SLAM

by Tash McAdam

  “My name’s Serena. I’m here to get you out. Are you hurt?” Her voice is low and reassuring, the immediate fear gone now that she can see the owner of the voice. He looks younger than her, maybe fourteen or so, and scared.

  He sits down in a tumble, like he can’t support his own weight, sliding down and leaning against the wall, and her heart clenches with sympathy. She starts toward him automatically.

  “Not really. I’m pretty hungry, though. I haven’t really eaten in two days.” His voice is dazed and dreamlike. The unit in his hand takes his attention suddenly and his eyebrows shoot together as he holds it up to his face and glares at it like a recalcitrant child. She moves closer, hands clearly visible and non-threatening. She hopes. She keeps her arms behind her, palms angled away from him and facing down – the normal way for a Psionic to show that they’re not going to attack. Until she knows what he knows, she has to assume he’s a Psi like her, and act accordingly. Besides, if he’s not, he won’t think anything of the gesture.

  “You need help with that?”

  He jerks like he forgot she was there, and shakes his head as if to dismiss whatever had been distracting him. Turning the small screen so she can see it, he holds it out for her attention.

  Her mouth falls open as she takes in what’s happening on there. Holy nuke. Everything. Everything is happening. The screen is buzzing with information, folders jumping and text scrolling to grab her attention. A black background is running code behind files popping up one after another. Operative files, Slave files, medical information on Institute soldiers and workers. Down one side of the screen, there’s an open folder labelled ‘Mission Status,’ promising a wealth of information with the multitude of links within.

  It looks like he’s downloading the entire Institute database, most of it flickering at high speed, as though it’s popping up as he acquires it, then storing itself elsewhere. But even the little she’s able to process and interpret is more information about the Institute than she’s ever seen before.

  He’s hacking the Institute, right in front of her eyes. Holy. Shit.

  “Nuke, you’re in their systems! Comms, maps, protocol … How in the name of freedom did you get this?” Her shock is clearly evident in her voice, because the boy’s tense face softens for a moment.

  “Well, I guess you really aren’t with them, then. I should probably disable the bombs.” His tone is thoughtful, and it takes her a second to process what he’s said.

  Shit. Didn’t even check for booby traps. Rookie. She’s disgusted with herself.

  “What bombs? Nuke, who are you?” Looking round the room, she blanches as she makes out flat sheets of explosives the size of her palm pressed onto the walls. Pinpricks of light are flashing on them in a way that looks a lot like they might be enabled. And then, without the boy touching anything, they go dark and dormant.

  Psionic. That should be impossible. It’s like he has the control to simultaneously press every button on every device around the room. The telekinetic equivalent of playing a quintet by yourself. With your toes. No wonder the Institute wants him back so badly.

  “I told you, I’m Sam. Can you get me out of the City? I can pay. Whatever you want. A million credits.” He gets to his feet, exhaustion clear in his tone and the way he’s swaying slightly.

  “Uh ... peh … buh. A million credits?” she hisses. “Nuke me now. You’re rad touched. Mad.” A million credits would buy you a City.

  He grins wanly and lifts a shoulder. “Nep, just good with computers. Steal a bit here, steal a bit there ... If you steal half a credit from everyone in the system, the computers just round up and no one’s the wiser. S’pretty useful. Do you have any food?”

  She closes her eyes for a minute and pushes her power toward him, not trying to be sneaky. He resists momentarily, his shields pushing her back, and then relents, letting her have access to his surface thoughts. Hunger rages in him, exhaustion a close second, and under that is anger, a roiling mess of black fear she doesn’t want to investigate too closely, and a burgeoning seed of hope.

  The hope has her face on it.

  She opens her eyes and smiles at him, and in return for his trust, opens her own guard up. He’s so out of it, though, that his scan of her thoughts is less than cursory. Well, it’s a good job I’m not lying to ya, buddy. You’re a hot mess.

