The armed man continued circling as the hostages shook and whimpered.
Ida’s instincts took over, and she assessed the area. No accomplices and no police on the scene yet. His crewcut and muscles made her suspect he was former military. Could he be a recent arrival too?
The crowd around her stared morbidly. Years of training told her panic mode would set in if the situation escalated. Could she stop him before things spiraled out of control?
Halfway between her and the hostage situation, a long, stone bench offered cover if she could make her way there without startling him.
He turned his back to her briefly. Lunging like a panther, she reached the bench, and squatted, waiting.
The man turned toward her, making his way down the line of captives. He spied her and tensed, aiming the rifle at her.
Ida raised open palms. “I mean no harm. I want to help,” she said loudly enough to be heard across the twenty odd feet separating them. A siren wailed in the distance.
Although new to Spark City, Ida knew the robot police here were bad news. No negotiation, just shoot to kill.
She didn’t want to see this man ruthlessly gunned down. No telling what would happen to the hostages; they weren’t safe. Nobody was.
He glared at her, trembling as he aimed her way.
“I’m a soldier, like you.” They kept their gazes locked on one another, Ida’s hands still up.
He took a few steps toward her. “Are you armed?”
“No weapons,” she said. “The police are on their way. I hear them coming. You know that’s not going to end well. They’ll open fire on you. We don’t have much time.”
His gaze darted from side to side as he snuck glances at the hostages. His mouth twisted into a frown.
She shouted, “State your name and business here, soldier.”
His concentration broke and he straightened, relaxing his grip on the gun. “Officer Riley. Fifth Airborne.”
“How long have you been out, Riley?”
“Two weeks.”
“What’s your purpose here? What have these people done?” she asked.
He paused, and his forehead wrinkled. Ida’s attempt to get him grounded to the reality of the situation had started to work. “I can’t find work. Everyone treats me like a criminal,” he said. “I served, put my life on the line, and now this. Someone needs to pay!”
Sirens blaring, police sky cruisers rushed toward the square, closing in. Onlookers fled the scene in all directions. Ida inhaled sharply as adrenaline took over. “Riley, I get it,” she said. “I have the same problem. I can’t find work either. Just arrived a day ago. Let’s put the gun down and walk away from here. Together. I can help you. We can talk over a few beers.”
He hung his head and his shoulders drooped as if a weight had been lifted. But as he slowly lowered his gun, shots rang out from the other side of the square. Riley was struck from behind in his left shoulder, throwing him forward onto his knees.
Across the square, a line of humanoid police bots in riot gear had formed. The sound of automatic gunfire pierced the air. One of the captives, a teenage boy, lurched violently as a bullet hit his side. He crashed to the ground; his wide eyes stared at Ida.
Black and white air cruisers swooped down from above, their thrusters maneuvering to land in the square. More cybernetic robots emerged. Standing seven feet tall with dark, faceless visors, they readied their weapons.
A smoky haze filled the square as the androids shot tear gas canisters. Three of the hostages crawled away, helped to safety by a few remaining stragglers from the crowd. The police bots advanced on the square toward Ida, the crumpled body of Riley, and the injured teen.
Ida crawled toward Riley. If only she could get him out of here, away from the police fire. Suddenly another tear gas canister erupted close by. The smoke quickly clouded the area, hiding them from view.
Pulling her black scarf over her mouth and nose, she edged closer to Riley who had pulled himself to his knees. His mouth contorted and tears streamed down his face. He pulled a pistol from a holster around his waist and raised the barrel to his temple.
“Riley…” Ida reached to grab the gun, but he pulled the trigger and fell over in a heap.
She screamed and fell to her knees. Bile rose in her throat, forcing her to swallow it back.
A wave of bullets ripped through the square, tearing through the other hostages and bystanders nearby.
Ida’s lungs burned from the gas, despite her scarf. Move it, soldier. Her gaze passed over the teenage boy, his chest rising and falling weakly. Still a chance for him.
Crouching, staying low, Ida scrambled to his side. He was conscious—barely. “Come with me. I’ll help you.”
He gazed up, eyes red and overflowing with tears and grabbed her hand.
Five
In the confusion and smoke, Ida pulled the teenager up. He couldn’t stand by himself, and nearly all the weight of his tall, skinny frame rested on Ida. She guided him away, his feet stumbling.
Clear the scene and escape before the police kill us, she told herself. The police drones had launched more tear gas grenades into the square. She stole one last glance at Riley’s body sprawled on the pavement.
Ida and the teenager made an unlikely pair as he leaned against her, becoming heavier with each step. Wanting to get distance from the police, they fled through the streets, swept along in the crowd of people scurrying away from the hostage scene. Above them, three police drones appeared. Hovering several feet over their heads, they scanned the crowd, a red light washing over faces. Ida ducked, just missing a scanner beam. Who or what were they looking for?
Sweating now, she continued to support most of the teenager’s weight and they crossed another street before detouring rapidly down a side alley. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Paul.” He breathed heavily.
“Hang in there. We’ll stop soon,” she said.
He groaned, clutching his side. Had the drones witnessed her helping Paul? Seen her talking to Riley? Events had happened so quickly.
