Deprecated

by Michael Karr

  “Okay,” Preston said. “I guess we’ll make our stand here. Help me move these desks to bar the door.”

  “We’re not making a stand here,” Rylee replied, planting herself a few paces in front of one of the windows, and leveling her pistol.

  “What are you—”

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Three bullet holes perforated the glass, a million white fissures spreading out like a tangle of spider webs. The holes formed an irregular triangle, about a foot apart.

  Rylee’s deafened ears rang from the gunfire.

  Ignoring her ears and the muffled, urgent voice of Preston, she picked up a chair and heaved it against the glass, right where the bullets had struck. The chair burst through the window, shards of glass flying out in all directions. The resulting jagged hole in the window gaped just big enough for someone to leap through.

  “We have to jump,” she yelled, her own voice sounding distant to her ringing ears.

  Then she leaned out through the hole. Thirty feet below, an empty street lay. Nothing but merciless black asphalt and concrete. Without giving herself time to realize how stupid her plan was, she jumped.

  She’d never appreciated the feeling of falling. That torquing of the stomach as the body plummeted downward. More than once, she’d experienced it rappelling off the roofs of housing units in the slums. This time, she had no rope to slow her freefall.

  The sudden rush of adrenaline to her system instantly activated her PNU’s accelerated visual processing system. And though her stomach told her otherwise, she seemed to fall as an autumn leaf from a tree.

  The ground seemed to approached slowly. She felt herself brace for impact. Her body’s natural instincts took over. Additionally, she sensed something else kick in. Like an automatic engagement of a trained and highly calibrated muscle memory. Her legs pressed together, knees straight, but loose, feet flat. An instant later, she felt the impact of the ground touch the soles of her boots. Immediately, her knees bent, and her body listed to the side, falling into a side-roll as her shoulder made contact with the pavement.

  A half-second later, her body stopped moving. For a moment, she lay there. All she could feel was her pounding heart against her chest. Did that mean the rest of her was broken, her body in so much shock it refused to process the pain? No. Somehow she knew she wasn’t injured—not badly. Her PNU had protected her.

  Preston.

  The thought jolted her from the spot. She looked up just in time to see his muscular form leaping from the building. What had she done? Preston didn’t have the benefit of the PNU to help him. Would he shatter every bone in his legs?

  Helplessness and terror consumed her as she watched him plummet toward the street. She couldn’t do anything to help. There was nothing around that she could use to dampen his fall.

  A second later, Preston slammed into the pavement. The crunch and pop of bones made her recoil in horror. A piercing scream of agony shot out from Preston’s gaping mouth.

  She was at his side in an instant, checking his body for injuries, placing trembling hands on his arm.

  “Argh!” he grimaced. “You couldn’t…” His sucked in through clenched teeth, his entire face taut with pain. “…have chosen a…window…” He gasped. “…closer to the ground?”

  “Is it both legs or just one?” she said, inspecting as much as she dared. Serghei was the medic. She didn’t know anything about first-aid. “Can you walk? We need to get out of here.”

  “One. Ahhh!” He let out another cry. “No…prrroooblem,” he said, gritting his teeth.

  As much as she hated causing him any more pain, if they didn’t get out of there, she might as well put a bullet in his head. Placing an arm behind his shoulder, Rylee helped him to stand, as he screamed in her ear. His weight startled her. Like a solid piece of lead.

  “Let’s get closer to the wall,” she said. “Just put your weight on me.”

  The closer they could get to the side of the building, the more difficult it would be for the Regulators to get an easy shot at them from the window.

  Limping and cursing with each step, Preston moved against the side of the building, where she propped him up.

  “Halt!” a voice boomed from above. Rylee didn’t even bother to look up. Would the Regulators try and jump too? She counted on them playing it safe. Even though it would only take the Regulators a minute to descend the stairs and exit the building, it just might give her enough time…

  She looked down the street and froze. Her Harley? Was this the side of the building she’d parked on? There it was though, in all its beauty. A mere fifty yards away.

