Incarnate- Essence

by Thomas Harper

  “Fuck Mitchell! Fuck the CSA!”

  “Fucking murderers!”

  Gunshots rang out. The mob screamed, fleeing in every direction. More gunfire. I ran as best I could, limping, carrying Laura, still feeling the heat of her body, her eyes open, moving around, unseeing. I ran down an alleyway, getting out onto another street and turning.

  “Get in,” a voice said.

  I looked over, seeing Mikasi next to a cruiser. He opened the back door. I didn’t think twice, staggering over to him and gingerly setting Laura down in the back seat, hearing another soft moan escape her mouth, and then getting in next to her, laying her burned and blood caked head in my lap.

  Mikasi got into the driver’s seat and accelerated, tires screeching, dodging around debris and fleeing rioters.

  “The…the rendezvous…” I managed, cringing at the pain in my stomach.

  “Yes,” Mikasi said, “Rosaline sent me. They’ve moved the rendezvous point.”

  “Moved it…” I said, not really registering this as I tried gently wiping the blood away from Laura’s eyes, “yes…that was a good idea.”

  Stones, beer cans, and lit firecrackers hit the cruiser as Mikasi drove skillfully through the Wichita streets. We passed another burning building – a bank – and careened past flipped cars belching flames, CSA officers thrashing bloody rioters with clubs, looters running out shattered windows, and fireworks blasting off into the night sky.

  Mikasi said some more things. I didn’t pay attention, keeping my eyes on Laura’s as they moved slowly back and forth, unable to lose consciousness. I looked over to her mutilated arm, seeing a hole in the bicep going all the way down to the shattered humerus bone.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said, “we’re going to make it back, I promise. I promise we’ll make it back. I…I love you.”

  Mikasi glanced back, but said nothing. I continued lightly wiping blood off her face and out of her hair until the cruiser came to a stop. I looked up, seeing several of our people already there, all looking in at me with horrified expressions. Mikasi opened the back door and helped me out. Ellen rushed over to the cruiser, kneeling to examine Laura. She started barking orders, Rosy grabbing instruments from Ellen’s bag.

  “W-where’s C-Colonel Reynolds?” I asked, still caressing what was left of Laura’s hair.

  “He’ll be here shortly,” Major Riviera said. Standing behind Ellen, next to the car, I spotted the other two girls – Tea and Carmen – both holding each other’s hands. They watched wide-eyed as Ellen worked on Laura.

  After a couple tense minutes, the cacophonous riot still raging in the distance, Tea shouted, pointing. A transport truck approached, pulling up next to us. The door on the back slowly opened and Colonel Reynolds stepped out, his jaw clenched tighter than I’d ever seen it, his eyes moist with tears.

  “Where’s Goodwin?” Rosy asked, trotting toward him.

  Reynolds opened his mouth to speak, but before he could answer a gunshot went off, the front of Reynolds face exploding out onto Rosy in a shower of blood, his body collapsing into her arms.

  Major Riviera instinctively dropped him and fell to her knees, withdrawing the pistol and firing wildly up at the open door, the CSA agent shouting. The driver’s door opened, another CSA agent leaping out, hollering when he landed wrong and fell to the ground.

  I ran around front of the truck, seeing the agent gritting his teeth as he raised his pistol to fire at Rosy, getting off two shots before I leapt, landing on his side.

  He shouted, rolling me over, getting on top of me, bringing the handle of the pistol down on my forehead before losing balance. I grabbed his weapon hand, feeling him struggle against me. Bellowing in both pain and rage, I pulled his wrist down to my mouth and bit into him as hard as I could.

  The agent shrieked, but held onto the pistol, firing into the pavement right next to my ear. Adrenaline clamped my jaw harder, my teeth sinking to the bone, blood filling my mouth. The pistol clattered to the ground.

  I twisted, sending the agent toppling to the asphalt. I jumped to my feet and kicked him in the side as he tried crawling away, sending the man sprawling to the pavement. I kicked again. And again. And again. Snarling with rage. Rage at what he’d done, but also rage at the failure of the entire mission. Rage at what happened to Laura and Regina and Tanya and Colonel Reynolds. The rage of my barbarous past. The rage of my right hemisphere. My foot connected with his head. Over and over again.

