Shadow Dragon

by wade coleman

  Kim and I put on our helmets and check to see our batteries are fully charged. We activate the headsets built into the helmets.

  “We need to get on the north side of the bay and head to the boneyard,” I speak to Kim. “Our bikes have an advantage in the sand and silt.”

  I nod, taking in all this information, and who might be watching. Kim and I drive like madmen for half an hour until Kim is sure we lost anyone watching us. Heading back to the bridge that crosses the bay, we hide in an alley and watch barges travel east and west.

  “There are a lot of eyes out there,” Kim says. “No way can we get across without being seen.”

  Across the street, flatbed trucks are being loaded with boxes of seafood, and we drive up next to one of the trucks.

  I tap on the window. The man driving is in his mid-fifties, chewing tobacco, and he rolls the window down.

  “I’ll pay you fifty silver if you drive us to the boneyard.”

  The driver spits, then smiles, displaying yellow-stained teeth. “Hop on.”

  Once the bikes are in the truck, we stack empty boxes around us to keep out of sight. When we finish, I lean against the cab and hand the driver twenty silver. I put the rest in an empty fish box. “You can get the rest when we get to the boneyard.”

  Driving over the bridge, through the crates, I spot two men leaning against hot-rod street bikes, their eyes like predators, watching everyone who’s crossing the bridge. They don’t notice us hunkered down between the boxes, and once we make it across the bridge, Kim and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “It worked, they didn’t see us.” Kim is relieved.

  The driver stops at an intersection and waits for the light to change.

  “They’re looking for two motorcycles, not delivery trucks. As long as the driver doesn’t do anything stupid, we should be fine. Otherwise, it’s plan B.”

  “Run like hell?”

  “Exactly, in fact, I’m sort of hoping that Plan A falls, so we fall back on Plan B.

  “Does Plan B involve shooting assassins hired to kill me?”

  “Yeah, that’s integral to the success of the Plan B.”

  Kim leans her head against mine. “In some ways, we’re so alike.”

  “Yeah, we’re both danger junkies.”

  Kim smiles and nods.

  The truck moves forward, and we make it several blocks before we to stop at the next light. Two men are on street bikes wearing Kevlar and pistols strapped to their sides. The obvious display of firepower spooks the driver. When the light changes, he takes off a little too quickly, and boxes shift around us.

  I knock on the glass. “Hey, keep it below 25 miles per hour.”

  He takes the next left turn too fast, and the empty boxes tumble out of the truck, exposing us.

  “Fucking moron!” Kim yells.

  With our cover blown, she hops on her bike, drives off the flatbed truck, and I follow.

  Driving down the center of the road, we weave around other trucks doing sixty. Delivery trucks are the only things on the road this time of night, so our bikes are out of place.

  “Natasha, I need some mood music for the drive?”

  Natasha picks Tom Sawyer and the modern day warrior plays while I dodge a pickup in the intersection.

  Two men at the corner sitting on bikes see us. They’re wearing black Kevlar jackets with pistols strapped to their sides. As we zoom past, they get on their bikes and pursue.

  Turning off our headlights, we head north.

  “We can’t outrun them,” I speak into to the mic in my helmet. “So we’ll outsmart them.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “You take out one rider, then Natasha and I will get the other one.”

  “Fucking brilliant plan,” Kim says and speeds up.

  The pursuer’s bikes are built for speed, and soon their headlights illuminate my back.

  Over the sound of the engine and wind, I hear behind me, “Bratatat.” It’s the sound of a Tech 9 on full auto, and a bullet bounces off my helmet.

  Natasha cranks up the music, so all I hear is the song over the wind and gunfire. His reserve, a quiet defense, riding out the day’s events.

  I pass a truck and get in front of him, slow down and match the trucks speed. Kim zips past, followed by the two mutants on Suzuki’s. Grabbing the baton clipped to my bike, I flick my wrist, and the wand extends. Speeding up, I turn on the headlight, and now it’s my turn to stalk.

