Flip (The Slip Trilogy Book 3)

by David Estes

  Neither party can see each other, their windows tinted and dark, but that doesn’t stop the Crow car from swinging wildly to its left, bashing into them.

  The force is so jarring that Harrison spills into the space between the seats. Benson and Minda have the same problem, twisting together in a jumble. Janice managed to stay out of it by clutching the red flashing light. Simon, using his weight to his advantage, remained anchored in place by leaning in the direction of the collision.

  Automatically, their vehicle responds by steering back into the Crow car. The shriek of metal scraping metal fills the air, even as the other Crow car rams them from behind. In a weird way, the blow helps them, allowing them to burst ahead of their pursuers.

  Harrison clambers into his seat, shoving his face to the rear glass. The Crow cars repeatedly try to pull even with their vehicle, but, true to form, their car responds, shifting from side to side, blocking their pursuers’ progress. A couple of times the Crows attempt to use the opposing traffic lane, but oncoming vehicles block their path.

  Apparently, their lack of success pisses them off, because their next move is to open a hatch in the roof. A long black nozzle extends from the gap, aiming in their direction. “Down!” Harrison shouts, pushing Benson back to the floor at the exact moment Minda shouts, “Armor!”

  Gunfire erupts from the weapon, a handful of bullets bursting through the window, which explodes in a maelstrom of safety glass, collapsing inwards. Harrison’s back is pelted with chunks, almost like hail, as he throws his body on top of his brother’s. The wind that rushes through the damaged space is full of whining bullets, which glance off of the vehicle’s interior.

  The wind stops. The bullets stop flying overhead. Clinks and clanks resound from the rear. Slowly, cautiously, Harrison peers behind them. The window is covered by a sheet of metal. It’s riddled with spots, bulging inward, dented by the bullets that continue to bounce off of it. The side and front windows have also been armored, blocking all natural light. The interior is now lit by dim security panels that have come to life along the floor and ceiling, casting an eerie glow across the passengers.

  Harrison takes stock of the others, who are in various states of disarray, either on the floor or clinging to the seats. “Everyone okay?”

  Murmurs of assent pop up one by one. “The tires,” Benson says, his eyes wide.

  “Armored,” Minda says. “We’re virtually indestructible now.”

  “Not if they flip us,” Harrison points out. Another barrage of bullets clank off of the rear armor.

  “They’ll try,” Minda says. “We have to trust that our technology is better than theirs.”

  Harrison scoffs. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing, hoping this magical vehicle manages to destroy both Crow cars and escapes to safety. They’ll have Hawks locked on us by now. There’s no escape.”

  “We’re not doing nothing,” Minda says, whipping out her holo-screen. She begins tapping a message:

  The key is compromised.

  “Is that all you care about—the key?” Harrison says.

  “She’s all that matters,” Minda says, her tone void of compassion.

  “Yeah, but only so she can carry out your ‘mission’. Not because my mother is a person. A human being. You think my father would’ve wanted this?”

  Minda grabs him by his collar so firmly and so suddenly that he’s thrown back against the seat. “Your father planned everything,” she growls. “If the key isn’t turned, then none of this matters anyway. Your brother will never be safe. You will never be safe. This world will continue down its path of destruction.”

  She pushes off of him as a message appears in midair:

  SamAdams: What can I do?

  Minda says, “Switch to voice mode.”

  “Voice mode confirmed,” her holo-screen says.

  “We need help with the Hawks. Can you get rid of them?” As she speaks each word, they appear in midair, projected from her holo.

  BloodyMary: He’ll blow his cover if he does that.

  “No choice,” Minda says. “We’re way past that if you want the key to survive this.”

  BloodyMary: Let your vehicle do its job. We have to trust in the plan.

  SamAdams: Sorry BloodyMary, I agree with ShirleyTemple. We have to take out the Hawks or there’s no chance of the key making it to safety.

  JoseCuervo: I agree. Do what you have to do.

