Taking the Highway

by M. H. Mead

  It took Andre two tries to lift the lapel of the borrowed jacket. The cut was all wrong. Nothing was where it should be. He finally got it open and holstered his gun. He wiped damp palms down the side of his trousers.

  Madison put her hands on the glass, addressing the city below. “The other side of the fence is very bleak. It can all be your fault, the crashes, the deaths. We can lay them at your feet very easily, you and your nephew—his name is Nikhil, isn’t it? I’ll make sure he goes to jail for a good long time. You yourself will be under suspension, review, termination. You’ll be lucky to get away without prison time. Maybe you can share a cell with your nephew—keep him safe in there.”

  She tapped one square-nailed finger on the glass but did not turn. “Every fourth in the city will be tarred with the same brush I use on you, especially when we arrest several of the more prominent ones. No one wants a terrorist in his car.” Madison turned, her lean body framed by the city lights behind her. “The only way a fourth will get a ride in this town is by clinging to a hood.”

  “You’ll shut down the city.”

  “No, we’ll save it. We’ll double the funding for public transportation. More trains on the monorail. More busses on the streets. Mayor Smith will be a hero. She’ll be known as the leader who finally broke the automobile stranglehold in Detroit.”

  “Shouldn’t that be the mayor’s decision?”

  “If not Smith, then the next mayor. When her term is over, it could be Oliver LaCroix in a landslide.”

  He pointed to the confession. “If I sign this? What’s to stop you from giving it to every news outlet in the country?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Madison snapped. “Going public is the last thing I want. I’ll be working full time on damage control as is. If it comes out that I let a couple of nut jobs and some greasy fourths disable the greatest city in the world? Honestly!” She picked up the paper and waved it at him. “This, here? It protects us both. Sign it.”

  Andre wiped a moist hand over his damp neck. Why was he perspiring so much when it was so cold in here? He looked from Madison to the damning piece of paper in her hand, as if they were two sides of the choice instead of a package deal.

  He wasn’t worried about his own job. He could take his lumps, both with Internal Affairs and with the fourths, if there still was such a thing as fourths after this. But Nikhil? The kid wouldn’t last a day in jail.

  He knew what Oliver would say, if he were standing in his brother’s place. Oliver would tell him that Madison was being more than fair, that she was doing what was best for the city as a whole, and that he could affect more change from within the government than outside of it.

  He thought of Bob Masterson. Bob and the other fourths were victims of the Overdrive crashes, not its cause. Andre reached into his pocket for his fourthing badge. The holographic seal caught the light, like an eye winking at him. This was bigger than him, or his family. Mother Mad had really given him no choice at all.

  He stowed the fourthing badge and reached out a thumb and pinky. He touched just a fraction of a corner of the paper, gently lifting it from Madison’s fingers. She tried to give him the pen too but he waved it away. He held the paper up to the light. “I have to hand it to you, Madison Zuchek, you’re one classy lady. Paper. Ink. Way to keep it real. I especially love that your fingerprints are all over this.” He carefully slid the confession into one of the oversized pockets of his jacket. “Naked Jay has never been a fan of this administration. I give him this, he’ll probably kiss me on the mouth.”

  Andre fished the bright orange zipcuffs out of another pocket of the borrowed jacket. “You are under arrest for—”

  “You don’t want to do that.” There was no longer anything motherly about Madison’s face. She lifted her datapad.

  Andre smiled. “I don’t think you have any idea how much I do.”

  Madison touched the datapad’s controls and the holostage opened, apparently doubling the size of the room. Andre froze.

  He was looking into an office of some kind, perhaps a cubicle. Topher Price-Powell stood behind a desk with crossed arms and a self-righteous expression.

  Sofia sat in front of him, duct tape binding her body to the chair and her hands to the armrests, a fat piece of silver tape over her mouth. Her left eye was swollen and starting to purple, her right eye wide and wary.

  Andre staggered backward, the fullness of the situation hitting him instantly. Sofia had done the one thing she could to keep Topher safe from Talic. She’d intercepted him at Greenfield Village and tried to bring him to Mother Mad, or perhaps all the way to Mayor Smith.