  Trying to move slowly and reassuringly, she rummages in her bag and hauls out a few foil-wrapped bars and a water flask for him. Hands shaking, he struggles with the wrapping so much that she reaches out to help. Once the bars are exposed, he falls on them with a sound of pleasure so intense that she’s a little embarrassed on his behalf, and the fuel seems to pour strength back into his limbs. He suddenly stands a little straighter and rubs his hand through his dirty blonde hair.

  “Way out of the City? Yes? No? Maybe?”

  I hope so. Injecting more confidence than she feels into her face, she nods. “Uh. Yeah. My buddy should be putting together a distraction for us. Gotta pick up my partner real quick, but then we can bounce outta here. Get to some nicer weather, maybe.” She smiles at him, and gestures round the room. “I’ll clean your prints off, sit down for a minute.”

  He looks like he might fall over at any second, and she’s not looking forward to trying to get him out from under the Institute’s nose. They’ll be back as soon as they check the decoy. But, I gotta clean his prints or it’s all going to be pointless. If they get his prints he’ll never be clear of them, no matter where he ends up.

  “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll just change ‘em for someone else’s later.” Serena blinks at him in confusion, and he waggles his datapad at her. “Really good with computers.”

  Like an idiot savant? This is nothing she’s ever heard of, but she decides to take it at face value, and jerks her head at him. “If you’re sure. Right, let’s go find Abial.” She pauses when he holds his datapad out to her.

  “Here, take this. I don’t have any pockets anyway, and it might be safer with you.”

  He thinks he’s going to die. It’s so clear in his face in that moment that tears suddenly sting her eyes, but she takes the datapad and pushes it into her flatpack. The gesture of trust is huge, even bigger than coming with her in the first place. This is his only bargaining chip, if the Institute does catch up with him, and he’s giving it to her. In her hands, it’s a goldmine for ARC, but it might not save him, if anything happens. She wipes her eye, trying to look like she has an itch, and heads for the stairs.

  They check the street through a second floor window, and thankfully it’s quiet outside, with no sign of any patrols. So they duck down the stairs and out the door. The rain seems to be easing a little, but it still soaks their dank clothing as soon as they slip out of the door. The street remains empty, but they stick to the darkest shadows, which means walking in the middle of the road. It leaves her feeling horribly exposed. Still, the light that illuminates the sidewalks is worse. Abial needs to find them soon, and without tech; they’re too scared to look for each other mentally, so line of sight is their best option, making the middle of the street the logical place to be.

  She hopes it doesn’t last too long. Sam is breathing in high, fast little gasps, like he’s afraid he’ll stop completely if he isn’t careful. Serena, on the other hand, barely remembers to breathe, too busy searching for her partner. They shuffle down the street, her eyes flashing from doorway to doorway, just in case. Sam’s too wiped to do anything except stumble forward, but he has clearly decided to put his trust squarely in her, because he’s not arguing.

  I hope we live up to it, little man.

  Suddenly, Abial looms out of the darkness ahead, making Serena jump. Nuke, you taking lessons from Leaf or am I just totally fried?

  “This the package? Don’t look like much.” Her tone is friendly, and she claps Sam lightly on the shoulder. He almost falls over, but Serena gets a hand to his elbow and steadies him.

  Abial wrinkles her nose apologetically. “Sorry, buddy.
Got any steam left in you? There’re two patrols heading back here, and one more on its way over to my convenient distraction.”

  “I can go a bit farther. Not much.”

  He has more colour than when Serena first found him, but still looks beaten. Thin strands of hair are plastered to his pale face in dishevelled streaks, like cracks in porcelain. ‘Not much farther’ looks like it might be an overstatement.

  And that’s not the only problem. Two patrols heading over? We can’t take two patrols. We’d be hard pushed to get away from a single unit. On one hand, taking the shortest route possible would clearly be the best for Sam, but on the other ... a straight line will take them past three Watch stations and down several large streets, if her memory serves her correctly.

  She chews her lip for a moment as she thinks, while Abial grabs Sam’s other arm to help him along. They turn down an alley to get off the main drag, to escape the patrols they know are approaching, and then to start planning.

  “How much power do those bombs you left have?”