Stopping at the end of the narrow alley, she guided him to the ground, propping his back against a concrete wall. Piles of cardboard boxes, stray debris, and plastic bottles littered the ground beside them. Ida glanced behind them, scanning the alley entrance.
Nobody had followed. She didn’t like the no-exit situation, but had no choice. Time was running out for Paul. He bled steadily from his side, where the bullet had lodged.
She crouched in front of him and jostled his face to keep him awake. “Paul, stay with me,” she said. “You’ll be okay.”
“I’m so tired.”
“I know.” She stripped off her gloves, pulled up his shirt, and placed her hands on his abdomen near his gunshot wound.
Paul tried to look down, but his head lolled to the side. “Hey, that’s…” He was losing consciousness.
Ida closed her eyes. She felt a familiar sensation where she seemed to become very small and travel down the veins within her arms and into her fingertips. She jumped from her own body into his.
In small, powerful bursts of energy, she was inside his abdomen. The bullet had lodged next to his spleen, and she took it and drew the metal toward her until nothing remained but disintegrated pieces of dust.
Tiny beads of light wrapped the place in Paul’s side where the bullet had torn through. Each stream of light was uniquely her, everywhere inside him at once, repairing damage and giving him strength.
Satisfied, she summoned her energy and jumped back into her own body. Slowly opening her eyes, she began to wiggle her toes and fingers, making sure she was still there, all in one piece.
After a minute, Paul came to. “Hey, that feels warm.” He smiled. “I feel tingling all over.”
She’d seen this reaction before. It wouldn’t be much longer now.
“Am I dying?” he asked.
Ida laughed. “Far from it. You’re going to feel like a rock star in a few days.�
��
Another minute passed. She wanted to make sure the nanobots had done their work, so she inspected the wound. What had been an open wound had shrunk to a large gash. The bleeding had stopped. The internal damage had been healed, and in another day, his skin would regenerate and leave no mark.
Paul’s normal color had returned. He regained control of his neck and stared at her. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“You were shot.” She still wore the black scarf over her mouth and nose, and pulled it down around her neck so she could breathe easier.
“What the…?”
She continued, “You need to go somewhere safe. Lie low. Do not contact the police or tell anyone about what happened. The police tried to kill you. You could be in danger.”
Paul looked down at the fresh blood on his shirt and jeans. “Ok, I’m sitting in an alley with a strange lady after being shot, but now…I’m fine?”
Ida pulled her black gloves on and stood over him. “Remember, go home. Be safe. No talking to anyone about what happened.”
As she dashed toward the street, she saw they hadn’t been alone after all. Ida glimpsed a man hovering in the alley’s entrance. Wearing a gray trench coat and black fedora, his face was covered by shadows. As she approached, he turned and rushed off.
Her heart pounded. Did he see us? She couldn’t risk being discovered. Worse, she’d pulled down the scarf covering her face. She pushed on, emerging onto a pedestrian-filled sidewalk. The police drones had disappeared, but the faces around her still revealed confusion and panic. She checked for her small pack, still fastened to her back. At least she still had her keys, ID, and some cash. Hidden at the bottom of the bag was her military-issue switchblade.
The man hurried down the street, faster now, thirty feet ahead. Workers poured out of sky towers in search of food from street vendors.
Ida followed. She kept up, but hung back from time to time. Every so often, he checked a device on his left arm. She hadn’t been able to catch sight of his face, and he never glanced back.
After a few minutes, he turned onto a side street. She sprinted to round the corner, pushing people in her hurry. Then she faced a narrow street full of marketplaces with bright neon signs and shoppers milling about. No sign of the man.
Had she lost him? What if he reported her to police? She ran down the street, scanning in all directions, searching for the fedora. Nothing. He’d vanished.
Ida halted, then followed the general flow of foot traffic, toward the river, figuring she could loop around to her bike. She shook her arms, trying to rid herself of excess adrenaline, then crammed her hands into her jacket pockets and trekked across a steel bridge that spanned the river. Water vessels had once cruised Spark City’s river ways, making their voyage to the enormous lake beyond. She paused on top of the bridge. A cloud-scattered sky had given way to sun, which marked a glittering path across the river’s surface.
What should she do? Keep looking for the guy, or leave, and hope he hadn’t witnessed her power? She leaned against the steel barricade and peered down at the water.
That’s when she spotted the fedora. Holy shit. There he was. The man in the trench coat entered a building situated along the riverside.
She raced across the bridge and took the stairs leading down to the river two at a time. The sign above the entrance read “Dox River Bar.” She pushed open a heavy wooden door leading inside and entered a small vestibule shrouded with heavy black curtains. The area contained a tall desk for a host to check people in, but it was empty. Was that normal for mid-day? Maybe bars weren’t open yet.
Here she was, alone in an unknown bar in a strange city, following a stranger. He might be dangerous. What am I walking into? She dug into her bag and grabbed the switchblade.
Trust your instincts. With trembling hands, she pushed aside the curtains and stepped into a large room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows spanned the side of the bar overlooking the river. Large metal ceiling fans spun lazily. Against the far wall, a long wooden bar held a variety of booze-filled glass bottles, drinkware, and framed black-and-white photos.