  The weight of it slammed down on him, as if gravity had increased and his own body weight had doubled. When he’d driven away from Sofia earlier tonight, he was most worried that she’d get in his way. He never imagined she’d be the one in danger. Her hands were a mess—scraped knuckles, broken fingernails, a disjointed pinky finger. She’d fought, and fought hard. Someone would pay dearly for that.

  Madison strolled along the conference table and brought her face very close to Andre’s. “I think I have a good idea what you will and will not do. You won’t risk further harm to Detective Gao. You want to save her. Anyone can understand that.” Her unspoken words said more. I hold all the cards. What is the truth next to that?

  Madison’s voice filled with concern, as if she hadn’t been threatening bodily harm a moment ago. “I regret that Topher was not gentle with her, but, as I’m sure you know, she herself is not a gentle soul.”

  Andre felt a vicious satisfaction at the splits on Topher’s high cheekbone, but also a chill at the dull despair in Sofia’s gaze. The Guardian in Topher’s hand had to be her service piece. It was ready to fire and his finger was inside the trigger guard. Topher’s other hand held a datapad, which he caressed with his thumb. The knot in Andre’s belly tightened. He didn’t even know where Topher was keeping her. The office had to be somewhere in the New Building, but they could be one floor away or a dozen.

  Andre put a hand on Madison’s shoulder and slowly straightened his arm, moving her away from him. He watched her smile. This was what Mother Mad wanted—to be in control, to own other people and their lives. And she would have him. She already did. Not just him, but the whole city, today and forever.

  He touched his jacket pockets. He’d loaded them with everything a cop would need, and none of it would help him now. He balled his fists and focused on the image in the holo. If he could get Topher to move just one step to the side, he’d be able to see the window and get some idea of where they were.

  “So now you’re part of the system?” he asked Topher. “The one you tried to destroy. How’s that feel? Because if it were me, I’d feel like a fucking fraud.”

  Sofia shook her head violently, her inky hair flying out around her.

  The muscles in Topher’s jaw tightened as if he were grinding his teeth together, but his voice was almost defiantly friendly. He brandished his datapad. “I’m changing the system. The Council for Economic Justice will finally have a voice.”

  “You mean your voice. It’s all about pulling your nuts out of the fire, isn’t it? Better grease them up first, boy. Madison Zuchek has quite a grip.”

  Topher’s face darkened and he pressed the muzzle of Sofia’s gun against her head and applied pressure until her right ear nearly touched her shoulder. Her eyes blazed at him. Don’t stir the big kettle of crazy.

  “All right. All right. I apologize. Ease off.”

  Topher relaxed the pressure, but kept the gun to her head. All Andre had done was endanger Sofia. He still couldn’t see where they were.

  A door opened and Andre reflexively turned. No, not a door in the conference room, but a door in whatever room Topher had Sofia.

  “What is this?” Talic stood in the doorway. His face was as impassive as always, but Andre could read surprise in his sudden stillness. Where did Talic’s loyalties lay? He’d let Andre walk away when it was the two of them alone in the zone,
when letting Andre walk didn’t cost him anything, when he was just as much walking away himself. But when it was right here, with his boss holding all the cards and absolutely sure of winning?

  “Get him out of here,” Topher snarled through the holo.

  “Jae Geoffrey,” Madison said tightly, “I need you in the conference room. Now.”

  “You wanted him, Talic,” Andre said, hoping what he’d seen earlier in Talic’s face was still there, terrified it wasn’t. Madison tried to order him out of the room again, but Andre rode her down. “You wanted Topher Price-Powell and now you’ve got him. Madison made a deal with him and he kidnapped a police officer with her collusion and they’re going to kill her. They’re going to kill a police officer, Talic! They’re going to shoot Sofia through the head unless I agree to roll over and let Topher walk.”

  Madison cut the holo as he was finishing his last sentence. The conference room snapped back close around them. Andre drew his gun, the Yavorit feeling so light and inadequate in his hand, but in the same instant, he heard the unmistakable pop of two quick shots—not ten floors away or even one, but a few rooms distant.

