The building was locked, so Matt blew out one of the class doors with his Beretta; the alarm kicked in but there was little likelihood there would be a response. They opted for the stairs so they’d not be caught with little room to manoeuvre. Feargal’s main fear was that the shooter wasn’t alone. If they were the others would keep them busy; if not, then he and Kathy may be in trouble.
On the fourth, there was still no one to be seen—then another shot from the front of the building near the centre of this. When they arrived in the office they could see the shooter—dressed all in black with a black kerchief tied over his face and another on his head. “Drop the weapon.” Matt called, but the shooter turned and sprayed the room on full-auto. Before the anarchist caught either of them Matt put a round in their head. Approaching, Feargal put two more in this—avoiding the body armour. Finished Matt turned to leave.
“Don’t you want to see?” Kathy asked; as he turned to answer Matt connected with something hard.
He went down on a knee. As he looked up the butt of an AR was arcing down toward him. Feargal collapsed to his side, allowing the weapon to unbalance the Meta—she stumbled. Doing so he found enough focus to kick out and he caught her behind the left knee; the woman grunted and tumbled forward on her face. Swinging around with the AR, Feargal caught the Meta on the back of the head—with a woof of air she lay still. Staggering up, Matt looked about—as though expecting something else. There had to be another shoe, right? Nothing happened—and as she stirred he collected her weapons; then dragged the woman to the elevator.
“Why?” Feargal asked. She moaned and attempted to slip toward the floor, but he yanked the Meta up by the hair on the back of her head; the woman screeched. As the doors opened he threw her in. “Why?” She glared at him for a moment, and then answered.
“She’s not for you—Master Botrous has left orders you two are never again to be together. No matter what.”
“So China’s in Lynden?” The woman didn’t answer. He tried several more times before the doors opened again, but Kathy had said all she was going to.
Slinging his AR with hers, Matt dragged the provocateur out the front door by the collar. She appeared to stumble; then righted herself and bolted. Outside the others came out from behind their SUVs, smiling; then a puzzled look followed as the Meta swerved from them and up the street. Matt yelled for her to halt twice, but she continued to run—all four arms pumping the air. Unslinging an AR he put a round in the back of her head. With a piston burst of colour the woman collapsed. Lien shrieked as he put two more in her neck with the Beretta.
“Shit—why!?” Shasta choked, running up to Matt.
“H+—Transhumanist, at least.”
“What!?” The bellow came from Bart, who was but steps behind her. Matt told them, once the others caught up, what had happened and presented his head, still leaking blood.
“But I’ve known her...”
“Could not have been all that long; otherwise you should have known about this.”
“Good choice.” Stephen interjected. He was looking a lot better now, but Lien remained close. “I mean, everyone forgets about her the moment she goes silent. Could you think of a better operative?” There was that and the group, though shaken, took this as much reason as would be necessary.
Yet, it didn’t end there for Matt. If Kathy could have been one of Zakara’s, who else might he have placed? There was no way to be certain, and he still needed them. Even if he jettisoned these, he’d need others if he wanted to do anything—most especially what he planned next. “Now I’m almost certain China’s in Lynden.”
“She said...” Shasta began.
“The woman said I cannot be allowed to be with her again.” He’d considered lying, to make it more certain, but the truth was probably his best tool. It mostly worked as well. Not, though, in the way he’d intended.
“We’ll need more people if we’re going to take a run at Lynden and China.” Shasta noted, coolly.
“A lot more.” Stephen agreed.
“What are you thinking?” Lien asked Stephen, wrapping an arm about his waist.
“Sansa and Salt.” He answered.
“If they can get people here in time.” Matt knew they had to go in this direction, but were there enough people in the region?
“You have his number?” Shasta asked Matt. He nodded, pulling out his phone. Feargal had not programmed the number into the burner, nor any other phone he’d owned, but he memorised each new number, ID, or email when Salt had got them. The nearly five years on the road had taught him a few things about security—but it seemed each time he countered a move by Botrous another one was deployed. Kathy was just the latest wrinkle, and that had gotten closer than anything else since Dilmun.
“Get that tire changed, while I make the call.” Turning from the team he walked down the avenue.
“What of Kathy?” Niran shouted after him.
“Leave her.” A heavy silence followed, interrupted by muted voices. They’d not like it, but there was no time for the niceties and he had no interest in grieving for a spy. Crossing Madison, he stopped in front of Arundel Books and stared down the shaded street, beyond the Library Bistro. If it’d been another time, Matt would have liked to take China and Leonor here for lunch. This was just the sort of place Bob would like; the sort of place that brought back memories of The Bistro and their short time together before Zakara. The phone continued to ring as he waited—no answer. Not good—Salt was never far from his phone and if he couldn’t answer there was always someone else that would. He’d become all that, which was another troubling thought for Matt. They’d a plan, nonetheless, if this ever happened.
He sent a short email and waited. Waiting, he turned from the bookstore and walked back up the street. The tire was off and they had the spare lowered. There looked to have been some argument about this, since Bart had a self-satisfied grin on his face while Stephen and Niran busied themselves with the old tire. The women were pretending not to notice what had just happened. “Not answering the phone.” Niran allowed his arms to fall to his sides and the lugs tumbled to the ground with the hard, muffled clicking of steel on tarmac.