  “Enough to bring the building down, since they’re on all the load-bearing walls. Should drop each floor down on top of the other without damaging what’s around. I didn’t know if there were people nearby.” He finishes slightly awkwardly, like he’s not sure how they’ll take that. His cheeks flush, and Serena grins reassuringly at him.

  That’s actually the preferred attitude.

  “My kinda guy. Do it. We send them scurrying every which way, they won’t be manning the Wall so heavily when we sneak out.” The more going on the better, I reckon. Now that we’ve actually found him, those soldiers are going to freak. And, with the whole Institute on his comm. Nuke. ARC is gonna freak!

  For a moment, she actually feels like they might succeed, like it might all be okay. Things are looking up. She fumbles in her bag for his datapad, assuming he’ll need it, but before she manages to grab it, Sam nods and closes his eyes for a moment.

  A huge, rumbling crash whoomps through the wet air and she blinks, taken aback, with her hand still stuffed in the bag. Pressing those buttons with his mind again! This boy is impossible ...

  She raises her eyebrows at Abial who nods, wide eyed. “Okay then. Our kinda guy. Nice moves, Sammy, now let’s get out of here!”

  SERENA AND ABIAL take it in turns to scout ahead and check their six, one going forward while the other hangs back with Sam’s arm slung over her shoulder. Serena keeps nervously glancing at her comm, but is never greeted by the reassuring sight of electric lights. The pulse must have totally fried its insides, which means she can’t get in touch with Leaf. If he’s bailed on them – or worse, been caught – they’re totally hung. She can’t even tell if they’re making decent time or not, without the clock.

  Probably not. Sam’s so exhausted that they barely manage a decently paced walk. The rain isn’t helping, and his skin is becoming clammy and cold to the touch, but all they can do is force snacks on him and keep moving. We’ll dry him off soon enough, she keeps telling herself, trying to make it feel okay as she half carries him along, his feet dragging, legs jerky and graceless. We’ve got to get over the Wall before dawn, or we’re done for. We’re lucky to have this storm for cover.

  The thoughts don’t help, and a heavy, slick feeling of fear and guilt squirms in her guts.

  He keeps stumbling, staying upright through sheer force of will and the determination of the girls to get him to the Wall. Serena has never been so grateful for the hours of physical training forced upon the trainees. Not once has she ever envisioned having to practically carry someone weighing significantly more than her, through a rainstorm, and though she’s using her telekinetic power to bolster her muscles and trading off, the effort is exhausting.

  Worse, they have to stick to back alleys and smaller roads, and on top of that remain constantly on edge, ducking out of sight at the slightest hint of movement in the streets. It morphs the journey into a hellish mix of tension and repetitive sameness.

  Then, just as their destination comes into sight, the Wall looming out of the darkness, stretching high above their heads and as far as they can see to the left and right, Sam collapses, a bedraggled ragdoll.

  “C’mon, c’mon!” Serena hisses as she helps him to stand again. They’re nearly there, and now he’s suddenly falling down? When there are troops behind them, possibly on their trail?

  Abial gestures frantically at them from a few metres away, where she’s standing in a doorway that offers some semblance of shelter from the rain and patrols. They need to get out of sight and regroup, recover while they figure out the time, and wait for the promised explosion.

  Serena has to fill Abial in, as well, and doing that off the streets would be better. If she goes down, Abial has to know to take her bag. What’s in there is worth all of their lives, and getting it out of the City and into ARC’s hands, is the most important thing she’s ever been a part of. That information could save thousands of people. The weight of responsibility is dragging at her, adding to the fear and pain, but she bundles Sam over to the door, and fumbles for her kit to hack the electronic lock.

  He reaches out and places his shaking hand on it before she can. There’s a dull click, and the pin light flashes green.

  Impressive, again. This kid and technology, nuke. No wonder the Institute wants him so badly. Not only does he have their files, he has some kind of Talent I’ve never seen before. They push inside rapidly, shutting the door with a mixture of haste and care behind them; the place looked empty from the outside, and Serena assumes Abial did a scan before she chose it, but there’re soldiers all over the streets, and a slamming door might be something that draws their attention. You never know what can get you caught.