  The annihilation of this man’s entire inner universe.

  It felt like kicking a rotten pumpkin by the time Darren stumbled from the passenger seat, trying to pull me off with bound hands. I tore myself away from him, walking off a few paces, trying to calm down. I felt both fury and a temporary satisfaction, both of which faded, the latter more quickly than the former.

  I walked back over past the pulpy body of the guard. Major Riviera, still knelt down next to Colonel Reynolds remains, held his shattered cranium, still clutching the pistol in her blood-soaked hands, trying in vain to awaken him. When his head rolled to the side, Rosy let out a stifled yelp, seeing the gaping exit wound in his face, the entire left eye blown out, gobs of brain matter seeping from the grisly hole.

  “Oh, fucking Jesus…” Darren moaned, trying to keep Tea and Carmen from looking.

  I staggered to the truck, scraping blood and skull fragments off the bottom of my shoe onto the pavement. I looked inside, finding Tory Goodwin lying on the floor still handcuffed next to someone else. With my wits finally clawing their way back into my consciousness, I pulled myself up into the truck and knelt down by the dead agent, picking up his pistol and keys. I tossed the latter over to Goodwin and allowed him to free himself.

  “Who the fuck is this?” I indicated to the other prisoner.

  “Alvin Coolidge,” Goodwin said.

  “PRA infiltrator?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Goodwin said, “he’s the one that sold us out to the CSA agents.”

  I bit my lower lip, “I hope the two of you were worth it,” I said, turning back around, climbing out of the truck.

  Chapter 30

  Leaving Wichita started off easier than I anticipated. The CSA and city police were preoccupied with the riot, which raged behind us as we blew past the empty checkpoint, busting the gate off its hinge. Rosy took lead, driving the car containing Aveena, Goodwin, and the corpse of Colonel Aaron Reynolds lying in the back seat. Next was Darren, driving Tea, Carmen, and Coolidge. I rode with Mikasi in his cruiser along with Ellen, still working on Laura.

  “We might find trouble at the border,” Mikasi said, “it’s going to take at least an hour to get there. They’re probably watching us right now.”

  “I’ve called LoC Security,” Rosy said, her tone intense, shaky, “they can meet us at the border and help with any issues we might run into.”

  “Hopefully we can count on anti-CSA sentiments to help us,” Mikasi said, “last I heard, demonstrations were starting in other places. Topeka and Kansas City.”

  “Is it worth it to circumvent towns along the way?” Major Riviera asked.

  “Dunno,” Mikasi said, “might slow us down too much.”

  “When we get near Kingman,” Rosy said, “I want everyone to switch to manual drive in case anything comes up. I’m going to stay at a hundred miles an hour, so keep up.”

  After driving for some time, the cruiser decelerated as we neared the town, Mikasi grabbing the steering wheel. I looked back to Laura, lying in the back seat with Ellen still tending to her. Laura’s right arm had gauze strapped to it with Ellen’s belt, the fabric already drenched in blood. Her shirt had been removed, more wads of gauze taped to shrapnel wounds in Laura’s stomach and head. Ellen was now applying some kind of ointment to the flesh most badly burned. Laura’s head turned slowly about, lips working as if saying something, but no sound came out. The curse of her sleeplessness kept her conscious to the pain she was in, even with a heavy dose of painkillers.

  Ellen glanced up
to me, “she won’t hold on much longer if we don’t get to a hospital.”

  “Is there nothing you can do to get her closer to sleeping?” I asked.

  “I’ve already given her a larger dose of morphine than I’m comfortable with,” Ellen said, keeping her eyes on Laura as she gently applied anointment, “I dunno how much this is helpin’, either, but it’s about the only thing I can do at this point.”

  I turned back around, feeling the sharp pain in my own stomach, the acid burns on my shoulder and hand flaring up in protest. I had field dressed my own wounds as best I could with what Ellen had left after working on Laura, even giving myself a fraction of a dose of morphine, but the pain only became worse as the adrenaline faded.

  “Oh, shit,” Mikasi said.

  On the highway in the middle of Kingman’s sparse downtown area sat three CSA cruisers and two CSA riot control APC:B-021s. Officers stood amongst them, weapons drawn as we barreled down the road toward them.

  “Go around!” Riviera shouted.