  “Son of a bitch!” Talic yelled.

  Andre snatched open the door and dashed down the hall. A resonant slam around the corner led him to the closing stairwell door, but the door just before that was thrown ajar. They’d been this close the whole time.

  Andre went in low with the Yavorit before him. Sofia was still upright in the chair behind the desk, alive, apparently unhurt, but struggling against her bonds. Talic sat on the floor, his own weapon on the floor beside him, his hands busy at his lower leg, trying to staunch blood from an ankle wound.

  Andre was already bounding up to see to Sofia, trying to work the tape off her. She shook her head again and pointed it toward the door.

  He whirled to see Talic pointing the Guardian at the doorway, covering a frozen Madison Zuchek.

  “Get him!” Talic ordered. “We’ll take care of Madison. Get Topher.”

  Andre ran for the stairs.

  ANDRE BLAZED THROUGH THE conference room and into the hallway, sprinting toward the now-shut stairwell door. Topher already had too much of a head start. Out of the building, he could go anywhere, do anything.

  But for now, he was on the stairs, and stairs were good. Down was Topher’s only option, a single door his only escape. Andre caught a glimpse of Topher’s blond head one flight below. He knew better than to try to shoot from this angle. He’d only slow himself down. Even retrieving the gun from its holster would waste precious seconds, and he’d miss anyway. He had to keep running, hitting every riser, trying not to get ahead of himself and trip over his own feet.

  He rounded the corner at the second floor, listening hard for the sound of Topher’s shoulder hitting the first floor exit door. But Topher didn’t see it or didn’t want it. Instead, he kept going all the way to the basement sublevel, where city employees and visitors parked their vehicles.

  Andre sucked in air and kept moving. Did Topher actually believe he could get his car, get in, and drive away before Andre caught up to him? He would soon find out how wrong he was.

  The basement door opened to the right, so Andre hit the crossbar with his right hip and slammed through, leading with his shoulder. As soon as he’d cleared the door, he clawed in his jacket for the Yavorit. It barely fit in his swollen hand, but his trigger finger was unbruised, and he was able to angle it around to a shooting position, as long as he didn’t grip the gun too tightly.

  The car park was empty.

  For a confused moment, Andre tried to blink reality back into focus. He’d been here not half an hour ago, easing the banged-up Dodge Challenger between two other cars. He’d walked to the elevator—it was right there, on the opposite wall—to get to the conference room. But now, all he saw in the hazy overhead lights were a grid of yellow parking lines and four fat pillars.

  Pillars that blocked his sight lines.

  Pillars that could hide Topher.

  Pillars that said 1B in meter-high red letters.

  1B? Wrong. Those letters had been green. And they’d said 2B on them. He realized his mistake too late, as he heard feet pounding down the other set of stairs, the ones way over on the opposite side, behind the giant pillar that blocked his way.

  Shit.

  He sprinted across the cement, knowing that by the time he got to the stairs, Topher would be gone, down to the next parking level and then who knew where. Andre flew down one flight and reached the second sublevel just in time to see a deep blue Ford Facet driving away from him to the car exit. He got off one shot, missing the tire he was aiming for and hitting a tail light instead.

  He ran to the Challenger and yanked on the door handle, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. He slapped the dash for the ignition button. Damn. He needed to insert the fucking key. He patted his pockets furiously, finally came up with it, and got it slotted into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life and he threw it in reverse, almost hitting the car behind him. He pounded the brakes and jerked to a stop. If he kept control of his car, he might catch Topher before he left the parking lot. He put the Challenger in gear and raced forward.

  The exit ramp was empty. He burned up it and slammed the brakes at the top. He swiveled his head, looking for the Facet. There, a block ahead already. Andre nosed into traffic and followed. He glanced at the gas gauge, which said a quarter full, but he had no way to judge how many kilometers that would actually take him. He hoped it was enough.

  Two blocks. Three blocks. Constantly boxed in by other cars. He gained a small advantage at Gratiot Avenue, then lost it at the next traffic light. People turned and stared openly at the Challenger, but he was beyond caring.