  She returns her attention to Sam. He looks beat, but manages a weak smile at them, and Serena rummages in her bag for anything else to give him. She comes up empty. Her mouth twists in distress as Abial cracks the shutter covering the window so she can see the Wall and the street that runs alongside it, pressing her face against the metal to get a better view.

  “A patrol just passed. They look about as good as I feel. Are we out of reach of the EMP that screwed our tech? You have to comm Leaf, tell him we’re about to go over. If he doesn’t get with that explosion …” She sounds wiped too, several hours of jogging and rain catching up with her.

  Sam clears his throat and glances from one to the other of them. “Actually, that was me. The EMP thing. Your tech will be fine now. Try it.” His voice is paper thin. Serena’s mouth falls open. You couldn’t have told me that before? We’ve been running blind ... She forces herself to take an emotional step back from the anger swirling in her guts. He couldn’t have known that they were trying to get in touch with someone, and clearly didn’t realize that their whole exit is riding on someone they barely know, who’s on the other side of the City.

  The growl suppressed, she nods. Nuke it all. The kid’s fried. Let it go. She has one arm wrapped around his narrow shoulders, trying to share some scant body heat, but cocks her free wrist to activate the projected keyboard from her comm unit and breathes a huge sigh of relief when, true to Sam’s prediction, it lights up, hovering in the air in front of her fingers.

  Some of the fear that’s been grinding her down for hours relents a touch. Just because she can send a message doesn’t mean Leaf’s in a position to receive it, but it’s better than nothing.

  And now if they need to, they can get hold of base, as well. If it comes down to it, maybe she can hide the precious datapad and send ARC the GPS coordinates. It gives them another chance, slim though it might be. She hastily taps a message out, praying that he’ll get to it in time. They have twenty minutes until 0015, when she told him to blow the gatehouse. If he doesn’t get back to them, and the gatehouse doesn’t blow, they’re going to have to hope the rain alone will provide enough cover.

  It won’t – she knows it won’t. There’s no way they’ll get over the Wall unseen. They’ll just have to pray they can outrun t
he inevitable pursuit. “We’ve got twenty minutes, if Leaf’s on time.” If Leaf’s alive, if Leaf’s sticking to the plan.

  With a decisive nod, Abial shuts the window and pads around the room for a few minutes before coming back with a metal waste can. Tiredness making her clumsy, she gathers some loose fibrepaper and stuffs it into the can, then sets it on the floor in front of Sam’s knocking knees. “If we’re going to be running, we have to get him warm. Otherwise, we won’t make it.”

  Serena nods her thanks and rubs her hand up and down Sam’s shaking side. “You’re a bit special, hey?” She doesn’t expect an answer; he’s practically unconscious, lolling against her side without the energy or will to hold himself up.

  Abial lights the fibrepaper with a flourish, a stone and metal nail sparking into the paper so that it catches almost immediately. The heat washes out from the can, seeping into the air, and Sam almost falls on top of it, practically hugging the flames, getting as close as he can. It’s not the safest decision; soldiers could see the light, or Google forbid be using infrared to look for them. But he’s barely able to move under his own power, and thawing him out might help. All things considered, she thinks it’s worth the risk.

  The skills he has aren’t normal, and keeping him alive still has to be a priority.

  She narrows her eyes at the comm unit on her wrist, willing it to light up and let them know the plan is on target. It doesn’t beep, though, no matter how hard she stares at it.

  Nuke, Leaf. What are you doing?

  The sound of yelling splits the night then, and she stiffens her spine. But it peters off, only to rise up again, joined by splashing boots that get louder and louder. Serena and Abial gasp in unison, the same thought passing between them: They’ve been made, they must have been ...

  Her fingers close around her zap almost of their own accord, and she depresses the safety, aiming it with a steady hand across Sam’s body. There are five shots in a full power cell. That’s three for the soldiers when they break down the door. Then, if there’s still too many to get past, one shot for Sam, and one left for her. Abial has her own, after all. Teeth clenched so hard she thinks they might shatter, she deliberately pulls her power from her core, ready to shield against any attack that comes.