  “Come on,” she said, positioning herself under his armpit again.

  They were moving slowly. Too slowly. They needed to move faster. Already, she felt like she was half dragging him.

  No other shouts came from above. Both good news and bad. It meant no one was likely to shoot at them as they mounted her bike. Probably.

  Almost there.

  Finally, they reached her Harley. Preston eased himself onto the back seat, as Rylee squeezed in front of him and brought the engine to life with a roar that was met with shouts of command from behind.

  The Regulators. The Regulators carrying assault rifles, with accuracy up to four hundred meters.

  “Hold on!” she shouted, as she laid on the throttle, racing away from the Regulators with a burst of speed.

  Then the shots began to fire.

  FORTY-TWO

  Rylee’s Harley was going ninety miles-per-hour before they reached the corner of Steele Tower. The thick November air felt as frigid as swimming through snow—without clothes on. She ignored the cold. The Regulators gunfire demanded her undivided attention. Bullets struck all along the street on either side of them. So far as she knew, none had hit them. Preston was the most exposed, his back facing the Regulators. If he got hit, would she even know?

  Please, oh please, oh please…

  Were they intentionally trying to miss? There were at least half-a-dozen Regulators back there. All armed with assault rifles with mounted scopes. One ought to be able to make a hit. Maybe the Regulators had orders not to kill. Maybe the shots were intended to scare them, or disable her Harley.

  Whatever the reason—terrible marksmanship or bizarre orders—Rylee didn’t slow down. Racing out of the side street, they crossed the main avenue running along the front of the CA’s building. The gunshots slowed, and then stopped. For a moment, she thought they were giving up. A quick glance in her side view mirror killed that hope.

  A pair of Regulators, astride electrocyles, zoomed into view behind them. And they were moving fast. Letting out a curse, Rylee twisted the throttle and leaned flatter over the gas tank.

  “Give me your gun,” Preston hollered over her shoulder.

  What? Did Preston intend to try and shoot at them in his condition? Reaching around to her left side, she pulled out her pistol and held it over her shoulder. Preston pulled it from her grasp. A second later, two shots sounded in her ear. In her mirror, she saw the cycles swerve. Then another two shots.

  Nine rounds left in that mag.

  Three more shots fired. No contact. Not a surprise. Preston was shooting one handed, while hanging onto the back of a Harley barreling down the street at a near full throttle, with his leg broken into fifty pieces. Shooting at Elects, no less. The Regulators had slowed down some. That was good. They needed to get away, though. Lose these two, before more joined the chase.

  Ahead, the street ended. They had to turn. Throwing on the back brake, she decelerated rapidly, then pulled the handlebars forcefully into the turn. The front wheel protested under the sudden change in direction as the bike leaned to the right.

  Preston’s strong arms wrapped around her torso like steel cables, as they raced into the turn. Even though she’d hit the brakes, her Harley was still moving recklessly fast for any kind of turn.

  Rylee forced herself to stay calm. The surest way to crash on a motorcycle is to pani
c during a turn. A lesson her grandfather had drilled into her when she was learning to ride.

  Biting her upper lip, she pressed her bike lower to the street. The corner of a brick building flashed by in a blur.

  Preston screamed. Either from pain or fear, she didn’t know.

  At the apex of the turn, Rylee laid on the throttle again. The bike rocketed out of the turn, righting itself with the force of their acceleration.

  They were alive. She had control of her bike. Those Regulators would never take a turn that fast.

  “That was insane,” Preston shouted in her ear, his voice almost entirely whipped away by the cold air streaming past them.

  Through her side-view mirror, Rylee saw the two eletrocycles emerge around the turn. She’d been right. They did take the turn cautiously. Her risky maneuver had put more distance between them.

  “We’re going to do it again,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  “What!”

  Before Preston had time to protest, she pushed the bike into another turn. His arms constricted around her middle again. This time they put even more distance between them and the Regulators. Despite the gravity of their situation, Rylee couldn’t help but feel a thrill inside. Never had she driven like this before. She didn’t know she could.

