by Michael Karr
Smoke continued to choke her lungs. It was bad enough that Serghei had stopped making comments.
Using the spool that was not part of a stack as a stepping stool, she clambered up to the top of one of the double stacks. Then she leaned over, grabbed the top spool from the other tall stack, and lifted.
Her stomach muscles tightened until she felt they would rip apart. But finally managed to lift it. Then she hefted it up into her arms. The motion pushed her off balance. She teetered, fighting to regain her balance. If she fell this time, only an unforgiving cement floor would break her fall. And likely break her skull in the process. Straining all her muscles, and with a cry of force, she righted herself. Then, she heaved the spool over the barbed wire of the fence, into the pit. It landed onto the concrete floor with a loud thud, but miraculously did not split into pieces.
That’s one. Oh, blast! The thought of doing that again made her want to collapse and give up. Already her muscles trembled.
She couldn’t stop. She had to keep moving. Had to save Serghei. She reached for another spool, just as a fit of coughs seized her body. Still coughing, she tried to pull up. It scarcely budged.
Come on!
She pulled and yanked and cried out in pain. Then she collapsed. It was no use. Her energy was spent. The smoke…it was too thick.
Something grabbed her arm and shook her. “Ry, can you hear me?” a voice shouted in her ear.
She lifted her head to find Preston looking into her eyes.
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” he shouted. He helped her down from the spool. “Can you walk?” She coughed and nodded. “Stay low, and make for the exit. I’ll help the others.”
Rylee didn’t argue. Didn’t have the energy for it. Coughing like her body was trying to eject her stomach up through her mouth and bending low, she staggered through the smoke toward the exit, relying on her internal sense of direction to guide her. She only hoped that sense of direction was sure.
After what felt like an eternity, Rylee finally felt a cool air touch her overheated skin. Greedily, she tried to suck in the fresh night air. But her lungs were still working to discharge the smoke clogged inside her.
A scene of commotion dominated the narrow street outside the burning warehouse. Around them, flames cast their orange hue on terrified, angry, or awestruck faces. The flames would continue to blaze, so long as it could find fuel to feed its insatiable appetite. No firemen, or bucket lines, or even rain would come to quench the flames. The first two didn’t exist anymore. And the last virtually didn’t exist.
Somehow, she found Feng amid the crowd, propped up against a building, evidently still in a lot of pain. She dropped to the street next to him and coughed violently.
“Tripe!” Feng said through clenched teeth. “What happened to you? Where’s the others?”
Rylee coughed again. “Coming.” Cough. That was all she managed to get out. She hoped it was true.
For several minutes, the pair of them sat there, silent but for Rylee’s coughs. In the background, Duncan’s warehouse continued to burn.
Come on, Preston. He had to make it out. If he didn’t soon, there would be no getting out for anyone. She chided herself for leaving him. Abandoning him like a coward.
A tall figure moving through the crowd caught her attention. Her heart stuttered in her heaving chest. Could it be? As the figure moved closer, another appeared next to it. Shorter, lanky. Serghei? A second later, she knew. It was them. All alive, including Grant.
Sweat poured down Preston’s bright red face as he collapsed to the street next to Rylee. Serghei crouched in front of her, beaming, Grant darting back and forth across his shoulders.
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it,” Rylee said.
Preston coughed. “Me, too,” he wheezed.
“I hate to interrupt this beautiful reunion,” Feng said in a strained voice. “But there’s an Elect right over there.”
Despite her weakness, Rylee shot her head up and drew out her gun. Preston did the same.
FOURTEEN
Rylee didn’t know what to expect. A gang of Elects, astride electrocycles? A squadron of Regulators, assault rifles in hand? What she saw were clumps of huddled Norms transfixed by the burning warehouse. A few people nearby who saw Rylee and Preston’s handguns cried in protest and fled deeper into the crowd.
“Where?” Rylee said, continuing to scan the crowd for anyone who looked suspicious.