“That’s not possible.” Shasta’s voice was low and frightened.
“Don’t panic. This isn’t the first time this has happened.” It wasn’t. There had been half a dozen times over the years when one or the other of them—including Halton and Roberto—had lost or had to ditch a phone. One of the reasons they kept the email backup was for this reason. He might have gone with a social media service, and they had discussed this, but the feeling was that social media was still a bit iffy and fluid—they needed something more trustworthy.
“Besides,” he continued with a faint smile, “I’ve sent an encrypted email. Shouldn’t be long before we hear something back. However, if worse comes to worst—we’ll, or I’ll, just have to deal with the situation.” There wasn’t a lot of sympathy for the attitude and it occurred there was little gallows humour in the team, and less experience dealing with the facts he and Salt had been living with for years. Seemed that Zakara had had them outnumbered and out flanked most of the time, but still they managed to get away—if only just and bloodied. These people from Cody were new to the game, and newer to plans breaking down.
With the notification ping he opened and read the email. After a moment he looked up. This part he was going to enjoy. “Cody has fallen.”
“What!” Shasta groaned. Bart came up and looked to be about to grab the phone when he passed this to Stephen, holding up a hand for the Meta to halt.
“He’s making for Seattle, or Portland if this has fallen.”
“I’m not certain both of them haven’t fallen.” Shasta answered.
“Jonah means if either city has fallen to H+ or Transhumanist forces. That hasn’t yet happened, and isn’t likely.” Feargal was far from certain of this, but it sounded good.
“We’ve gotta get going.” Bart wasn’t exactly nervous, Matt t
hought, but there was something off.
“Why?” Feargal asked the question to see if public reasoning would help throw light on the disturbing sense.
“We’ve thrown a lot of rounds about here. There’s a dead sniper up there,” pointing to the office building, “and then there’s her.” Referring to Kathy. “And you are certain she...”
“Yes.”
“We have to go. Although unlikely, it is still possible this could attract some attention.”
“The tire is the only damage you’ve suffered?” Looking over the spray of holes left in the SUV.
“The engine is fine.”
“Okay, but we’re going to stand out with that mess.” The sight of the truck was giving Feargal second thoughts.
“Won’t matter in this town—not now. Most vehicles are carrying some kind of cicatrix.”
“Okay, Niran you want to ride with us?” Shasta asked. There was a part of Matt which would have preferred it were just he, Niran, and Bart, but it seemed she’d decided they were together. In what sense the Meta felt this was unclear, but she’d attached herself to him and wasn’t going to be shaken off. Not without a scene, and everyone was heavily armed. Hopefully, there’d be a point before Lynden when Matt could accomplish this, but now was not the time. “I’ll drive.”
“No, believe I will.” He answered. Since Feargal still held the keys there would be no struggle, though the woman didn’t appear happy.
Following this, they wove down side streets trying to avoid high-rises, but eventually choices had to be made. It had been agreed to avoid the I5 until they were out of town, this meant they’d have to choose between a few bridges. At the moment they had two local choices, unless they didn’t mind of bit of a drive back to the 15th Avenue Bridge. After the sniper, everyone wanted out of town as quickly as possible. Although it was true everyone, besides Matt, wanted to wait for Salt and Sansa, no one wanted to do this in Seattle. So they were looking at the Fremont or Aurora bridges. Aurora was bigger, but Fremont closer. Closer trumped at this point. Even Matt was eager to put the city behind him. Less for the snipers and the general mayhem than for the surprise—utter surprise—which Kathy had thrown his way. There was, and Feargal well understood this, good reason why he should not blame himself for being duped, but excuses killed you faster than anything else.
At Fremont on Nickerson they were halted, and it would be a long wait. Climbing out of the lead truck he slammed the door, cursing. “Where are they going?” Niran asked.
“Blaine probably.” Matt answered. Soon the others joined them, as troop trucks, tanks, APCs, and much of which Matt had no idea of passed, and continued to pass. Matt stepped out into Fremont after about five minutes and looked down the column—it didn’t appear to have an end. There he stood craning his neck and listening to the catcalls and jeers from the militia as they blew by. Most of the troops were a combination of local and State militias, but interspersed with these were Federal troops. Feargal wasn’t surprised. The Federals had been spread thin over the northern border since most of their real troubles were coming from the refugee crisis in the South and the European boat people—since the collapse of France what had been a trickle turned into a flood.
“We’re going to be here for a while.” Matt answered Shasta’s look.
“Maybe we should go back?” Bart offered.
“If the I5 is clogged with refugees they are probably using all bridges out of the city.” Defeated the Meta fell to silence.
“Are you certain of this?” Lien asked.
“Of what?” Feargal asked, absentmindedly kicking a tire and glancing over at the column.
“Lynden—without Sansa there seems...”
“I’m going,” biting hard on the words, “even if I need go alone. Might even be better if I go alone.”
“You can’t mean that.” Shasta clasped his arm.
