by Andrew Novak
Two dark silhouettes emerged from the mist.
“Hey, brother, you got a smoke?” a young, nasal voice asked.
“Beat it,” Jack barked.
The shadows moved back. Jack was a big man. Even the fog and darkness couldn’t hide it. Goodwin sniffed, trying to stay close, until the pair were no longer behind them. It could have ended on this but, when it seemed that the adventure had passed, Jack heard the squishing of their boots:
“Hey, they look like the guys Brandt is looking for. A big young one with a skinny old coot. Maybe we can earn a bit for a couple of broads, yeah?”
Jack turned and rushed back to catch these pups. But it was as if they’d dissolved into the mist. Not a sound, no tracks filling up in the muck. Those who wandered around at night in the fog of Newtown Creek had such a talent. Stealth bonus, he guessed.
“Hey, what are you doing?” called Goodwin. “You said yourself, we’ve got to pass more quickly through the swamp. Why did you turn back?”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”
They exited onto a footpath strewn with the rubble of bricks and rusted junk. This place was full of these trails. It was possible to cross the marsh in dozens of locations along these trails. They left the most viscous mud behind, but the cold in his stomach wouldn’t let go. Now Jack was sure. This is it, his intuition. Something was about to happen.
A racket rose up behind them. Stomping, the clacking of rocks rolling underfoot and the splash of water. Several people were blundering through the swamp, disregarding the road. Some followed the trail, others tromped through the mud. There was no doubt about it. Jack didn’t have to say anything to his companion. They both broke into a run together. The swamp behind them, the fugitives found themselves among the trailers in Greenpoint. Some windows were lit, making it possible to navigate.
Jack turned and ran to the left of the previous route. They should wander for a little while, take a detour, so that their followers couldn’t track their direction. Then he took another turn, and another. A couple of people were coming from the opposite direction, but these weren’t Brandt’s people. They were scared themselves and, seeing Jack running for them, spun right around and tore off into the darkness.
Jack swerved again and Goodwin skipped past, but Jack grabbed his cloak and pulled him along. There was already yelling behind them. Their pursuers, it seemed, had started beating someone. The shrill howls rang out over the ghetto. Maybe they were attacking the pair Jack had frightened away, or maybe it was just some unlucky soul.
Jack spotted a bright light ahead and moved in that direction. Five or six men were gathered in the square under a lamp. Holding heavy sticks and chains wrapped around their fists. Jack immediately recognized the man at their center — the Achaean Sango, Master of the Key Wardens. Oddly enough, his beard was real. It was cool being able to recognize players when he saw them in real life. In Alterra, most players looked the same because their character was drawn based on images taken by the camera in the virt-helm. Only a few paid for changes. Such as Ruger, who wanted to look young. Or Egghead, whose game appearance was the complete opposite of his true appearance. But most were quite similar to their actual selves.. This thought about appearances flashed through Jack’s mind when he saw Sango Lettis and his beard.
Goodwin was twitching to run, but Jack squeezed his elbow again and dragged him toward the crowd.
“Sango!” he hailed. “Those your guys out there Brandt’s people are swarming? Brandt’s got some nerve. Definitely got some nerve.”
It was most likely a couple of passers-by who fell in Brandt’s way and had no connection to Sango’s band, but he was already set for battle and was expecting something in that spirit. He barely glanced at Jack and ran off in the direction of the howls. The others, of course, rushed after him.
“Now we can go straight through,” Jack said to his companion, already running.
“Time,” Goodwin choked out between wheezing breaths. “Already almost time… forty minutes… left…”
* * *
Jack deliberately timed it just right, so they wouldn’t be hanging around on the bank, waiting. On the other side of the East River, the concrete Barrier rose up, a giant mass with irregularly scattered angular protrusions. Each protrusion was a control post with emitters. Sometimes the defenders sent volleys at the shores or at the dark waves of the strait. If the ray fell on water, it raised a wall of steam. And if they moved their sights to land, it burned everything it touched. This was done for no particular purpose, just to keep order. The defenders didn’t like it when omegas hung around in plain sight.