  Her car skidded off to the left on the dry grass, Masaru following her as Mikasi jerked the wheel to the right, sliding us off the road, fishtailing. Guns popped off as the cruiser slid sideways a hundred feet before accelerating forward again, the Wichita policeman steering us expertly around the blockade. I had just enough time to see the CSA agents scrambling back to their cruisers before we were on the road again, accelerating forward.

  When I looked back, I saw Darren behind us now, struggling to maintain control of the car. Ellen held onto Laura, groping the seat for a belt for the injured girl. I turned back around, seeing Major Riviera’s car way out ahead of us.

  “Move!” she shouted over the earpiece.

  “This car…” Darren complained, finally starting to catch up.

  “Do self-driving if you hafta,” Rosy said.

  I looked back around. Ellen pulled the belt over Laura’s waist. I zoomed my bionic eye out the back window, clearly seeing the five CSA vehicles gaining on us as we left the relative density of the town.

  “Weapon,” I said, holding my hand out.

  Mikasi gave me a confused glance, but then reached to his holster and pulled the pistol out. I took it from him and crawled between the two bucket seats into the back of the cruiser.

  “Let Darren get ahead of us,” I said, “let me lean out the back window.”

  The cruiser decelerated slightly, the passenger side window going down. I leaned out, watching the CSA vehicles catch up. Darren got up to us, passing on the driver’s side. A bullet whizzed by somewhere distant.

  “Those riot control APC:B-021s got mounted guns,” Mikasi said.

  “I assume yours is bullet resistant?” I said.

  “Yeah, but not against fifty cals,” he said.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” Rosy said over my earpiece.

  “Stupid is trying nothing,” I said, leaning far enough out the window to bring my pistol arm out, trying to ignore the savage pain thrashing at my stomach.

  Both CSA riot control APC:B-021s were armed with roof-mounted 50 caliber belt fed machine guns, both manned. They opened fire. Bullets pounded the back of the police cruiser. I took careful aim with my bionic eye and pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting nothing. Too far away. Aimed again, waiting for them to gain on us. They machine guns fired another burst. Mikasi swerved, throwing off my aim as I fired, once again hitting nothing.

  “I gotta speed up!” Mikasi shouted, his voice more audible over the earpiece with my body sticking out the window.

  “No!” I said, “Let them get closer!”

  One of the APC:B-021s accelerated, lurching forward, trying to get a better shot. I aimed quickly, pistol grip slippery in my sweaty, blood-stained palms. Fired again, the driver flinching as the bullet bounced off the hood of the APC:B-021. I fired again quick, the gunner recoiling, a spray of blood coming off his hand.

  “Aim for the driver!” Ellen shouted.

  I ignored her, taking a deep breath and aiming again, pulling the trigger just as another burst of fire came at us from the .50 cal. We swerved again, the back window of our cruiser cracking. The gunner fell back, hanging lifelessly out the top of the vehicle.

  Mikasi accelerated forward as the APC:B-021 made a charge at us. I clambered back into the window just as they hit our bumper, causing us to fishtail.

  A blur flashed past the window near Ellen.

  “What the hell?” Mikasi shouted.

  I peered back out the window. Rosy’s car had decelerated, now driving amongst the CSA cruisers. One veered over, running into the side of her car. She accelerated forward as the second APC:B-021 gunner turned his .50 cal around. He fired off a burst as she swerved, the bullets rending metal and shattering Rosy’s headlight.

  Major Riviera stuck her arm out the driver’s side window, one hand on the wheel and the other holding something. She stuck it to one of the CSA cruisers and accelerated. The CSA cruiser veered over, hitting her tail, sending Rosy’s car spinning off the road.

  The bomb attached to the CSA cruiser exploded, launching it into the air before tumbling back down to the road, hitting the back of the second APC:B-021 and sending it drifting to the side and rolling over. Rosy’s car careened back onto the road behind them, dodging around the cartwheeling wreckage of the two vehicles.

  The APC:B-021 without a gunner ran into Mikasi’s cruiser again, pitching us forward. I stuck my pistol arm out the window, firing quickly, seeing two bullets bounce uselessly off the windshield as she accelerated forward, catching up on the driver’s side.

