Hard Drop

by Will van Der Vaart

  A set of fresh, smooth footprints caught his eye, standing out from the texture of the others around it. In a sea of uneven, grip-toed boots, the smooth, unspecialized civilian shoe was glaringly obvious. It had to be Shelley’s; in this war zone, there could be no other explanation.

  Tyco followed the shoe prints straight back into the station, past the staircase and under the platforms overhead, crossing into the large waiting hall that dominated the lower portion of the building.

  The hall stretched yawningly from one end of the building to the other. Reinforced girders ran along its sides, flattening as they met the low ceiling. The floor was wide open, its smooth stone base dotted with the studs that had once held dozens of wooden benches. The whole scene was bathed in the broken light of a thick, stained-glass mosaic. In its time, the station would have been impressive, even reverential, as its endless benches witnessed the colored passage of the sun. Now, there was little left of its grandeur. The only remaining stained glass in the window showed a rough, bullet-riddled picture of the colony’s founding, depicting a benevolent man in uniform, with ships descending from the sky behind him, handing shovels and pickaxes to a stream of bedraggled but noble-looking colonists exiting a docked ship. Given the colony’s current state, it was hardly a convincing illustration.

  There were signs that refugees had harbored here. Small piles of rags and splintered suitcases dotted the scene. A far corner swarmed with flies, buzzing in unison as if electric. Stations like this one frequently became staging areas of evacuations, Tyco knew, and it was likely this one had become overburdened as the war closed in. By the looks of it, those who had stayed here had left suddenly. Tyco tried not to consider what had become of them.

  “Hog?” Tyco called out, hushed, and then, “Ghost?” There was still no answer, but through the silence as he listened came the faintest sound of whispered voices. Through the white noise and the wind, he clearly distinguished the hard edge of Shelley’s schoolmaster disapproval, and smiled. The whining, sullen sneer was unmistakable, even from a distance. He listened until it died away, triangulating its origin as precisely as possible before moving towards it. He moved ever farther into the building, crossing the hall and heading down a small hallway at the far end.

  He had entered a maintenance corridor, narrow and dimly lit. Others had been here before, on the same errand as he was now, searching for the energy that would bring this station back to life. The blast door at the end of the hall had been the subject of their focused efforts: the deep furrows of crowbar scars that snaked across it like the desperate pawings of a trapped animal bore testament to the frustrated attempts of those who had preceded him.

  The door was open now, held ajar by a thin wooden plank that had been slotted between it and the thick metal doorframe. A strange bright light beckoned from beyond it, shining almost supernaturally through the narrow gap. Tyco approached it with caution, bringing his gun to his shoulder as an insurance policy. That Shelley was behind the wall, he was fairly sure of – he had heard the whining of his voice carry down the hall. But just in case he and the troopers had encountered opposition, Tyco intended to be prepared.

  The door swung open slowly, groaning on its hinges as it was forced from behind. Ghost stood staring out at him, framed dramatically by the bright interior behind him.

  “Good.” He said, smiling. “You found us.”

  “Not like you made it easy.” Tyco grinned back, and entered through the giant lock, wide as a bank vault and at least as heavy. His eyes adjusted to the strange light He burst out laughing when they finally adjusted, taking in the absurd scene before his eyes.

  Judging by what lay before him, the rebels had failed to breach security door from within the station. Certain that something of value lay within, they had instead shifted their tactics. They had tunneled through the asphalt road above, cutting through earth and rock and sand to reach what lay below. The wide hole that they had left now kept the chamber flooded in bright daylight. Rain had poured in over time, leaving a pool of ankle-deep standing water below and corroding the wiring on the walls. But most striking of all was the massive absence in the middle of the room.

  Unceremoniously amputated, the moorings of what had once clearly been the backup generator for the facility now stood empty in the daylight. The rebels had found better use for its contents, welding through its connections and raising it through the tunneled hole above. The empty space where the generator had stood now seemed absurd, phantom limb-like, an empty scar in what should have been a mass of interlocking metal.