  BloodyMary has signed off.

  “What can he possibly do?” Harrison wonders aloud.

  “More than we can,” Minda says. “Vehicle—bring up radar view.”

  A floating green screen appears toward the front of the car. Harrison remembers Chuck’s dad showing them something similar one time. All the Crow cars are equipped with radar too. He scans the image, immediately honing his vision in on the dots representing their vehicle and the two pursuing Crow cars, which are so close their blips are nearly touching. Above them, as expected, are three yellow dots, moving parallel to the pursuit.

  “Hawks,” Benson says.

  “Wait,” Minda instructs.

  They hang on for two long minutes as their vehicle lurches right, then left, then right again. “What are we waiting for?” Harrison asks, but before the question is out, three other yellow dots appear on the radar, closing in on the Hawks.

  “That’s what he can do,” Minda says, pointing at the roof as there’s a screaming roar from above, followed by a massive explosion that causes the sides of their car to shake. One of the yellow blips disappears. Two explosions later, all three Hawks are gone, vanquished from the radar as easily as flies being swatted.

  “Holy bots,” Benson breathes.

  “Like I said, we’re not doing nothing,” Minda says. “But we’re not safe yet.”

  “Can’t you just use those Hawks to blow them up?” Simon asks. Harrison likes the sound of that idea.

  “They’re too close,” Minda says. “Maybe if we can get some distance between us.”

  Harrison knows that’s not likely. According to the radar, the Crow cars are sticking to their bumper, occasionally trying to get around them. They’ve stopped shooting, but probably only to conserve ammo. There’s no doubt they’ll continue the assault the moment they see an opening.

  They take another screeching turn, but their pursuers don’t blink, falling in behind them. Harrison knows that every Crow in the city will have been alerted to the chase, which means they don’t have much time if they’re going to have a fool’s chance of escaping. Drastic action is required, and not by some computer program. Drastic human action. The skeleton of an insane plan begins to form in his mind.

  Even as Harrison’s contemplating the odds of him dying in an excruciatingly painful manner, there’s a loud thump on the roof. Then another. All eyes go to the ceiling, even Janice’s.

  “They’re on us,” Simon says.

  “Who?” Benson frowns, puzzled.

  “The Crows,” Minda says. “They’re wearing magnetic boots.”

  Their slow, heavy footsteps across the roof prove her statement. “What are they up to?” Simon muses aloud.

  As if in response to his question, a hole appears above them, allowing a sliver of white daylight to penetrate the cab’s gloom. A beam of bright blue light follows immediately after it. “Laser cutters!” Simon shouts.

  The five of them scatter toward the edges of the interior, as far from the dangerous beam of energy cutting through their armor. The laser shears a line in the roof, makes a right angle, and then slices another line. “They’re coming in!” Harrison says, stepping forward to keep his body between the widening gap in the roof and his family. He feels Benson fighting against him, but he uses his superior strength to hold him off. Not this time, bro, he thinks.

  “Let them come,” Simon growls. The third line is cut, and the fourth begins. When the beam returns to its original position, a heavy square of metal falls inside. Large black boots swing through the gap, but Simon’s ready for them.
He grabs the legs and drives forward, grunting in pain as his injured abdomen slams into the Crow. Harrison watches as his frienemy pins the Crow to the side of the car, his forearm pressed heavily into his throat. The guy scratches and kicks out, but the blows might as well be a child’s against a man Simon’s size.

  A gun appears from above, pointing blindly inside. “Look out!” Minda yells. Just as the barrel explodes with fire, Simon twists his opponent around, using him as a human shield, his body shuddering as each bullet enters his flesh.

  Harrison lunges forward and grabs the gun, yanking hard. The weapon responds, still firing, but past him, falling toward his feet. There’s a hand attached to it, followed by an arm and then an entire black-garbed body: a Crow. As Harrison wrestles the gun from her, Benson grabs her legs and Minda secures her arms.

