“The secret laboratory must be near Dreadmax if they were able to have a video conference in real time,” X-37 commented in my head.
“She’s a wonderful young woman,” Hastings continued.
“I’m sure she is. If I can grab her, I will, but I can’t do that while I’m arguing with you. We’re leaving and you’re doing whatever the fuck I say without hesitation. Understood?”
He nodded.
“I need to grab some things, then we’ll call for extraction.”
“Weapons, I assume.”
“You’re a smart guy, Doc. And observant. You wouldn’t happen to be a medical doctor with trauma experience?”
“I have advanced medical degrees, but most of my work is in other areas.”
“PhDs?”
“Several.”
“Good to know. I’m sure they’ll be useful when we meet the cannibals.”
We moved out, fast enough that I had to drag the doctor onward more than once. On the way, I spotted a hopper full of surprisingly clean, perfectly folded jumpsuits. I found one of the smaller sizes, rolled it so tight it nearly disappeared, and shoved it into a side pocket.
"Why don't we just find a side door and use the maintenance trenches to reach your weapons and armor?" Hastings asked.
"Well, because I'm not shitty at my job. I checked for side doors, windows, and access hatches before I made my approach. It's called reconnaissance, useful when planning a rescue."
The building was full of activity—not just guards now, but anybody they’d been able to motivate with threats of violence and brandished weapons. Not everyone was here for the party. Some worked like slaves—fixing machines, cleaning up bloodstains, dancing for drunken assholes with guns.
"There must be other exits," Hastings asserted, looking over his shoulder nervously at the sound of a door slamming.
The lights went out, plunging the corridor into darkness until red emergency panels called the original crew to battle stations. I doubted Slab and his thugs understood what battle stations meant, but they’d pushed the button.
"There are doors, but they open into areas with a lot of folks I’d rather not meet," I said.
We moved into a new section. Hallways and doors were now metal walkways and staircases. The grating above us shook from the sound of running feet. A group rushed down one of the ladder-like staircases.
"That's our cue to head the other direction," I announced.
“We can’t go back the way we came,” Hastings said, starting to panic. “Are we being attacked? Are they sending in Union soldiers?”
“Someone hit the alert button, but that doesn’t really mean anything. They probably think it’s a fire alarm and use it to wake everyone up. Thank whatever gods you pray to that the music is so loud.”
“We have to do something! Let’s wait here for the soldiers.”
“Chill, Doc. Take a breath. The cavalry isn’t coming.”
I'd seen this before. He'd get more worked up each time we encountered a problem. There wasn't time to reassure him.
"Let's move," I ordered.
"I can't. I mean, we can't,” he clarified at my look.” It's too dangerous."
I grabbed the collar of his jumpsuit with one hand and poked him in the ribs with my pistol. "I can't afford to waste a bullet on you and I don't want to carry you, but there will come a time when you're better dead than left here to be compromised," I informed him.
None of that was part of my briefing, but I made certain assumptions. The look on his face confirmed his research was illegal as hell, the type of thing that got a person silenced rather than expose the entire operation.
His reaction meant something. I filed it away for later consideration.
"I'm not arguing with you. I just don't think this is a good idea," he responded, hastily.
I dug the pistol into his rib cage and pushed him in the direction I wanted him to go, toward a stairway. I heard people coming down from two levels above and hoped we could outdistance them.
It took several steps before I got the doctor to move on his own. This really would’ve been easier with a team. I needed two people to manage Hastings and at least one to cover our back trail. If I was a real Reaper, I would've had authority to impress dark ops agents or spec ops soldiers into service, which would’ve been useful about now.
We reached the main level and ran across the launch deck. The main hangar was full of people. Some were looking for us and others were partying. A few seem to be doing both. The sound of loud music, slamming metal doors, and occasional gunfire filled the room.
"What are they shooting at?" he asked, nervously.
"I have no idea. There's been a lot of random gunfire since I arrived." I pulled him behind a transport vehicle without wheels or an engine. Similar vehicles lined one side of the massive room, still leaving space for the enslaved construction workers, and beyond them, hundreds of GSD gangsters and their thralls.
I could smell the homemade alcohol and some kind of synthetic tobacco or marijuana.
"That's not even a live band," Dr. Hastings said in candid horror.
"Yeah, that's bullshit. I'm filing a complaint. Come on, let's go."
As usual, the man tried to go the wrong direction, but this time, I realized it was for a different reason. He headed for the cages and a young woman I assumed was his daughter.
So far, the search parties hadn’t noticed us among the regular denizens of Dreadmax. That was bound to change. I was running out of both time and patience with Hastings. If he wasn't the principal, I'd leave him here.
"Hastings, get your ass behind one of these trucks and hide. I told you I'd get her if I could. You’re not helping."
He ducked behind one of the parked, non-functional heavy transport vehicles. There were missing pieces that suggested these were often salvaged to service other vehicles.
"Stay there. Don't move. If I have to come rescue you, I can't do anything for your daughter."