  “No, his mind is not for rent, to any god or government.” Geddy Lee sings over the sound of my electric engine.

  The bounty hunter turns his head and slows down. He steers with his left, shooting with his right. His bullets go wide, and I pull up to his left side.

  “Natasha hit his hand.”

  She takes control of my right arm, bringing the elbow high, then extends my arm. As I ride past, Natasha smacks the top of his hand with the metal ball mounted to the tip of the baton.

  He lets go of the handlebars, his wheel jackknifes, and he goes over the top, smacking the handlebar with his knee. Rush’s drums roll through my ears while the rider slides on the pavement and comes to a stop. He’ll probably be okay since he was wearing all the right equipment. But his leg lays at an odd angle.

  I speed up, Kim and the bounty hunter are side by side, shooting at each other. Kim’s spider silk vest holds up to his pistol fire, but her armor-piercing rounds find their way through his Kevlar, and his bike wobbles and drifts to the right. A trucker honks and brakes, but it’s too late, the bike slams into the grille. He flips over the top and cracks the driver side windshield. The truck jackknifes, tips over and slides to a stop on the left side of the road. I look in the rearview mirror; there’s nothing but a big ugly mess.

  Kim rides up to me. “That was too fucking easy. He shot me a half dozen times, but the bullets bounced off. Nothing like having the right equipment to get the job done.”

  “Yeah, Dad came through with the spider-silk armor, but the night’s not over yet, so let’s look sharp.”

  “Better not be over, I’ve only used half a clip.”

  We ride flat out, dodging trucks that look like they’re standing still. In the distance, a railroad crossing is illuminated by street lights. I zoom in with my goggles.

  Behind a gate at the railroad crossing, a pickup is idling. Two men with thirty caliber machine guns are leaning against the truck while a troll throws rocks at a stop sign. Union Pacific warehouses line the road leading up to it. To our right is the coastal range and to our left the San Francisco Bay.

  We slow down, get off the road and weave through the buildings. We find the closest spot to the railroad tracks without being spotted and stop. I take off my helmet, pull up the hood of my spider-silk suit, so it covers my forehead, and then put my helmet back on.

  “Is there another way?” Kim asks.

  “Not enough time. It won’t be long before more people are on our trail. We got to get to the Aviation Center ASAP.”

  Scanning with my goggles, I check the area. At the tracks where the bounty hunters are parked is a shadow from a building about thirty feet from where the troll stands.

  I pull out a flash-bang and point to the warehouse. “I’m going to drive along that shadow and take out the troll.” I pull the pin of the grenade. “Ride in after the flash bang goes off. Be careful. The rounds from their thirty caliber rifles will pierce our armor.”

  “Good hunting.”

  I smile. “Life doesn’t get any better than this.”

  Kim beams at me. “Fucking A.”

  The moon is almost full and rising. The summer solstice is two days away. Everything is lined up for a good ride. Driving along the dirt road with my headlight off, the sound of my engine alerts them. They cock their weapons, bringing them up to fire.

  I drive into the shadow, and it swallows me and my motorcycle. Suddenly, there’s silence. I skate on the edge of darkness and in a few seconds, I’m at the intersection. I skulk in the shadows, sen
sing the troll, bending down to pick up a rock. I align myself and the bike, then exit the darkness at the same speed I entered, 35 MPH. I have just enough time to tuck my legs and let go of the flash-bang before impact.

  My bike rams his leg; my head finds his crotch. The suit stiffens, protecting me from the blow. My bike bounces off his leg and ends up near the railroad tracks. The troll doubles over and collapses on top of me, and I cover my ears.

  BANG! The sound penetrates into my hands, making my ears ring while my goggles go dark for a second. I’m pinned from the waist down by the troll, his body dead weight. I crawl my way out, ears still ringing. The two mutants are on their knees. Kim rides up to the pickup, stops and takes aim from her bike.

  “Don’t kill them, they’re stunned, they didn’t see your face,” I yell.

  She shoots each man in the foot. “That way they can’t follow in the pick-up.”