  Another turn.

  More distance.

  It still wasn’t enough, though. The slums were getting nearer. They needed to lose those Regulators.

  Then she remembered Serghei. She’d forgotten to turn her earpiece back on. Tapping it, she said Serghei’s name.

  “It’s about time you got back on the line,” Serghei said. “You’re in trouble.”

  “Oh, that’s so helpful. Suggestions on losing these two Regulators?”

  “Try using the Force.”

  “This is serious, Serg. Preston and I are dead if we don’t get away.” They rocketed through another turn, dodging a group of workers surrounding a manhole. A few of them dived out of the way onto the sidewalk.

  “Feng is too far away to assist you,” Serghei said. “Plus he’s trying to help Grayson. You could—”

  “Wait!” she interrupted. “What happened to Grayson?”

  “Failed miserably. Apprehended by the CA’s men. Everything’s gone south. Anyway, have you considered a game of chicken?”

  “Chicken? What are you talking about?”

  Rylee took another turn.

  “You know, where you drive at them.”

  “That’s….that gives me an idea. I’m heading for the tunnel at Union Street.”

  “Ah…very good. Let me know how it turns out.”

  The line went dead. Rylee took the next left. Then another left, back toward the Elect sector of the city. Unfortunately, they would have to backtrack a fair bit.

  “What are you planning?” Preston shouted from behind.

  “Trust me,” she replied. There was no time for explanation. Preston would figure it out once they got there.

  The sun had broken through the thick blanket of clouds. A rare occurrence for that time of year. She intended to use it to their advantage. But they needed to keep enough distance from the Regulators chasing them. She torqued the throttle and prayed no cars would cross in front of them at any of the intersections they were racing through. Even among the Elect, though, cars were rare.

  The tunnel was just two blocks away.

  With a hard right turn, they careened onto Union street. Ahead, the mouth of the tunnel loomed, the sun’s rays casting a heavy shadow, hiding its depths. They plunged into the darkness, blind to the tunnel’s innards until enveloped in the shadows. She intended to use that blindness to their advantage. The Regulators would not be able to see beyond the wall of shadows until they were in the tunnel.

  Laying on the back brake, and downshifting, Rylee planted her left foot and whipped the tail end of her motorcycle around. Preston gripped tighter to keep from flying off.

  “Get ready to shoot,” she said, then took off, heading back toward the tunnel’s entrance, toward the pursuing Regulators. Hopefully Preston got the idea of her plan.

  They rounded the slight bend in the tunnel. The pair of Regulators raced toward them. Rylee backed off the throttle a hair. She didn’t want to emerge from the tunnel’s shadows prematurely, giving the Regulators advanced warning. Not when the Regulator’s reflexes were PNU-enhanced. As it was, she didn’t know if her idea would work.

  “Take the one on your left,” she shouted over her shoulder, as another idea came to her. Two birds with one stone. She shifted her bike to the right slightly, moving closer to the right-most Regulator. She only hoped she didn’t break her foot—or crash—in the process.

  They were almost dead-even with the Regulators now. Another second.

  “Now!”

  Even with the accelerated visual process of her PNU, the electrocyle on her right zoomed past with blinding speed. But her foot was ready. As the rider passed, the heel of her boot struck his knee. In her left ear, gunfire erupted.

  Then they were out into the sunlight again.

  Rylee didn’t slow down. Didn’t look back. The squeal of tires and crunch of metal told her all she needed to know.

  “I think we got them,” Preston grunted from behind.

  She nodded, and turned them toward the slums.

  Once certain the Regulators were indeed off their tail, Rylee spoke into her earpiece. “Serg, are you there? Preston and I are clear. What’s the status on Grayson?”

  The line hissed. “Well, he’s a goner. Not much else to say. The CA’s got him in one of his cars. The motorcade is headed back toward Steele Tower. I told Feng to pull out, but he’s not listening.”