"I understand. Thank you. Please don’t let them hurt her.”
“I’m gonna hurt you if you don’t shut up,” I grunted.
“You’re very abrasive for a rescuer.”
“Wait until you really piss me off. Which will happen if you move one fucking inch from here.”
Eyes downcast, the poncho I had stolen pulled up to cover my scars and cybernetic augmentation, I slipped through the workers and pretended to load pallets as I watched the drunken celebration on the other side of the maintenance hangar.
This wasn't someplace I wanted to be. The more time that passed, the more time the real guards had to get organized. There could be checkpoints with pictures from the building’s surveillance cameras soon.
"Hey you, what the fuck are you doing? Those pallets have already been loaded," a foreman said. Behind him, guards worked their way through the crowd examining people.
Three more of the heavy patrol vehicles entered via the bay doors, each with a man on the crew-served machine gun. The work crews shrank backward, clearly afraid the guns being turned on them.
"I'm used to prisons where we have to make shanks out of toothbrushes. These assholes have military hardware," I muttered as I retreated from the angry foreman. "I could use some help, X."
"My only recommendation is to leave. You can't help the girl. You can, of course, disregard this advice if your purpose is to commit suicide," X-37 answered dispassionately.
"You know me better than that, X."
By the time I reached the doctor, there were at least a dozen more guards searching the work crews. They were either being thorough or had guessed how I evaded them.
"We're leaving. If you want me to help your daughter, you'll do everything you can to get to safety. Until that happens, there's nothing I can do for her. I really don't want to knock you out and carry you, so let's fucking go."
He gave in, but not before he started crying and blubbering that we had to save her. The Union would do this, the Union would do that… He just wo
uldn’t shut up.
"Stay close. Run when I run, get down when I get down," I said, striding toward the bay door the trucks had come through. "This is going to get dicey."
"Okay, okay. Are you sure we can't just grab Elise and run for it? Please.”
I didn't bother to answer. The professional guards I'd seen on the upper levels moved through the crowd with submachine guns and shotguns. They were searching zone after zone. Maybe they knew what I looked like and maybe they didn't, but if they were half as good as I thought they were, I wouldn't be able to withstand close scrutiny.
The poncho disguise was lame and wouldn't last much longer. Regardless of whether or not they had a viable description, every one of them had seen Hastings.
Picking up the pace, I bumped the foreman who had yelled at me earlier. He fell to one knee and cursed.
"What the fuck is your problem? Didn't you hear me the first time? I saw you try to ditch me!” He strode forward, fists clenched for a fight.
He shoved Doctor Hastings out of his way and got in front of me. I hit him three times in the space of a second: left jab to his temple, right cross to his chin, and a left forearm strike across his neck and the brachial nerve. The final strike had all my weight behind it as I twisted at the waist and lunged forward.
The foreman collapsed.
I grabbed Hastings. "Run for the bay door!"
Twisting on the balls of my feet, I shot the closest guard and took his submachine gun. Throwing down the silenced pistol, I transitioned to the new weapon and opened fire on two more guards.
The crowd surged one way and the guards the other. I fired on the nearest heavy machine gun car and it fired back. I dropped to the floor even as I finished my attack and rolled sideways, hoping I hadn’t made a huge miscalculation.
There wasn't time to evaluate the carnage that ensued. Workers and partiers alike panicked, stampeding toward the exits. I saw Hastings get swept up in the tide and carried outside of the building.
I hadn’t planned it that way but could make it work. Looking on the bright side, the principal was free of the building and hidden in the crowd.
Staying as low as possible, I made my way to the un-drivable vehicles and scrambled beneath the largest. Bullets slammed into it as I came up on the other side and ran along the wall until I found one of the bay doors.
Outside, chaos ruled. Hundreds of people were fleeing the carnage, but what caused the problems were scores of family members running to see what was happening. Panicked parents and screaming children added to the confusion.
7
I found Hastings soon, not far from where the tide had picked him up.
The scene became more than just panicked families and teary reunions. The sound of gunfire and the sight of the walking wounded also provoked a group of men coming from another worksite. I was shouldering the doctor into a narrow side trench when I first saw them. More and more of the men and women came together and marched toward the armed gang members.
"Now’s our chance," I said, rushing through a series of twists and turns to reach the derelict vehicle where I had hidden my gear. The submachine gun was cool, but I didn’t have much ammunition left. The sooner I reacquainted myself with the HDK and my body armor, the better.
Shots rang out, but I couldn't see who fired them. I dropped the body armor over my head and adjusted the straps.
People sprinted away from the sound of gunfire. One of the heavy machine gun vehicles raced past. I put on the rest of my gear and went for a better look. Doctor Hastings continued to ask questions and I continued to ignore him, only having to push him back once or twice.
Another vehicle raced past in the other direction.
"What's happening?" Hastings demanded.
"They're looking for us."
"Why are they shooting at everyone?" The alarm in Hastings's voice grated on my nerves.
I hated working with civilians and amateurs.