  “Where is he - ?” Tyco asked, but Ghost just nodded up, towards a small glass enclosure overlooking the utilities hub below. Shelley looked down at him from inside, through the cracked, dirty windows of a small control booth. He had found an enormous, antiquated computer, its unfolding leaf display panels now unlocked and fully extended. His fingers flew over them with the well-practiced ease of an artist playing his instrument.

  “I’d stay out of there if I were you.” He called out, indicating the water below.

  “What the hell’s he doing?” Tyco asked Hog quietly.

  “No idea.” She answered without taking her eyes off of Shelley. “First he hot-wires the security system, now this.” She glanced back towards the vault door then.

  “I guess he’s good for something…”

  Shelley finished his sequence with a flourish, admired his handiwork for a proud moment, and then stepped back, folding back the display panels.

  “That should do it –! “ he announced, wiping his hands on his coat behind him.

  A jolt ran through the whole structure, cutting him off. A heavy rumble rolled through the floor like a shockwave. The pool of water rippled, then splashed as the wave rolled through it, and an electric hum filled the air. Tyco looked up in alarm.

  “Uh, Cap - ?” Chip tapped in, his voice breaking crackling with radio interference through the thick metal structure.

  “I know,” Tyco answered. “We felt it too.”

  And then the overhead lights – those still left in working order – blinked on one by one. The shadowy entrance hall brightened considerably behind them.

  “Like I said, Commander – “ Shelley strode past with a triumphant sing-song. “It was worth a try.”

  “What the hell did you do?” Tyco asked, genuinely curious. “The grid’s down all over the city, and the generator’s gone.”

  Shelley turned back to answer him, already halfway to the door.

  “The grid isn’t down.” He said, condescendingly. “Just locked. And as Project Director, I have full access. There’s always power if you know how to find it. Even now.”

  Tyco said nothing, letting him have the point. He was more interested in what the doctor had admitted without meaning to. So they had the Project Director on their hands. Not just a researcher, as he had first described themselves. That would go a long way to explaining why the second beacon hadn’t marked out the facility.

  “They let you control the grid?” Hog asked, certain that she had misheard him.

  “Not control, dear, access. We needed access for our project. The sheer amount of power necessary was – ”

  “For MAP-11?” Tyco asked probingly, picking at the wound and digging for information.

  “That’s correct.” Shelley answered. “For MAP-11.” He smiled proudly at the mention. “It was a very important project.” He said no more, but continued on, picking up his feet as he crossed the threshold into the hallway.

  “Cap.” Chip tapped over the comm.

  “Here.” Tyco tapped back, waiting for the answers as he stepped down the narrow maintenance corridor.

  It didn’t come. The line was ominously silent as the wind whistled down the hallway and through the building ahead.

  “Let’s move.” Tyco called out, reading the danger and speeding up to overtake Shelley. Ghost and Hog fell in quickly behind him.

  The waiting hall was deathly quiet as they entered, and Tyco hes
itated. He tapped twice quickly, checking in on Chip, making sure he was still alright in his perch.

  Chip tapped back immediately this time, the haste of his response saying as much as the response itself. He was fine, but not for long.

  Tyco turned to the group, nodding pointedly at the wall below stairs. He swept his hand along low to the ground, indicating for them to stay low as they went. He waited for their acknowledgement, then held up three fingers, two, one –

  And he set off, scurrying along the ground, heading for the entranceway. Ghost followed, keeping Shelley in front of him as he cut quickly across the open space, and Hog brought up the rear.

  Tyco reached the wall behind the stairs and flattened himself against, peering around it in search of the cause of Chip’s concern.

  There was a full patrol in the street, a complement of eight soldiers, and they were close. They were clearly on high alert, their eyes tense and focused as they swept the boulevard, peering into doorways and side alleys. That they were searching for Tyco and his men seemed only logical; certainly the earlier skirmish would have brought units to the area.