They say this is how the defenders often entertained themselves while on duty. Nowadays, the game bored them, but best not to take any chances. Although Jack had counted on taking the road at a quick pace, not a run. He himself could run, but Goodwin clearly wouldn’t last long. Only now there was no choice. Looping through Greenpoint had robbed them of time.
Yelling sounded behind them and the windows of nearby trailers slammed closed, their inhabitants locking themselves away as best they could. Then Jack and the old man left the area and the yelling began to abate. A shot popped, then another, followed by a new chorus of screams.
When there were only several hundred feet left to the edge of the residential block, Jack saw a group of people running in their direction. These people were probably from Sango’s gang, but Jack decided not to waste time explaining and fired into the air. The people shrank into the shadows, and Jack and Goodwin slipped by. He hated to waste the bullet. There were only eleven left, including one that seemed to have gone bad… but time was more valuable.
Then Jack was surprised to find that he was gasping for air.. Bad, bad, very bad! Because of the illness taking over his body, Goodwin had almost caught up with him, although the running was hard on him. The old man snorted, hacked, faltered more by the minute…
The shouting began again. It was a fun night in Greenpoint tonight. This was Jack’s last coherent thought, as he glanced back and saw his pursuers. Dark figures appeared in the bands of light falling from the trailer windows, and then vanished again. Impossible to count their numbers, but there were more than five, for sure.
“Time to step it up, old man,” Jack croaked. “Can you?”
Although he couldn’t go any faster himself and Goodwin was at the end of his tether.
“Hhee-ehh,” Goodwin stammered out between wheezes.
A dimly lit sign, rusty and warped, hanging on chains read Rodney Street. On top of old, faded inscriptions was fresh paint in the words “stop or die”. An example of omegas’ aesthetic style. The inscription meant that beyond it was within firing range of the Barrier.
Here, the residential area ended. Ahead, there were only ruins. This territory, which could be lain waste by the emitters, was uninhabited.
Before them stood a maze of ruins, broken walls, debris, rusted cars under piles of brick… Jack ran into the mess of debris first, sought out a place and sat against a wall. Goodwin was croaking hoarsely next to him. Their pursuers shouts echoed in the distance. Judging by the voices, there were no less than a dozen people. Then they scattered into the maze. A few even ran right past the spot where Jack and Goodwin were hiding. Others fell back. One climbed up onto a pile of bricks to look around and rocks rained down from under his boots. These sounded like Brandt’s men.
A searchlight shone down from the Barrier, creating an unusual illumination. The bright beams, aimed by an automated unit, glided slowly through the ruins. Piles of stone on the ghetto side remained in the darkness and the contrast gave the illusion that they were more black.
Waiting until the pursuers dispersed farther away from each other, Jack whispered:
“Goodwin, you rested? Now don’t fall back. I won’t have a chance to grab you by the sleeve.”
The old man only nodded.
Looking out from the shelter, Jack saw a man standing on the wall. The lookout silently turned his head. Jack aimed at the m
an. He took his time, no less than ten seconds. His hand was trembling. He fired.. and the lookout fell without a sound and slid down the stone pile. His friends began shouting, but they were spread out to the sides and couldn’t see one another, let alone the shooter.
“Time?” asked Jack.
“One thirty-two.”
“It’s time.”
They tore off, stumbling over scattered cobblestones, grabbing onto one another for support, and trying to avoid illuminated areas. Jack led them in the direction of the Williamsburg bridge. One last dash and they’d be done.
Two men jumped from behind a chipped wall. Jack shot one in the face. He crashed full-speed into the second with all his weight and knocked him down. Ran right over him. Goodwin was startled by the pair jumping in front of him and hesitated ever so slightly, but immediately picked up speed. Jack slowed a bit to let the old man catch up, then they continued on side by side. Brandt’s men tore after them. Everyone had heard the second shot, which gave away their position.