  The .50 cal fired again. The bloody gunner was up, holding onto the machine gun with one hand, the other holding his side. The burst shattered our back window and popped the trunk open. Sitting on the door, body sticking out the window, I fired wildly over the roof of the police cruiser, all the bullets missing until the magazine was empty. Another burst from the .50 cal battered the driver’s side of the vehicle as I pulled myself back in.

  “I need more ammo!” I said.

  “He’s hit!” Ellen shouted, lunging wide eyed at Mikasi.

  He cringed, left arm severed, pouring blood. The APC:B-021 swerved into us again. I reached over and groped at Mikasi’s belt. He shouted something I didn’t hear. My hand found another magazine and I tore it off the strap.

  Shouting blared confusingly over my earpiece. I put the magazine into the pistol, jumped into the backseat, the shrapnel wound in my stomach screaming with pain.

  “We’re entering Pratt Township,” Ellen said.

  I said nothing, leaning out the back-driver’s side window, sitting on the edge, bringing the pistol up. Rosy was behind several hundred feet, struggling against the two remaining cruisers, the sides of her car banged up as they attempted to sandwich her. The APC:B-021 swerved for another charge, coming at the driver’s side taillight.

  Without thinking, I stuffed the pistol into my pants and leapt from the window, the windshield of the APC:B-021 crashing into me, knocking my wind out, but catching me before I flew off.

  I reached up, grabbing the barrel of the .50 cal, the heated metal searing on my acid burned hand. The driver swerved back and forth, the gunner shaking the machine gun. My legs flew off the hood, holding on by the gun. I grit my teeth and pulled up, wrapping my left arm around the hot barrel, holding on.

  I seized the pistol from my pants, fumbling with it in my scorched hand, and pointed it up. There was a moment where I swore I saw a grudging admiration in the gunners face before I blew a hole in it, his body flopping back and then slouching down into the vehicle.

  The driver swerved back and forth. I dropped the pistol clattering to the hood as I wrapped both hands around the mounted gun, pulling myself up onto my stomach, legs flailing back and forth. My hands slipped, body sliding over the roof. I bellowed, the gun mount jamming into my side as it caught me. I gripped the sides of the opening, muscles burning as I held on to the swerving APC:B-021.

  Pulling myself forward, stabbing pain in my
stomach, I threw myself down the opening in the roof, landing clumsily on the gunner’s corpse in the backseat.

  The driver cursed as I scrambled forward. She withdrew a pistol. I grabbed her arm with my right, reaching my left around the other side of the seat and jamming my fingers in her eye. She screamed, dropping the pistol and brought both hands up to pull me off, the APC:B-021 veering. I squeezed my left hand back, pulling her head against the seat, scooping my fingers until I felt the eye slide wetly from the socket.

  The woman shrieked as the APC:B-021 jolted onto the grass and into a parking lot, throwing me back into the seat. I spotted the pistol on the floor, reached, fingers sliding off. Reached again and picked it up. The driver howled, trying in vain to stop the APC:B-021 while clutching her face. I sat up, bringing the pistol to the side of her head and fired, seeing blood and brains splatter against the driver’s door, her screams silenced as the APC:B-021 slowed down, crashing into a car parked in the lot.

  “Darren? Mikasi? Where the fuck are you?” Rosy hissed, “I lost the cruisers.”

  “Mikasi ain’t lookin’ so good,” Ellen said, panting, “Darren’s with us.”

  “Eshe?” Rosy said, voice trembling.

  I stood up, hollering as all the pain of my injuries flooded back into me. I forced myself through sheer determination to climb awkwardly back onto the gun turret. I unscrewed the mounts and pulled the .50 caliber machine gun off of the APC:B-021.

  Pain wracked my body as I slid down the windshield and lowered myself off the hood. My sticky, blood-caked hands gripped the unwieldy machine gun. People gathered in the parking lot. I limped back toward the road, teeth gritting, clothes drenched in gore and sweat.

  “I’m here,” I wheezed, “walking…back to the road.”

  “We’re stopped at a McDonalds,” Ellen said.

  I grunted, adjusting the heavy weapon in my arms, “I…I see it.”

  A couple teenage boys started following behind me as I walked. I glanced back at them, seeing curiosity in their expressions. One sore a shirt that said Fuck the CSA. I looked forward, staggering forward, hearing their footsteps follow me.