  Drastic human action, Harrison remembers as the gun becomes his. Everyone else is distracted with the prisoner. Now is the time for his insane, but necessary, plan.

  Before anyone can stop him, he grabs his hoverboard from where Janice dropped it during the attack, and with one swift motion, presses the door open button and leaps from the car.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harrison’s body reacts instantly, his hand activating the board and sliding it beneath his shoes, which clamp to the frame. His other hand clutches the weapon, which is far lighter than he expected for such a deadly instrument. He’s never fired a gun before, but there’s a first time for everything.

  Like jumping from a moving aut-car.

  Like rescuing his mother from the asylum.

  Like going toe to toe with a psychotic cyborg.

  It seems his life has been full of firsts lately.

  Using minor pressure from his well-practiced heels, he gets control of the board. He winces as cold sleet pelts his face, but manages to take a sharp right to get moving in the correct direction. What he didn’t realize is that the momentum of his leap from the car placed him in the direct center of the opposing lane.

  The aut-car is on him in less than a second, it’s automatic accident-preventing brakes engaging, the tires skidding across the pavement, the passengers staring at Harrison in a mix of fear and awe as he cuts left, the edge of the board grinding against the hood, sliding up the windshield like a ramp, and propelling him up and over the next aut-car, which is also desperately trying to stop its forward progress.

  Holy freaking son of a—

  Harrison veers right to avoid another vehicle, finding himself back in the right lane, in pursuit of the two Crow cars. He leans forward, increasing his speed, crouching to draft off the wind resistance provided by the much larger vehicles, the icy snow swirling overhead. He watches as another Crow clambers from the roof of his car wearing magnet boots, his arms out to steady himself against the gusting wind.

  Unlike the first two, the third appears to be empty-handed, but still moves forward with jerky steps. Holding the gun, the temptation to shoot is strong, but Harrison knows he’s too far away. Having no experience, he’ll miss badly, and then the Crow will be aware of his presence.

  Instead, he eases forward faster, gaining with each passing second. As the Crow continues to fight forward against the wind, Harrison pulls overtop the first aut-car. A surprised Crow stares up at him through a hatch, and Harrison instinctively pulls the trigger, firing inside. The gun bucks in his hand far more than he expected it to. He loses his grip and it falls from his grasp, clattering to the pavement and running away behind him. Although the urge is there, he knows he doesn’t have time to go back for it.

  Beneath him, the hatch is empty, any remaining Crows ducking back inside at the first sign of his riotous gunfire. The Crow with the magnet boots has stopped and turned upon hearing the commotion. His eyes widen when he sees Harrison, but he twists back around, quickening his steps, leaping dangerously onto the lead aut-car, relying on the powerful magnets in his boots to stick the landing.

  That’s when Harrison realizes the guy’s not empty-handed after all. He’s carrying something small, black, and egg-shaped. A grenade!

  Without thinking, he leans forward, his entire body battered by the wind and sleet, but not caring, not caring, not caring because his family is in that car and the Crow is biting down on the grenade and ripping out the pin with his teeth and winding up, taking aim—

  —and Harrison imagines the hoverball shooting for the corner, on target, almost impossibly out of reach—

  —almost—which is Harrison’s new favorite word, and—

  —he leaps, his arm outstretched, his fingers reaching, reaching, snatching the grenade from the Crow, bashing into him hard enough to dislodge his boots from the vehicle, watching as he falls away, smashing violently onto the street where he’s run over by his very own aut-car.

  Benson’s head pops up like a gopher and he beckons Harrison back inside, his expression pleading, his mouth twisted in a slash of fear. But Harrison knows he can’t, not now, not when the adrenaline is pumping and the rage burning and while he’s holding a live grenade in his hand.

  In his mind, the crowd roars as he spins and lobs the incendiary into the hatch of one of the pursuing cars.

