyer sat in the mud outside the back left corner of the mansion’s perimeter wall. From the way it was angled towards the wall, and the fact that both side doors were open, I guessed it was more off-worlders. The other clue was that a gaping hole had been blown in the wall itself. That was the real giveaway.

  When I was close enough, I took my hand off the gas and pulled out my revolver. Just in case. The bike coasted to a stop beside the flyer. I didn’t bother with the stabiliser as I climbed off. Just let the bike topple sideways into the mud. I saw no movement from the flyer or the hole in the wall. The squelching beneath my shoes was as much a betrayal of my presence as the bike’s engine, so I moved quickly to the side of the hunk of metal. Still no sound or movement. I let the gun lead my head inside. The flyer was empty.

  I’d told Sixteen that I was coming to the mansion to find a flyer for us to get the girls out with. Actually, I had no idea how to fly one. I hadn’t really thought about that, because it was only my mouth that had looked beyond finding and killing Webster. My head had stayed with his lifeless corpse. Maybe it was simple to operate the thing. I’d find out later. If I survived the mansion.

  I turned my attention to the hole in the wall. Bricks, both whole and broken, lay scattered on the other side. The edge of the new doorway was blackened from the explosives. As I stepped through, I heard a couple of muffled gunshots. There wasn’t as much shooting going inside as I’d expected.

  The mansion was small, as mansions went. Not as fancy as I’d imagined. Two floors plus an attic. Maybe twenty rooms between them, I guessed. It was built of large cream coloured stone blocks, but the most striking thing about the place was the grass. The ten feet of ground between the perimeter wall and the building’s own wall was covered in grass. There must have been some kind of drainage system under it because it was firm to walk on, not mushy like the grass outside the Lakeside Rooms. I liked it. It wasn’t often I got to see anything nature had to offer. Unle
ss you counted rain and mud.

  I guessed there wouldn’t be a lot of difference now between the front and back doors, so I turned right and headed for the front. Here, the grass opened up into a lawn about forty square feet. The driveway was white gravel and came up to circle around a plain and non-functional fountain.

  Three bodies lay on the gravel. Another on the lawn. One was an off-worlder. The other three were Webster’s. I raised my gun towards the front door and approached, making sure to keep on the strip of grass so I wouldn’t be heard. A drop of cold rain ran up my sleeve and along my arm, making me shiver.

  A gunshot sounded through the open door. It was followed by a second, meatier blast. Sounded like a shard gun.

  The three steps to the front door were flanked by knee-high walls. I stepped up onto the one on my side trying to watch my footing and the door at the same time. Once up, I took one quick glance around to ensure I wasn’t about to get shot by a straggler. Then I stuck my head around the doorframe.

  About six off-worlders lay dead in the entrance hall. Two of Webster’s were slumped against the railings of the upstairs balcony directly opposite the door. There were no signs of life. I stepped down and slowly moved inside out of the rain. The floor was pale red where the gunmen’s blood had mixed with the rain running off their coats.

  In the absence of any sounds to direct me, I ignored the two staircases and the doors on either side of me and headed straight forward through an open set of double doors. This was the dining room. A long wooden table capable of seating about twenty people was splattered with blood and surrounded by three more bodies. Going by the number of men I’d already seen, I was lucky I hadn’t got here first. I wouldn’t have liked to get caught in the middle of this.

  Again, I ignored the doors in the side walls and hopped across the table to another set of double doors. These ones were sliding doors. One was closed. The other had been knocked down by the falling body of another Webster henchman.

  Through these doors was a living room, if that term applied in mansions. The fireplace was empty and cold, the bottom spotted with raindrops. The room was filled by couches, tables, a drinks cabinet at either end and four dead men.

  Another gunshot sounded, finally telling me where the survivors were. The sound had come from upstairs. To my right, a door lay open, leading through to whatever room also connected to the dining room. I headed for it. Several more shots getting louder told me that there was a set of stairs in this next room. I avoided the bloody handprint smeared across the door and stepped through. This was the kitchen. It ran the length from this door to the front of the house. The man who’d survived his wound long enough to make his way in here had made it no further. He was slumped in a chair at a wooden table made glassy-smooth by years of scrubbing. A bullet was mostly buried in the table in front of him, surrounded by blood. Someone had followed him in and finished him off while he sat bleeding out.

  I let my gun lead me up the stairs. I hoped none of the steps would creak. Other than those occasional gunshots, the place was silent. A creaking step would be like shouting ‘here I come, ready or not’. Halfway up, the stairs turned ninety degrees. The shot came again, replied to by the shard gun. One had come from the right and the other from the left. I was about to walk out into a hallway in between two shooters.

  ‘Give it up,’ came a call from round to the right. ‘Everyone else is dead. It’s just us.’

  ‘Then I’ll have no trouble once you join them,’ was the reply. I recognised the voice. The arrogant drawl. I could almost hear the smirk. I’d only heard Holt speak once, but all the shocks had burned every memory of that asshole firmly into my brain.

  I waited. I wasn’t sure what for. There was no way of telling what was what up in that hallway. Obviously both Holt and the off-worlder had cover. Maybe the best thing was to wait until the next time one of them took a shot and then take whoever replied by surprise.

  ‘We own this town, you stupid shit. Even if you get away from here, you think you’ll get far? Either you throw in with us, or we throw you in a shallow grave.’