The spotlights were blinding now that they had almost reached the shore. Jack, shielding his eyes with his arm, looked at the metal structure of the Williamsburg bridge. The lopsided supports stood high above the embankment, collapsed sections dropped off abruptly into the black water of the East River, as the waves licked at the steel girders.
He glanced over his shoulder at their pursuers. He didn’t see anything specific, just a flicker in the beam of light on the embankment. A shot thundered, and a bullet carved stone chips from the wall, just a few feet from Jack and Goodwin. Goodwin gasped and Jack had to shout at him to keep pushing on. They were firing on the run, making it impossible to aim.
From somewhere in the shadows across from Jack, who ran in the lead, a man rushed out. No telling where he popped out from. A knife gleamed under the spotlight. Jack shoved Goodwin out of the way and threw his arm up automatically. If he’d been wearing his old cloak, the knife might not have cut through the thick canvas, but Egghead’s jacket, of course, wasn’t made for that. Ignoring the pain in his arm, Jack grabbed the man and squeezed his wrist hard.
“Goodwin, run! I’ll catch up!” he croaked.
From somewhere, he realized that he was fighting the same guy who’d attacked him from behind in the Presbyterian church. Something familiar about him, although the light beam had moved away, and his face was hidden in the dark. Actually, he hadn’t seen him the last time, either. Jack rammed a knee into his old friend’s stomach and slammed the butt of the revolver in his face. His opponent ducked and the blow passed over his cheekbone. But he did drop the knife. Jack struck again, and this time landed.
Neither said a word. Just fought in silence. The guy was spry, but Jack twisted his arm and restrained his wrenching. The man punched with his left hand. Jack blocked it with his shoulder. After a blow to the jaw, the man finally reeled. Jack hooked his leg, swept it out from under him, and smashed the fainting man into the stones.
Footfalls sounded nearby, too close, and Jack took off again. To the left was the bay, to the right were the towering ruins, and it seemed like someone else was stomping and clattering over the stones as he ran. This was turning out to be a weird night. Too many people were gathered on the bank and each of them acting very differently. One would think all the omegas from the ghetto had gathered here. Here was one person sneaking around, there someone else running at full speed.
Didn’t matter. As soon as Ruger’s airship showed up, everyone would vanish into thin air. Just had to hold on a bit longer. Jack spun and shot twice, aiming at the noise. Even if they just fell back, that was all he needed. After firing, he chased again after Goodwin, who had managed to get a good distance ahead of him.
Eight rounds left, he calculated. Not enough! But they were almost there. He could already see the wreckage that used to be Brooklyn Bike Park.
When he’d almost reached the black skeleton of the Williamsburg bridge, something zipped through the air with a dangerous whizz. Jack instinctively ducked, running in a crouch, and a second stone thrown from close range, hit him in the shoulder. The revolver fell from his hand and clattered across the ground. Jack lost his footing and tumbled over the stones. A broad shadow rose up above him. The shadow’s boots were rather large, and one smashed into Jack’s head. Sparks flashed before his eyes, like the ones from the staff of a high-level sorcerer in Alterra. Unknown hands grabbed Jack and wrapped around his throat. He swept his leg blindly and the blow found a kneecap. The enemy uttered an unintelligible noise, fell on top of Jack, pressing him into the ground, and his hands tried to grope for his throat again.
Jack brought his fists together and hit the man in the face, then quickly parted his arms and tossed the hands reaching for his throat out to the sides. At that, he shook his head, exposing his forehead. Having lost the support of his hands, his enemy fell and smashed his face. Jack felt a warm spray gush from his broken nose. The man gasped, but still clung to Jack and pressed him into the stone chips littering the bank. Bright spots swam across his vision as he struggled to recover after the kick to the head. Too late, Jack knew that there were two people on him and began to doubt his strength for the first time. Hard to shake off two, especially when the nausea was rising again and his breathing floundered under the extra weight.