  “You can drive an automatic with one foot.”

  She smiles, takes aim and fires two more rounds into each foot.

  I retrieve my bike, a few dents but it’s drivable, and I get on. “You know, it would have been easier to shoot the radiator, that way no one can follow us in the truck.”

  “Fucking smartass,” Kim drives up to the truck and puts two rounds through the grille. It leaks yellow-green fluid. She puts in a fresh clip, drives up to me and punches my shoulder. “Not anyone can say they clocked a troll in the balls and lived to tell about it.”

  We head out with our lights off. The night vision in the goggles lights up the night sky like early evening. In ten minutes and we are at the edges of the auto boneyard, the airport eight miles north.

  The road turns to gravel a few miles from Frisco city limits, and we hug the coastal range until we get to the boneyard. Then it’s a steady grade up to the Napa Valley.

  While we’re driving, Kim speaks to me through the helmet. “Why did they build an airport so far away from the city?”

  “The Sacramento Airport went underwater, so they had to build a new one. The U.S. Air Force chose the old town of Oakville because it’s four hundred feet above sea level and surrounded by mountains.”

  We steadily climb higher and approach the airfield. A mile from the airport, we stop. From this vantage point, I see a wolf pack of eight riders following us. The rangefinder in the goggles says they’re two miles out.

  I get out my full immersion helmet, “This is where things get a little interesting.”

  “Which means you don’t know what’s going to happen next?”

  I smile. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you’ll be happy to know that there will be a lot more shooting.” I put on my immersion helmet.

  Natasha appears, dressed like me. “Darling, are you in trouble?”

  “Nothing that you can’t fix. Start the jet’s engines and begin preflight checks on the Learjet.”

  “Are we going somewhere?”

  I get back on my bike. “No, that’s a distraction.”

  We drive on the gravel road towards the runway. When the airport’s a mile out, I say, “Natasha, dump the fuel on the ground.”

  “I'm sorry, Hermes. I'm afraid I can't do that.”

  Natasha suddenly reminds me of a Stanley Kubrick film, 2001: A Space Odyssey. The more chaos in a situation, the better, so I was planning on burning the plane to the ground as a diversion. “Natasha, I need you to listen to me.”

  “I won’t destroy a Learjet.”

  “I’ll get you another one, I promise.”

  “I’m sure you can find another way.”

  “You’re putting a crimp in my plans,” I whine as we close in on the airport.

  “Darling, there’s a drone overhead.”

  “Can you hack into it?”

  “Already done.”

  We close in on the gate.

  “Darling, six mutants are approaching the plane on foot. There are two cars parked behind hangar 4 with two mutants by the door.”

  After entering the code, the gate opens. The Learjet engines whine in the distance, and Kim and I drive through.

  A group of elf-mutants in dark suits are standing by the plane. Their heads turn, watching us as we drive past.

  We put a hangar between us and the elves while Natasha keeps me informed.

  “They’re on foot, heading our way. I’ve opened the gate for the bikers, and the elves can now see them.”

  Kim and I park under the air traffic control tower, three-story metal building on poles, and a small structure on top with lots of windows.

  Natasha shows me the live feed. The bikers spot the elves and close in on them. The six mutants take up a “V” formation and fire. The men on bikes close and return fire.

  Half a second later I hear the shots in the distance. Looking over the scene from the vantage point of the drone, three elves fall from the barrage of bullets from the eight motorcycles. Of the three elves still standing, the man with the yellow hair is particularly accurate. He drops four men with five shots. Another elf takes out a biker, and now it’s three motorcycles to three elves. The two elves by Hangar 4 close on their position, and now the bounty hunters are outnumbered and flanked.

  The riders turn to leave and then speed away. The yellow-haired elf points in our direction and four elves head our way.

  “Natasha, can you ram the drone into the yellow-haired elf?”

  “I think so.”

  The drone dives between the two hangars and spots her target. She bears down on the elf. He tries to move out of the way, but Natasha tracks him. He stops running and shoots.