  Holt’s response came from his shard gun. Perhaps the same one that had been dangerously close to cutting me in half. That was my cue. I took the last two steps in one go and with one big stride I was in the hallway. My gun came up level with…nothing. Where I’d expected the off-worlder to be sticking his head out from was just empty air.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Jack!’ Holt cried in mock joy.

  I realised what had happened. From where I’d been standing, I could only tell the direction of the voices. From where Holt had been in cover, he could tell the distance. He must have heard the off-worlder’s shots or voice get further away, or maybe heard his footsteps, because he was standing right in the middle of the hallway. Standing right behind me.

  ‘I hoped I’d see you again. I’ve got something for you.’

  It didn’t take a genius to know that something was a nice helping of shards from the block of metal inside his gun. But as he spoke, I’d seen a shadow. The off-worlder had heard an unfamiliar voice swear. Had heard Holt talking. He’d come back to take advantage of the distraction.

  ‘Holt,’ I said, keeping my eyes glued to the doorway concealing the other gunman. It was the perfect time to come out with something witty. ‘Fuck you.’

  I dropped. The off-worlder jumped out of the doorway. Holt spotted the movement in time and abandoned following me with the gun. Brought it back up again. They both fired at the same time. From the squelching sound and the thud, I guessed Holt was the better aim. Not that aiming mattered much with a shard gun.

  Holt didn’t get off freely though. The pistol might have been smaller, but the bullet it fired was still devastating. It tore through Holt’s shoulder and out the other side. I heard a tack as it hit the wall somewhere.

  He didn’t drop the shard gun right away. Only when I kicked it from his hand. Then I took my time aiming at him. He staggered backwards, mostly distracted by the pain. It took him a few seconds to notice my gun.

  There was a window behind him. I pictured him sailing through it and plummeting to the white gravel below. He took a few steps back, nearly against it. I guessed he was hoping for an opportunity to get through the door beside him. I considered questioning him. But I had no relevant questions. Obviously I’d been right about him helping Webster’s men to take me from the precinct. He shared one of Webster’s pockets with them. No, there was nothing to ask him.

  I’d have liked to have used a shock stick on Holt and then kicked him through the window. Much like the guy in Van’s club. But in the absence of a shock stick, I just shot him. There was a crack as the bullet cut through the window behind him and a crack spread straight up behind his shoulder. He fell backwards, but the window didn’t give under his weight like I’d imagined. He simply rolled off it and hit the thick carpet with the thud.

  Holt would have been Webster’s last bodyguard. I wondered if he had a panic room somewhere. Or was he just waiting inside the room beside Holt’s body with a gun pointed at the door?

  ‘You in there, Webster?’ I called.

  There was no answer. No sound at all. I stepped up to the doorway. Pulled back the revolver’s hammer. Gripped it tight. It would be stupid to walk right in. I’d just take a quick look and see if I got shot at.

  As quick as I could, I darted my head forward and then back. I didn’t make it all the way back. There was no need. Even the quick glance told me all I needed to know. Webster was indeed in the room. But he wasn’t going to shoot me. In fact, unless he had a voodoo priest on his payroll, I doubted he’d be doing much of anything again.

  I stepped inside. Kicked the little peashooter away from his still, white hand, just in case. The puddle of blood around him looked sticky and thick. If I had to guess how long he’d been dead…wait a minute. I stepped back into the hall. Slumped in the doorway with the left side of his torso missing was not a man in a black trench coat and silver striped tie.
It was a man in a police uniform. One of Webster’s. Not only was Holt a dirty cop and an asshole, but he was a traitorous little worm too. He’d joined the off-worlders.

  Webster looked as though he’d been dead a while. Too long for it to have been the off-worlders. Holt had shot him. The old man lay on his front. Holt had shot him in the back. He’d had a gun, though, so maybe he’d realised at the last moment that his dirty cop wasn’t his dirty cop any more. I didn’t really care.

  Anger bubbled away inside me. Burned a hole through the top of my stomach and reached up to grab hold of my heart. It squeezed and I turned back to the room and shot Webster twice. Then three more times. It helped a bit. Probably just the loud bangs and the recoil. I could probably have shot the wall and felt as good. I’d wanted to kill Webster myself. Maybe bash his head a few times with something hard. But he was dead now and wouldn’t be doing this shit to any girl again. That was the important thing, I guessed.

  It took me nearly a minute to work out what my next move was. It was a simple one, but I realised now just how little I’d considered what would happen after I got to Webster.

  I tucked my gun away again. It was empty, but it was also registered to me, so I didn’t want the cops to find it here next to Webster, with five bullets from it inside his frail and lifeless carcass. I took out the automatic just in case the other guy had been wrong about company.

  The mansion was silent as I made my way back downstairs and through to the front again. The rain had got harder. It made a firm but gentle patting sound against the grass. Maybe I’d plant some grass on the roof of my apartment building. That would be nice.

  Back at the flyer, I decided I wouldn’t even try to make sense of the controls. We’d just have to bring the girls out in the same arc I’d taken with the bike. I suspected the gorilla would know how to fly the thing. Van wouldn’t hire a bodyguard who couldn’t use a variety of methods to get him out of trouble. Of course if the gorilla was dead, we might end up walking, but that was a problem for later.