  A frozen moment passes, and for the first time in a long time Harrison sees the world with exquisite clarity, as if his senses are heightened. He sees the unique beauty of each snowflake, sees each speckle of sunlight dancing on the metal of the Crow cars, sees every drop of spilled blood pouring from the dead Crow receding into the distance. And then…

  BOOM!

  The impact is violent and immediate, fire spewing from the Crow car as it’s split in half, ragged chunks of metal spinning off in chaotic directions, colliding with the other Crow car, which swerves wildly to the side, ripping into the side of a passing aut-car, running up its hood, and flipping end over end. It lands on its roof in a raucous roar of metal on pavement. Harrison is thrown forward, chased by an explosion of energy that hurtles him into the waiting arms of his brother, who groans from the impact even as he drags him inside. His board momentarily gets stuck in the small opening, but is then manhandled through by Simon’s strong arms.

  “You’re insane,” Simon says to Harrison.

  “I’m getting there,” Harrison says, sighing deeply as the aut-car rockets them forward to safety.

  ~~~

  Article from the Saint Louis Times:

  Breaking News: Lifers Strike Again

  In the biggest explosion yet, an entire building was decimated in downtown Saint Louis in what officials are saying was another act of terrorism by the Lifers. According to Crow Chief Charles Boggs, “Although the Lifers haven’t claimed responsibility, the attack is consistent with their past actions. This isn’t an act of terrorism so much as an act of war.”

  Following the bombing, the president’s office issued an immediate statement: “Due to the extreme nature of the situation, martial law has been instituted for Saint Louis. To the citizens of our great nation’s capital city, please return to your homes and review the emergency laws that have been approved by Congress and sent to your holo-screens. These laws, as well as a city-wide lockdown, will be in effect until further notice, violations of which will result in severe criminal penalties.

  “While these days appear dark, we will persevere. We will defeat these terrorists who call themselves patriots. We will bring them to justice and restore order. Until a new permanent head of the Department of Population Control can be appointed, Charles Boggs will serve as the chief of both law-enforcement departments.”

  Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now. NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.

  Comments:

  SamSneed18: I had to fight through a mob to get back to my home. My wife and kid are scared. Hell, I’m scared. I support whatever the government has to do to get rid of those terrorists and get things back to normal. Boggs
is level-headed and smart. I trust him.

  WayneT101: I’m moving to China.

  Lifer3001: Comment removed and disciplinary action taken.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Boggs as Head of Pop Con? Seriously? Damn those lunatic politicians.” Although the Lifer leader’s words are full of anger, his tone never rises to a shout. To Geoffrey, for some reason, the low, growling way that he speaks is scarier than shouting. Jarrod is in control. He’s focused.

  And he listens to what Geoffrey has to say. “What do you think?” he asks him now.

  “Sir?” Geoffrey says.

  “Is Boggs the right man for the job?”

  Geoffrey thinks about it for a minute. “Is there a right person for the job?” Geoffrey asks.

  He’s not trying to be funny, but Jarrod laughs. “Good point. But Boggs is most definitely the worst possible appointment they could make.”

  Geoffrey remembers what he knows about Chief Crow Charles Boggs from the hours and hours they used to spend watching the holo-news. He and Chuck and Gonzo and Rod and…

  …Benson and Luce.

  He shakes off the thought before it can swarm into his brain. Charles Boggs is notorious for the Aloisius Culpepper beating two years ago. For three weeks straight it was all the reporters were talking about. Culpepper had been an upstanding citizen, an ex-Mayor of Saint Louis, the model for obedience to the Population Control Decree, his two legal children blossoming into future politicians themselves. He was beaten to death on the street by three Crows, one of whom was Charles Boggs. According to Boggs and the other two Crows, Culpepper was suspected of aiding and abetting his cousin, a known black market doctor purportedly responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of unauthorized births. UnBees. When they questioned him, he pulled what they thought was a weapon, and so they defended themselves with lethal force. It turns out the so-called weapon was a portable umbrella; it was starting to rain.