Something audibly snapped and there were fewer hands on him. One of his enemies rolled off to the side. Jack could finally see and was relieved to watch the second man fly into the air above him. His hands with splayed fingers no longer supported him, legs kicking… He didn’t just collapse, but flew, like an air mage levitating. What the…? There was the sound of another blow on something soft, then another…
Blinking until his eyes cleared, Jack saw an enormous man who had just scattered his opponents and was now beating the life out of them with some kind of stick. Once he’d finished delivering his blows, the man tossed his weapon aside. It rolled with a metallic clanging. Piece of pipe, then.
“Carl, is that you?” Jack asked hoarsely.
He didn’t know any other giants of that size. Of course it was Carl, Shifty Peter’s man.
The big guy stepped into the shadows and Peter himself leaned over Jack, his eyepatch visible even in the dark.
“Jack, do you believe me now, that I’m on your side?” Peter asked quickly, his one eye glancing to the side.
Jack sat up slowly, gently probing the cut on his arm. Bent and uncurled his fingers a few times. Not that bad.
Now it was clear what was going on here. Peter had been following Brandt’s men and joined in at the last, most dangerous moment. If he and Brandt weren’t friends, they were at the very least accomplices. Makes the chase easier.
“And why should I give you the infragun? The thing they poisoned me and killed Lisa for? Maybe you decided that now was the right time to save my life? My great big, looong life. I’m still going to kill them. Not right now, but in a few days. So you really haven’t given me much.”
“Jack!” Peter cried, not in his usual friendly way, but with a kind of desperate anguish. “Jack, I desperately need this thing, understand! Listen to me, damn it! What do you want?”
“Let me kill Brandt and you can have the infragun.”
“I… I can’t. Do you realize are you asking!?”
“You can. I’m not bargaining. This is the last price. It’s the last deal of my life, can you believe it?”
“But we… Brandt and I… Jack, come to your senses!”
“Peter, look at the Barrier,” Carl said.
Jack turned to look, too. Something was happening on the wall. The searchlights no longer drew their complex path over the East River and the bank. They had turned in different directions and came to a stop, lighting areas where emitter-charred wreckage lay and on the black water with its oily film. Then a familiar droning began. The sound of airship engines was well known to all omegas.
Over the top of the Barrier, a new light source appeared. It climbed higher and grew brighter. First the cabin came i
nto view, then the vehicle cleared the wall completely. It’s searchlights ran over the bank, along the bridge…
A halo of white light, the airship crossed the crest of the Barrier at low speed and began to descend slowly, passing over the East River.
Peter was gone in an instant. He and Carl rushed off into the ruins. It was a reflex, driven deep into the subcortex of all omega. When defender airships showed up, time to hide. The top of Carl’s head bobbed a couple of times over the broken walls, then vanished.
Jack ran along the bank to the meeting spot. Goodwin popped out from the shadows of the twisted bridge supports.
“Hey, Jack! Is that us?”
“Yes! Run! It’s time!”
Goodwin joined Jack. He frequently threw his gaze at the slowly approaching airship.
“Are you sure?” He asked, still running. “What if it’s not Ruger? It’s a regular airship, can’t see a thing on it…”
“And what choice do we have? We’re almost at the meeting place, the time’s right. Brandt’s people are in the ruins right now. So, you can see, we don’t have many options… enough, we’re here.”
The airship dropped lower, one of its lights pointed at the bank. Jack stood at his full height and shrugged. The airship flew over to him. A light beam fixed on his face and Jack raised an arm to cover his eyes. So he missed the instant when it happened.
A deafening crunch and crack sounded over the East River. The beam instantly disappeared, first swerved down, then switched off. Jack began to lower his hand, but before he could see the ship, a tight hot wave kicked up the rocks and struck him. Lying among wall fragments in Brooklyn Bike Park, he watched a fiery cloud blossom in the spot where Ruger’s ship had been hovering. Clubs of bright orange light swelled up over the water, little flakes of fire showered down in an erratic mess. The cloud of heat hung over the river for a few seconds, casting a red glare over the waves. Burning wreckage splashed into the water… then the fire-enveloped vehicle crashed into the East River and Jack spotted a thin thread of blindingly bright blue light that stretched from the Barrier to the destroyed airship.