In the center of the room, three rows of high-top tables sat empty but for one person. The man she’d been chasing.
Only, he wasn’t a man. Not exactly.
A hybrid waited patiently, facing her. His fedora rested on the table, and he still wore his coat. “Sit down, let me pour you a drink,” he said. “We should talk.”
Six
Ida eyed the hybrid and scanned the sides of the room again. They were alone, but a closed door to the right side of the bar led somewhere, probably a back room. Was anyone inside? Were they being watched on camera?
“I’m Gatz,” he said. “I own this place.” He waved his hands as if to reinforce his claim. “Please, sit. What’s your poison?” He rose from his seat and threw his long coat onto a chair nearby, then stepped behind the bar.
Questions ran through her mind: Was this safe? Who was he? WHAT was he? She’d never seen a hybrid like him. He had the body of a man while his facial features resembled a wolf's. Covered in dark gray and gold fur, he had two large, pointed ears. Body, speech, mannerisms—human. Mostly.
“Well? We don’t have all day here,” he said. “What can I get you?” He smiled, revealing sharp, pointed canines.
“Whiskey. Neat.” She gripped the switchblade hidden in her closed fist.
He grabbed a bottle from a shelf and filled a small glass. He brought it to the table and placed it before the seat opposite him. “Sit. You’re my guest here,” said Gatz. “Look, I know it was wrong to follow you, but I’m on your side.”
She studied him. He wore black slacks and a light-gray button-down shirt with suspenders. His body seemed fit and muscular.
Ida drew closer to the table and picked up her whiskey. “I’ll stand,” she said as she met his gaze for the first time, surprised at the deep, golden hue of his eyes.
“I suppose you haven’t seen many of my kind.”
She shook her head.
“Hybrids are uncommon enough, but I’m one of the rarest. My animal ancestors were wolves, now extinct.”
Ida stared. She knew hybrids were genetically engineered and later shunned by humans.
“I was created in a lab. One of maybe twenty like me. There was an accident—earthquake and fire. A nurse grabbed me and a few others and fled.”
She downed her drink in one gulp.
“I noticed you in the square. Admittedly, you stand out in a crowd. When you confronted the shooter, I realized you were brave.” He chuckled and took a sip from a bottle of beer. “Or maybe just stupid. Still trying to figure out which one.”
She shifted from one foot to the other and edged closer to the table to put down her empty glass.
“Follow me.” Gatz went behind the bar and motioned toward a barstool. “Easier access to the good stuff.”
As he poured another whiskey, Ida glanced through the tall windows overlooking the near-freezing river. Bare trees on the river’s edge had been stripped of leaves, exposing long branches that reached for the sky.
Her muscles began to relax, some of the tension in her body easing. The booze helped. How much had he witnessed?
Another whiskey appeared in front of her.
“Why do you wear the gloves when you’re inside?” he asked.
She sipped the drink this time. “How long did you watch me in the alley?”
He placed both hands squarely on the bar and faced her. “Long enough to know you’re special.”
So he knew. Would he try to blackmail her? After another sip of whiskey, she felt the warmth flow down her throat. His appearance was striking. She remembered reading a story about a wolf when she was a child. She didn’t recall details, just that the wolf had been strong, a hunter. Gatz seemed solid. Fierce. With his prominent jawline, sharp teeth, and claws, he would hold his own in a fight.
“Where did you get your training? Are you former military?”
&nbs
p; “Just discharged last week.”
“Fresh from the fighting,” he said. “Have you found work?”
She sighed. “Not yet.”
“The bad news is you won’t. Not in Spark City. The people in this city have been brainwashed to think soldiers are evil. Are you familiar with our mayor?”
“Not really. Just arrived and still getting my bearings.”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Do you have any family or friends here?”
She said nothing.
“I can give you work,” he said.
She paused. “What kind of work?”
“First off, I have bodyguards, but none like you.” He smiled. “With you backing me up, I could take a bullet and come out fine.”
Crossing her arms, she said, “It doesn’t always work like that.”
He leaned in closer. “How does it work?”
She took a step away. “I need to be somewhere.”
“I get it. You don’t trust me yet. I hope you will…soon.” Gatz stepped from behind the bar to his coat and fished inside a pocket. He pulled out a tiny blue device the size of a coin and held it out. “View this. In private.”
Eying his gray-furred hands and claws, she accepted it cautiously. “What is it?”
“Consider it an education on our mayor. His latest commercial, or propaganda message, depending on how you look at it.”
She inspected the small device.
“You can beam it to your biocuff,” he said. She was still getting used to the contoured, wearable forearm panel that acted as a portable A.I. and comms device. Due to her lack of funds, she’d opted for a cheap, luxury knock-off after haggling with a street vendor. Ida placed his device inside her jacket pocket.
“Come here tomorrow night—2300 hours,” he said. “We’ll go on our first job together.”
“I don’t want to do anything that’s dangerous, or that’ll get me thrown in prison.”
Brink: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Novel (Rogue Spark Book 2) Page 3