  Turning off the video, Kim and I ride to the main gate. We approach the mutants shooting at the drone. It goes down near the elf’s feet, and we zoom past. We’re out of the gate before they can reload.

  We head south into the dunes, where their cars can’t follow. Natasha says there are no drones in the area. We stay on the trail until we find the main road and then head west and up over the coastal mountains. We use the roads built for maintaining the windmills and then make our way back down again until we find the Highway 80.

  “You lied to me,” Kim says.

  “What?”

  “You said there would be a lot more shooting.”

  “There was, just not by you. If you want, you can go back.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I love you, too, Kim,” I but my own words catch me off guard. I wanted to say something witty. Instead, I surprise myself and say something sincere. I know she loves me, in her way.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Later that afternoon, I shuffle into the kitchen, find a cold piece of chicken in the fridge and proceed to eat it over the sink like a primitive cave-dweller. On my tablet, there’s no mention of last night. The garage doors to the shop close and a few minutes later Daniel walks in.

  “How did it go?” He grabs a piece chicken and eats with me over the sink.

  I finish a thigh and grab another. “I gave Mr. Fukui a clone of the disk drive in exchange for creating a distraction at Alexander’s summer party.”

  “You didn’t ask him about the virus?”

  “Funny story,” I drink some tea to wash down the chicken. “It seems that Mr. Fukui killed Natasha’s previous owner because he was cheating at cards. Our Mayor was there, and from what I could make of their conversion, it seems that the Mayor, the Jason Baron, and Mr. Fukui are involved with the virus.”

  He finishes his mouthful. “Leftover memory from Natasha’s last host?”

  I nod. “Natasha played it back for me, the last ten minutes of Mark Lukas’ life in vivid detail, right down to the sword cutting off my head and it being tossed into a vat of organ preservative. If was like being there,” A shiver goes down my spine.

  Daniel shakes his head. “I never get an implant.”

  Finishing the chicken, I wipe my hands on a paper towel. “Let me finish my story. Natasha was able to download all this information into my brain in only a few seconds. I had just enough time to digest the fa
cts and change my tactics.”

  Dad washes his hands in the sink. “Those years of lying to your teachers, parents and police came in handy.”

  “Okay, you’re not interested in my story.”

  “You told Mr. Fukui to create a distraction and then you came home.”

  “There more to the story than that,” I say with voice edgy with irritation.

  “Let me guess,” Daniel says and puts down the towel. “You created a shit storm to cover your tracks.”

  “You’re a little more obstreperous than usual,” I say, “Why are you in such a good mood?”

  He smiles. “Cause I’m a rich old man.”

  Fed and cleaned up, we head to the garage, and Dad gets on his bike. “There’s a neighborhood barbeque at 6 PM; its mandatory fun for you and Kim.”

  And just like that, he drives off, and I go to the backyard and lay on the hammock, with just enough time for a power nap before dinner.

  * * *

  I wake up to the smell of barbeque in the distance, the sun low. Getting up, I stretch and then head to my bathroom. While shaving, Natasha pipes up:

  “So, we’re having a meeting with Colonel James. As your secretary, how can I help you?”

  I realize Natasha is the only woman who can never betray me. She can listen in on everything I say, but only I can hear her voice.

  “Hermes, are you all right? You’ve been staring in the mirror for the last minute.”

  I go back to shaving. “Yes, I like to have your input. I have a lot of things I need to figure out. I’m trying to get Kim into our neighborhood, get an appointment at the Navy hospital for a face and skin augment, as well as a new set of eyes.”

  “The Colonel wants as much money as he can squeeze from me.” I go into my room and put on my newest pair of shorts. “Then there’s you, my dear. You want me to go to flight school, and our new Cessna cost us a million credits. By the end of the night, I’ll be bled dry.”

  “By blood, you mean money?”

  I smile. “That was sarcasm. But yes, I could be broke before the night is over.”

  I walk out of the house. “How would the Colonel know you have so much money?”