  “That’s because you’re not the boss, man,” Feng said over the line. “I’m going to crash into the motorcade. Put a few bullets in some heads. Preferably the CA’s.”

  “The Japanese call that kamikaze.”

  “I’m Chinese, tripe face.”

  “I know. I was only—”

  “Guys,” Rylee cut in. “Let’s focus on the problem. Feng. Can you wait until I get there before you do anything crazy?”

  “Just until the motorcade gets close to me. Why?”

  “Just wait,” she said, not wanting to say too much with Preston near.

  “Fine,” Feng replied. “But you’d better hurry.”

  Right. Hurry.

  Her PNU energy was running low by the time she and Preston reached the slums. All the stress from their narrow escape had drained her resources. She would just have to manage with what remained.

  Pulling to a stop in the alley behind Serghei’s place, Rylee helped Preston off the back of her Harley. “Serg,” she said in the earpiece, “I need you outside to help Preston. He’s got a broken leg.”

  Preston handed her gun back. “Where’s Feng?”

  “Coming,” she lied.

  Preston’s face squeezed up in pain. “Good,” he groaned.

  Serghei ran out of the warehouse a moment later. “What’s with this team and lower appendage fractures?” he asked. “You could do something more original? A bullet wound, perhaps?”

  “Just get him inside and take care of him, Serg,” Rylee said, indicating for Serghei to take her place supporting Preston.

  “Where are you going?” Preston rasped.

  “There’s something I have to take care of,” she said. Then she turned quickly and strode to her motorcycle, hopped on, and sped away before Preston’s shouts could make her change her mind.

  FORTY-THREE

  Rylee felt more than a twinge of guilt at abandoning Preston like that. Not a word of explanation. Truth was, she didn’t think she could bear to face Preston with the truth. That she cared about Grayson. More than that, if anything happened to Grayson, she…well, she didn’t want to think about it. Her heart was already overworked. She squeezed the throttle on her Harley. Why couldn’t she hate Grayson like she was supposed to?

  “Feng,” she said. “What’s your location?” />
  Her earpiece cracked a moment later. “4th and Stewart,” he replied.

  “I’m on my way.” She tapped her earpiece off.

  Feng was located back in the Elect sector of the city, a few blocks away from Steele Tower.

  I need a plan.

  She avoided the most direct route to Feng’s location. It slowed her down a little, but she hoped to avoid Regulators.

  Three minutes and seventeen seconds later, she turned onto Stewart Street, where Feng was hiding. An old beat-up van sat parked on the side of the street. Through the windshield, she saw Feng sitting in the driver’s seat. He gave her a look that said he was tired of waiting.

  Parking her Harley behind the van, she hurried over to the passenger door, and clambered inside.

  “Took you long enough,” Feng said. “Did you walk here?”

  “I drove all the way from the slums.”

  Feng didn’t look impressed.

  “Well, I’m here,” she said, tapping her earpiece back on. “Serg?”

  “Uh…” Serghei’s voice died out over the line, followed by some muffled voices mingled with the static. “Ry, what in Desolation’s Thunder are you doing?” It was Preston.

  She tapped off the earpiece. So much for that idea.

  Feng’s eyes grew wide, and he nodded in appreciation. “Man, he’s angry. You just going to ignore him like that?”

  “I have to. If they’re not going to be useful, shutoff your earpiece.”

  Feng tapped his earpiece. “Mutiny,” he said. “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

  She wished she knew the answer to that question. “How many cars are in the motorcade?”

  “Three. The CA’s car is the middle one. Should pass by on 4th Avenue there any minute.”

  Think, Rylee. Think! What to do? If they could stop the motorcade, maybe she could think of something. That’s it.

  “Feng, pull out into the street and kill the engine. Block as much of the street as possible. Pop the hood. Pretend the car is broken down. Shouldn’t be hard with this piece of junk.” Without waiting for a response, she jumped out of the passenger seat of the car, and dashed to her Harley.