“In the black coat,” Feng’s strained voice came in reply from beside her.
“There!” Preston said, motioning toward the edge of the crowd.
Narrowing her eyes, Rylee saw him—or her. A black figure, highlighted with vermillion streaks from the dancing flames. He moved with an Elect’s signature litheness. How had she not noticed before? The long coat, too. Even in the flickering light, she could tell that it was a finer garment than any Norm would own.
“He’s moving,” Preston said through a cough, “toward that alleyway,” He coughed again. “Come on, Ry. Serg, you stay with Feng.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Serghei said, saluting.
Not wanting to draw more unwanted attention to themselves, Preston and Rylee holstered their guns as they weaved through the crowd toward the alleyway. Several times, the Elect disappeared amongst the crowd, only to reappear a moment later.
They broke free of the crowd, just in time to see the dark figure slip into the shadows of an alleyway.
“You follow him,” Preston said. “I’ll try to cut him off.”
With that, Preston took off running toward the nearest alleyway that the Elect hadn’t gone down. Rylee unholstered her pistol and dashed into the alley, pursuing the Elect.
She wasn’t entirely prepared for the darkness that engulfed her as she entered the narrow alley between two abandoned warehouses. The lights from within the warehouse and from the fire had spoiled her night eyes. Not for the first time that night, she wished for her rifle topped with the thermal scope.
For a few moments she paused, letting her eyes adjust to the shadows, tuning her ears to any sounds coming from ahead of her. It wouldn’t do her any good to charge right into an ambush. For all she knew, the Elect could be pointing a weapon directly at her at that moment. The thought made her skin crawl.
There was a pile of rubble beside her along the wall of the alley. She crouched down behind it and aimed her pistol down the alley. There. Now she had some cover. Though, she’d much prefer it if she could just see the Elect.
A cough escaped her mouth. Great. If the Elect didn’t know she was there before, he did now.
Her eyes adjusted steadily to the darkness. Forms in the alleyway began to take shape. Ahead, she saw a shadow moving. She trained her gun on it. What if it was Preston? Suddenly, she didn’t like this plan of splitting up. Not without their earpieces.
The figure kept moving down the alley. If she stayed put until the Elect reached the end of the alley, Preston would be alone to deal with him. She would have to try and trail him, without any more coughs.
Keeping her gun trained on the shadow, Rylee slipped out from her crude shelter and stalked forward.
She crept as quickly as she dared, needing to move more rapidly than the Elect so that she could be close when he reached the end. Several times she was forced to pause while she stifled a cough.
About halfway down the alley, Rylee’s foot struck something. The clatter of the empty aluminum can that followed would have been sufficient to rouse a whole army of Elects. She cursed under her breath, as she dropped to one knee, prepared to return any fire that came her way.
Nothing. All she heard was the pounding of footfall on the asphalt.
Springing to her feet, she raced after the Elect.
Where was Preston? The Elect was getting closer to the exit to the alleyway.
What did Preston intend to do once they caught this Elect? Kill him on the spot? An unsummoned image of a terrified Boney flashed in her mind. Would anothe
r innocent Norm die as a result of them killing this Elect?
Suddenly, a blinding light burst to life ahead of her. Preston’s commanding voice filled the narrow space. “Don’t move! Hands in the air!”
The Elect’s figure, now outlined in intense light, halted and slowly raised his arms. There was no weapon in either hand. Instinctively, Rylee moved to the side, out of direct line of fire behind the Elect. On the other side of the Elect, now that the light wasn’t shining directly on her, she could see Preston’s strong jaw and brow faintly illuminated by the indirect beams of his tactical light.
A tactical light? She’d entirely forgotten that Preston usually carried one in his pocket, even though he seldom attached it to his pistol. Why didn’t she have one of those?
“Who are you?” the figure said, still not moving, hands up.