  The boy had kept his word, at least so far: the patrol gave no indication that they knew they were here, in this specific station. They seemed to be searching the general area for suspicious activity. They had not noticed anything amiss in the station yet, or they would have entered it, in force, already, but they were within a stone’s throw of the station entrance. Reaching the stairs would be touch-and-go.

  “Cap.” Chip said, again, just as one of the soldiers turned and gave the station a long, hard look. Tyco froze. He watched the soldier, tracing the path of his eyes, considering what he was seeing and how he would react. He knew the soldier couldn’t see him in the dark below the stairs, but still he didn’t move, waiting for the soldier to move on. The stairs were directly overhead, just on the other side of the wall they were pressed against, but they would have to emerge into the open to reach them. He wasn’t about to chance that, with the soldier this close.

  The soldier turned away, and Tyco tapped back slowly, letting out his breath.

  “Get ready to move.” He muttered, under his breath, nodding at Hog. “You first.”

  He knew he couldn’t chance explaining his plan to Chip over the comm, much as it might have helped, for fear it would be audible across the square. They would have to go alone, without any hope of covering fire. If the soldiers turned to look at the wrong time, they’d be sitting ducks.

  Hog slid past him, moving into position at the edge of the stairway.

  “Good luck.” Cap whispered.

  “Fuck that.” She spat. She touched her fingers to her rosary quickly, turned the corner, and went.

  She was quick about it, determined and careful, but none of her movements were actually exactly quick. She just moved with sullen fluidity, taking only the minimum number of steps forward, followed immediately by a quick retreat backwards up the stairs, heel by heel feeling out the next step behind her. It wasn’t graceful, nor was it ugly; she just moved with a determined purpose and did not hesitate.

  She tapped in when she reached the platform, safely out of sight. Tyco exhaled slowly and turned to Ghost.

  “Go.” He said, but Ghost shook his head.

  “What about him?” He asked, nodding towards Shelley.

  “He’s with me.” Tyco’s answer was final. Ghost, relieved to have Shelley off his hands for now, wasn’t about to fight his decision.

  “Your call.” He said, and melted past them.

  Ghost moved gracefully, finding shadows where there were none, and never stopped moving. The guards might have been staring straight at him and not have known. He was upstairs and tapping in in a heartbeat, long before Shelley was ready. Tyco saw the panic on his face and sighed inwardly.

  The guards loitered in the square, smoking cigarettes inside the shade of the concrete husk opposite the station. They were sullen and nervous, a far cry from the sloppy, disorganized groups they had encountered earlier. It was likely, Tyco thought, that they had seen the corpses of their compatriots down the hill. Bodies had a way of sobering you up.

  “Come on.” He nudged Shelley. “We have to move.”

  Shelley nodded slowly, trying not to look at the men in the square and failing.

  “What do I – what should I do - ?” He started. Tyco cut him off impatiently. He had no time to deal with the man’s uncertainty, not with the locals at their doorstep and the mission in the balance.

  “Just stay behind me, we’ll do fine.” He said, and turned the corner before Shelley had the chance to doubt that.

  He kept Shelley tucked in tight behind him, covering him as they stepped forwards towards the stairs.

  “Easy, Doc.” He mumbled, eyes trained on the soldiers in the square. There was nothing between him and their rifles now but open air. The archway at the front of the station yawned open, seemingly miles wide. “They can’t see us.” He whispered reassuringly, as much for himself as for Shelley.

  Shelley nodded breathlessly, unable to tear his eyes away from the soldiers. He followed Tyco blindly, putting one foot in front of the other, forcing himself to move.

  The stairs were close now, only a few more steps away. Tyco could feel Ghost and Hog staring down at them, could feel himself holding his breath as he turned towards the stairs. He glanced back at Shelley, forcing himself to exhale, and nodded, indicating for the doctor to start up the stairs first.

  “Go.” He mouthed.