"They're not shooting at everyone," I said, rolling my eyes.
"They're shooting at a lot of people. Oh, gods! They just drove over that man!"
Looking at Hastings as tears ran down his filthy face, I wondered two things. Why had I wasted my time cleaning him up, and could he keep it together for the rest of this escape. I knew one thing—he’d keep bothering me about his daughter until I did something.
I was also fucking furious at the sight of the display cages. Vigilantism had always been my downfall. I’d nearly been washed out in the early days of my training for trying to do the right thing when it was counter to the mission.
Some things never changed. I had no illusions that my moral code would withstand close scrutiny, but I didn't like bullies.
"Follow me." I took Hastings to a walk-in supply locker and shoved him through the doorway. The frame was heavy and it had enough power to have lights inside, which I hoped would keep Hastings from losing his nerve and doing something stupid.
The surface of Dreadmax was as large as a city. At times, I thought of it as a darkly exotic metropolis rather than the exterior of a space station with an environment shield over it. What looked like doors to buildings were really hatchways to the interior. The surface was uneven and had a skyline a lot like a caged city, but it had originally been a series of maintenance trenches, point-defense batteries, and docking bays.
“One second. I want to make sure this doesn’t access the lower levels.”
“Is that a problem?” Hastings asked.
“Where do you think the crazies come from?”
He swallowed hard.
“Looks good. One way in, one way out. I’ll be right back,” I said.
“Wait! What do you want me to do here?”
“Close the door. Wait for me. Don't leave, no matter what."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going after the kid."
"She's not a kid, she's my daughter. And if you call her that, you'll have problems."
“Fucking great," I replied.
Leaving my principal here violated every standard operating procedure and protocol of the Reaper Corps. I wanted to tell Grady what I was doing just to drive him bat shit crazy.
"What do you think, X?" I asked.
"You have a seventy-eight-point two percent chance of failing given your recent bad decisions," it replied.
"If I didn't make bad decisions, I wouldn't be me."
"You wouldn't be here either," X-37 countered.
“True.”
I ran with a group of panicking civilians, nearly reaching the depopulated maintenance hangar before the mob surged another direction. Crazies had heard the noise, apparently, and groups of twenty or thirty were braving the daylight to run people down.
The RSG treated them like everyone else in the crowd—shooting anyone who got in their way, firebombing places they thought people were hiding, and dragging new thralls away from their families to put in cages while crazies preferred stealing older, weaker civilians they could pull into access hatches and disappear with.
“I wish they wouldn’t start fires,” I muttered, not really caring if X-37 had a comment.
“It violates logic. Oxygen is a perishable commodity on Dreadmax, even though it may seem abundant,” answered X.
Slipping away from the crowd was easy.
I ducked through one of the open bay doors and slipped into the shadows to get a feel for the odds against me. Things had to be better in the gang stronghold than on the street.
"It looks like we got lucky, X,” I said. “None of the pros are here. Just the second-string guards.”
The assholes were drunk and high. Two of them argued over a beer keg that had been fashioned from a gas tank, while another group opened a cage to drag out one of the girls.
"This would be a hell of a lot easier if that was the kid we're here for," I said.
X-37 made a clicking sound I thought was meant as chastisement. "Her name is Elise. Doctor Hastings warned you not to call her a kid,” he reminded.
Two of the men saw me at the last second, which surprised me, because I didn't think they were that alert.
"Find your own—"
I threw back the poncho and raised the submachine gun, squeezing the trigger the moment I had my first target lined up. The weapon wasn't silenced.
All three men fell as the thunder of the weapon echoed in three short bursts through the massive maintenance facility.
Tossing it aside when it was empty, I grabbed the HDK from the tactical sling over my shoulder and readied it.
Nearby, the jerkoffs fighting over the booze stared at me dumbly. I shot two of them before they started moving, and the rest went down just as easily.
“Shall I keep a tally of your kills?” asked X-37 nonchalantly.
“I’m just getting warmed up, X. Don’t worry about it. There won’t be a judicial review of this mission.”
An eerie silence fell over the area. I had never been one for superstition, but this felt portentous. Glancing up at the windows where I rescued the doctor, I realized he’d been right. It was impossible to see inside from here.
Whatever. So he was right about one thing. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a lying snake.
Running to the cage, I slid aside the crossbar that couldn’t be reached from the inside and swung open the tiny door. I had pulled people out of prison camps before, and most of the time, they were surprisingly hard to get moving. Depending on how long they'd been captive, they could be fearful of taking that first step to freedom.
Elise was different. She bounded to the floor of the hangar then ran to the next cage—somehow appearing less disheveled than her father.
Slab’s goons had inexpertly bleached her naturally dark hair and trimmed her utility jumpsuit to fit their brutish fantasies. Someone had blackened her eyes a few days ago. The split lip and finger marks on her neck were newer.
Undernourished but full of youthful rage, she was clearly acting out a plan she’d worked on a thousand times in her head.
The Last Reaper Page 7