“I’ll be asking the questions,” Preston replied, sternly.
Seriously? Did he just say that? Evidently they’d all seen too many of Serghei’s movies.
“I want you to slowly drop to your knees,” Preston continued. “And place your hands on the top of your head. Also, beware that the sharpest shooter in the entire Alliance has a gun trained on your head. Neither of us will hesitate to put a bullet through your skull.”
The Elect turned his head to the side, as if to look at her. And Rylee caught a glimpse of his profile. She didn’t know any other way to describe it, aside from arrogant, with dark hair and stubbled chin. A face she instantly hated.
Despite the loathing she felt, though, Preston was wrong about one thing. She would hesitate to shoot. Even though it might cost them their lives.
* * *
William reluctantly did as the man ordered. The cold asphalt bit into his knees, the thin material of his trousers doing little to protect his skin. Why hadn’t he worn better garments for running away? Next time, he would have to be better prepared for running for his life. And, apparently, for dealing with a gun-wielding Unenhanced. He heard the Unenhanced could be hostile. This was absurd, though. What did they want? It wasn’t like he carried cans of food in his pockets.
“I have very little of value,” William said, fighting to keep his tone subservient. If it came to it, he would try the authoritative voice he’d learned from watching his father. People responded to that voice. But sometimes that response was the opposite of what you wanted. Safer to appear weak at first. Make them let down their guard.
One Unenhanced with a gun he could have handily dealt with. Two, though? With one standing behind him? The odds were not in his favor. Even with his PNU-enhanced reflexes, his situation was tenuous. He couldn’t move faster than bullets. Likely, he could dodge the first shot. But the subsequent ones? That miniature sun burning his retinas didn’t help him any either. If he couldn’t see the person—watch the movement of his eyes, the subtle twitch of his muscles—it made it blasted difficult to accurately calculate a man’s actions.
This situation called for diplomacy.
“We have lots of experience dealing with Elects, like you,” the man with the light said. “So, don’t try anything.”
Elects? Is that their name for the Enhanced? Now that he thought about it, the name did sound familiar. Despite his current dilemma, he found it fascinating that they could tell. He wondered how. This was not the time to ask though. Better to play dumb.
“No, no,” he said, making his voice sound pleading. It pained his ego to do it. “I’m no Elect. Honestly. I—I swear.” He added a little stutter to his words, for good measure.
“Malarkey!” Light-man retorted. “We could tell just by the way you walked.”
Could they really? This was something he would definitely have to investigate. That is, if he made it out of this alive. He could write a modification for his PNU that helped him blend in. All he would have to do…Brilliant, Will! Two hostile Unenhanced creeps have their guns pointed at your head, and you’re thinking about a coding challenge.
His ignorance act was not working.
Time for a different tactic. Make a threat.
Sharpening the tone of his voice slightly, he spoke again, “If I am an Elect, as you call me, then you should know that I can contact the Regulators anytime I want. They’ll have my exact coordinates, as well as a live capture of everything I can see and hear. Which would include you.”
It was a bluff, of course. There was no way he was going to contact Regulation. He’d be worse off with them than with these two.
“The Regulators are probably already on their way,” Light-man scoffed. “To investigate the fire. And little good your recording will do. All they’ll see is a bright light.”
Alright. So the Unenhanced are not so easily hoodwinked. At least, not this one.
“What are you doing in the slums?” Light-man said.
“Is it against some ordinance of the Alliance for me to be here?”
“We don’t care about Alliance ordinances! Now, answer the question.”
How to answer that one…
“I came to Duncan’s Warehouse hoping to ascertain information,” he replied. Which was not entirely a lie. He needed to find somewhere where he could stay—somewhere safe…ish. And possibly information on how to get smuggled out of the city.
“Right,” Light-man said. “Like where to find a nice young girl to abduct. We kill Elects like you. You think you can come around and do whatever you want with us just because you can get away with it. Some of us are sick of it and are more than ready to fight back.”