  Worry seeped into his mind like a lava flow. Did Talic stop Madison Zuchek, or would Andre get another summons from her, this one calling him to his death? He hit the brakes at yet another red light. He couldn’t think about that now. If he didn’t catch Topher, nothing else mattered.

  They took another turn closer to the highway and Andre suddenly knew where Topher was leading him, and it was the last place he wanted to go.

  High-rises gave way to one-story buildings, and then they were on Chrysler Drive, the service drive that paralleled I-75. The ribbon of highway stretched below them, with four-passenger cars safely skimming along, bumpers almost kissing.

  Andre gripped the wheel and stomped on the gas pedal. He was too late. He could see the Overdrive sensor up ahead, and the next one less than a kilometer away. Topher could tumble the entire Overdrive network like a row of dominoes. The last crash had been bad enough, but at least it had been isolated in one spot. The loss of multiple highway sensors would make the previous Overdrive crashes look like fender benders. Topher could keep going forever, sailing along, taking out every sensor in the city if he wanted to.

  And Andre knew, without a doubt, that Topher wanted to. It had nothing to do with Andre chasing him and nothing to do with wanting to escape. Topher had to grab power now or lose everything. He would crash Overdrive and watch the city crawl to him on bended knee.

  He scanned the dashboard for the screamer, then remembered where he was and fumbled in his pocket for his datapad. He commanded it to call, but didn’t know what name to give. He held it limply in his bruised right hand, letting it fall to his side. No Danny, no Sofia, no one. He was alone, speeding down a nearly empty service drive, about to witness the death of hundreds of people.

  He stomped on the gas pedal. Couldn’t this thing go any faster? The damn Challenger had a top speed of 210 KPH. Topher’s Facet would have no trouble sustaining that speed, as long as he could control the car. It took every bit of Andre’s concentration to drive while pushing the Challenger to 140. The front-end collision had knocked the tires out of alignment, and without stabilizers to correct it, he had to compensate by hand.

  He gripped the wheel with his right hand, grimacing at the pain, and fumbled with the window release. He lowered the window, tran
sferred his gun to his left hand and tried to steady it. His first shot barely grazed the bumper. The second one didn’t even come close. He pulled the gun back in as Topher’s car sped past the Overdrive sensor.

  First came a sickening thud, then a ripping sound, as if giant hands were tearing into metal. Andre glanced at the highway, causing his car to swerve as his hands followed his eyes. He jerked the wheel back into position, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He didn’t need to see the carnage on the highway below him to know it was bad, especially when the explosions reached his ears.

  Topher’s car hurled on toward the next sensor.

  Andre eased off the accelerator, coasting for a second. He could take this on-ramp, get on the highway, perhaps get ahead of the next Overdrive sensor, do something to warn people before it happened.

  He could also get stuck in the middle of it. Besides, what could he do to warn people? Honk his horn?

  The car drifted toward the on-ramp, and he wrenched it back to center, standing on the gas pedal. Getting on the highway would mean letting Topher go. He had to stop the source of the crashes before they got worse.

  Andre drove as fast as he dared, but still Topher’s car crept away from him. The Facet sailed past the next Overdrive sensor and Andre winced as he heard the first cars ping off each other like pinballs. The crash behind them had eliminated some of the cars, so it wasn’t as bad as the first one, but it was bad enough. Up ahead, Andre could see the on-ramp, with cars nosing each other to hop on, the passengers completely unaware they were zooming toward their own deaths.

  He scanned the dashboard again. Not even a screamer could help him right now. Half the police force was in Greenfield Village, and the other half was spread thin. Even if he could somehow mobilize every single officer, it wouldn’t be enough. It would take hundreds of people working together to shut down all the on-ramps. There wasn’t that much manpower in the entire city.

  His next thought had him scrambling for the datapad, which had fallen to the floor when he’d dropped it. He didn’t need more people. He needed the right people. People who knew the city, people who understood the highway system, people who were already on site and could be mobilized at a moment’s notice.