“We’re not enough and too many.” Lien looked puzzled. “We’re not enough to attack the H+ holding China and too many to be stealthy.”
“You can’t,” Bart offered, reasonably, “mean that.”
“Think about it. Botrous will not allow any of his people to kill me, so I’ve a chance alone. I’ve experience, but none of you have. Besides, they’ll kill the lot of you on sight.” Pausing, he turned full on the group. “Even if they capture me, it’ll only be a matter of time before I escape—not so for you.”
“We’re coming.” Shasta was emphatic. Looking for support from the others she found this, but far less emphatic than she appeared to hope for. Strangely, this comforted Feargal. If they’d been too eager he would be as suspicious of them as he already was of Shasta. There could be a simple explanation for this—infatuation or political fanaticism. Of course, these were not the only explanations, and since Kathy not the most plausible ones.
With this in mind, Matt looked up and down at what seemed a motley group of feckless children. Feargal’s attitude was plain for all to see. “We’re all you have.” Stephen smiled, but the eyes were angry.
“And, no matter what,” Lien continued, though without the conviction of Shasta or the anger of Stephen, “we are coming with you.”
“As long as you know, if this is China they have up there then Zakara will have her well-guarded by the most fanatical H+. This will probably mean William Essio, Carla Faveretto, and Melissa Fravashi. Perhaps even Thin Man—new player I believe, at least I’ve not heard much of them beyond what I learned in Milwaukee.” Most of the names were well known to the group, and though they appeared frightened this had not changed their minds.
After about half an hour the column came to an end and the roar slowly crawled into the distance and vanished into an occlusion of sound. All remaining was the preternatural silence of Seattle; punctuated by the report of a weapon and the occasioned ululation. The latter was a soft, distant provocation which unnerved the Cody refugees—with the city having fallen (to what or who remained the question)—how else should they to think of themselves? For Matt the sense of being a DP had been with him so long he no longer noticed the anxiety, though it was there and ate at him whenever he took long enough to relax his guard and/or mind. For the others, however, the fall of the city was already beginning to register in blank looks and dislocated movements. Occasionally there was a stasis of intentionality. Feargal noted this, most dramatically, in Shasta—but her people had been in Cody for three generations.
Placing an arm about the woman’s shoulders, Matt guided her back to the SUV. They needed to keep moving, that much he was certain of, especially now the reality of what had happened back in Cody was beginning to settle over the group. But how much movement would be useful, at this time, and how much would only damage their chances of getting in and out of Lynden. Resting, with his back against the driver’s door, Matt looked up as the others turned back to the second truck. Opening the door he was about to climb in when he stopped, turning back to the team. “We need to decide what to do now.”
Bart, who’d been about to climb into the back of the truck, looked over, puzzled. “I mean,” the others gathering about him and Shasta leaning over to look out of the opened door, “what with the militias heading north, in such large numbers, perhaps we should put some distance between us and them.”
“What are you suggesting?” Stephen asked.
“Maybe find a motel on the outskirts of the city and head north in the morning.”
“Could,” Bart offered, “give them time to settle in around Blaine and we may run into fewer patrols out Lynden way.” Shasta, Matt could see, was nodding from inside the truck. The idea was quickly agreed to, faster than Feargal would have liked, but this seemed reasonable since only he was really interested in getting to Lynden. There were other problems that needed sorting before this, and Matt had no interest in doing this on the road.
The group took a few minutes, before heading north, to sort out what motels were still open and which areas were riot free. Bart eventually found one several miles north of the F
remont bridge in Lynwood—a Days Inn. It was also close to a Denny’s, Olive Garden, a Chinese restaurant, a Jack in the Box, and several others, which all were open. According to Bart, once he’d gotten off the phone, rioting had not reached northern Seattle and was not expected to. The general feeling was that the riot was winding down. “That,” Matt offered gloomily, “won’t last long—once the northern DPs make their way south after the battle.” Though the observation wasn’t welcomed, there was a general agreement they best take rooms and grab a hot meal while this was still possible. A sense of what was coming, not just from the Blaine interregnum but from the growing conflict between the Metahuman communities and the extant political sensibilities, was slowly dawning. Whether or not the team recognised this as a by-product of the coming transubstantiation of Leonor was not known by Feargal—yet the man chewed on the anxiety.
Once across the Fremont, they took Aurora north to its terminus; from there it was the Pacific Highway to 196th Street SW, and right onto this it was a short hop to Days Inn.
196th was mostly strip malls with restaurants and parochial businesses—many of which seemed to be just holding on. The street was heavily infested with pine, fir, and cedar, but that was the Northwest—most of his trips across the northern states were a confrontation with nature. If the world continued as it was, this would only become more dramatic. It wasn’t that he had anything against Gaia, Feargal just preferred to keep the anthropomorph neatly trimmed and ghettoised on a flat panel. Still, preferences would not be responded to in the coming nexus—whether or not the Cinn returned was irrelevant. The world was going to change, and mightily so. What he’d experienced since Dilmun, and especially following Milwaukee, were but premonitional advocacies—the particulars of which were, as of yet, unknown and unknowable.
End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity) Page 11