It was an admirable speech, all things considered. But nothing that would work in William’s favor. He had to think of something fast, for he was quickly losing this battle. Would outright pleading forgiveness for all the wrongs committed by his fellow Enhanced do any good? No, that was too expected. And pleading innocence certainly wouldn’t help.
If only these two were Enhanced, it would make dealing with them so much easier. He found that surprisingly ironic.
“Look,” he finally said, “I’ve got my own problems to deal with. Shoot me if that will make you feel better. I promise, no one is going to miss me. And I’m really tired of being on my knees.”
It was a risky approach. He doubted it would work. Using his PNU to suppress any fear, he stared—well, squinted—calmly back into the blinding light. If they fired, he would try to dodge. Turn and go for the legs of the one behind him. He tuned his ears. Every sound would be vital to his survival.
“Believe me, I’ll be very happy to rid the world of another Elect.”
“Preston, wait!” came a voice from behind. A female’s voice. Will hadn’t realized a female—a girl—was behind him. Did it matter her gender, though? She had a gun. Yet maybe there was less of an eagerness to kill him, if he read her voice correctly.
“What is it?” Light-man said.
“I think we should let him go.”
I like her already.
“What? Why?”
“We haven’t actually caught him doing anything. We can’t know for sure he’ll do anything.”
“He doesn’t need to have done anything. You know that. The fact that he’s here means he’s up to no good. If we let him go, someone else will pay the price.”
“I know, but…” her voice faltered slightly. She sounded like she could be his own age, maybe younger. “Remember Boney?”
“Fine, you don’t have to shoot. I will.”
“Preston!”
Light-man sighed audibly. “What do you suggest we do with him, then? Just let him go?”
There was a moment’s pause. Will hoped the girl would just say ‘let him go.’ But that was probably too much to hope for from these two. Should he make his own suggestion?
“We’ll escort him out of the slums,” she finally said.
“And if he comes back?”
“I’ll shoot him myself.”
Despite the relative calmness he felt, William winced at her words. Nothing in her tone betrayed a hint of deceit. The girl meant what she said. Perha
ps he didn’t like her so much, after all.
“Fine,” Light-man replied. Preston, she had called him. “Feng ought to love this plan. Go back and bring the others here. We’ll wait out in one of these warehouses until the crowd has cleared out, just in case the Regulators show up. I’ll stay with friend here.”
Friend? A sarcastic remark came to him in response. But he restrained himself. Somehow he didn’t think Light-man—Preston—would appreciate his humor.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself?” the girl asked.
“I’ll be fine. Hurry back, though.”
The girl didn’t reply, and a moment later he heard soft footfall as she dashed away. So quiet. If he hadn’t used his PNU to help him filter out other sounds, he doubted he would have heard anything. As he listened, he activated his Accelerated Visual and Sensory Processor—AVSP. He could only run in this mode for so long before his brain overloaded or his PNU ran out of power. The AVSP allowed him to react three times faster than the average human brain, the main component being its accelerated visual processing. The same sort of visual processing that flies innately possessed, and makes most humans look like they are moving through molasses.
This fellow with the gun pointed at him likely possessed above-average reflexes. Even so, William would still have a significant advantage.
Taking a deep breath, he forced his face, his eyes, his posture to look relaxed. He wanted to appear bored, belying the adrenaline that was surging through his body. Once confident the girl was a safe distance away, he lunged forward with a superhuman burst of speed, ramming directly into Preston’s legs.
FIFTEEN
William heard Preston’s cry of shock for what seemed like minutes after he had already struck. Then a gunshot, fired much too late. Preston was falling forward, his feet swept from under him by William’s blow. Reacting before Preston’s body even hit the ground, William turned, and kicked the gun from his hand.
The firearm clattered and clanked as it bounced against the pavement, its mounted tactical light flashing like a strobe as it flipped end-over-end.