  Shelley turned, relieved, and lunged forwards up the staircase. He took large steps, moving slowly but launching himself upwards four stairs at a time, so eager was he to be out of the firing line.

  He was five steps up when a pile of garbage shifted suddenly under his foot. A rat, large and furry and angry, rushed out and down the stairs in fury, squeaking every step of the way. It sprinted through Tyco’s legs and out into the daylight.

  The soldiers in the square looked up in alarm. One raised his rifle, found the rat, and fired. It dropped in mid-step, its excited squealing quieted, sliding to a stop beneath the open station archway. The soldiers broke into loud laughter, releasing their tension in one loud burst.

  Tyco heard the team behind him shift immediately, the soft clink of their rifles brushing against the cloth of their uniforms, signaling their alarm. He stood still in the shadows, staring out at the soldiers, waiting on their reaction. He could only hope they’d be satisfied with the dead rat.

  The rat-killer started towards the station, moving towards the archway in short, measured steps. The thud of his boots on the concrete sounded like gunfire to Tyco’s ears, echoing loudly inside the station.

  Shelley, still frozen in mid-step on the stairs, looked from Tyco to the soldiers, panic rising in his throat.

  “Commander - !” He whispered, but Tyco waved him off without turning around. He moved slowly out of the light, pulling back slowly into the shadow as the rebel approached.

  The soldier paused at the front of the station, letting his eyes adjust. He scanned the station interior, from the empty ticket booth to the wires in the control room to the waiting hall beyond. He stood there in silence for what seemed like an eternity. One tap sounded clearly on the radio. Chip had the shot. Tyco might have been more relieved if he hadn’t been plastered against the station wall trying to stay out of the man’s eyeline.

  Tyco knew if the soldier took another step into the station, he’d be spotted, and then all hope of a quiet exit would be lost. Even if he and Shelley managed to stay out of the sight, there was the matter of the guard Chip had taken down earlier, his corpse slumped against the inner wall of the station where they had hidden him earlier. He was a grisly sight: head wounds were never pretty, and in this case there wasn’t much left that would qualify as a head.

  The soldier turned away from the station unexpectedly, walking slowly back towards the group in the square. Shelley gasped in heavy relief, waiting until the man had left the entrance before
heading farther up the stairs. Tyco followed as quickly as he dared. Soon enough, they’d be gone from here, and the soldiers below could have their dead companion all to themselves.

  The soldiers outside cheered as their leader returned, standing to greet him as a hero. One offered him a fresh cigarette, while another shouted something out, leading the whole group to break out in raucous laughter. The leader shouted back, and they laughed again.

  Without, another soldier broke off from the group, jogging quickly across the square towards the station.

  “Cap.” Chip tapped in, interrupting Tyco on his way up the stairs.

  Tyco turned just in time to see the young soldier enter the station, heading straight for the dead rat. He picked it up by the tail, turning and holding it up like a trophy for the soldiers outside to see.

  “Look - !” He shouted, his booming, jovial voice echoing through the station, but he never made it to the punchline. He stood frozen in horror, staring at the dead guard propped against the station wall. His back tightened visibly, and he turned slowly to face into the darkness, fearful of the danger he found there.

  He found it in the form of the barrel of Tyco’s gun, leveled at him from the protection of the stairs.

  The man roared, flinging the rat into the station in Tyco’s direction and turning to run. His feet slipped and slid on the waste beneath his feet in his rush to reach the door.

  He didn’t last long. Tyco opened fire at once, and Ghost and Hog joined in at once. The man’s cry was cut short, his feet slipped uncorrected, and he fell hard, slamming to the floor within arm’s reach of the dead sentry. Tyco wasted no time in leaping up the stairs, sweeping Shelley ahead of him and pushing towards the trains.

  Chip’s rifle fired three times in quick succession before falling silent. A moment later, the sniper appeared from above, hurtling easily down a long flight of stairs and sprinting for the trains.

  “How many?” Tyco asked him, covering the rearguard.