“That was a joke. I would never dredge from evil pools like yours.”
“Mighty poetic for a second language speaker. German humour, at its finest.”
I eased upwards and lined up my shot. The bullet caught Strauch in the head. He went down on all fours, swearing in his native tongue. I took the liberty of a second round, but he fired blindly in my direction and I ducked.
He paused and turned before shooting out the light. The darkness deepened, with the only illumination coming from the fire on the streets and the LEDs on the monitors. I was good in the darkness, but I had a feeling that Strauch’s fancy helmet was better.
“That’s cheating, you know.”
“I do not cheat, K.”
“Fletcher.”
“I am not the villain here.”
“Who cares?”
I circled around the edge of the room, but Strauch had merged with the shadows. I slipped my spare hand into my pocket and pressed a button. With a click, every computer in the room turned on. The monitors remained dark, but the LEDs threw a red-green glow everywhere. It was quieter than I expected.
“What happened to hard drives?” I asked. “Don’t they make those anymore?”
Strauch hadn’t been keeping low enough. A broad shadow spread on the far wall, visible in the red-green light. I waited for it to move, and my shot clipped his shoulder.
“I’m winning, Eric. I’m faster than you and sharper than you. I got you in to settle a blood debt alone. I’m going to win.”
I hadn’t expected the laughter, to be honest. Not that breed of laughter. The forced blasé-chuckle of I-Don’t-Care, sure, but not this. This was authentic. I kept quiet and waited for him to continue.
His voice was crisp, even through the helmet. “We have already won, K. Look around you.”
I didn’t bother to correct him. I didn’t like his tone.
“You managed to kill a lot of good men, and a lot of good women. You destroyed a lot of valuable property. You murdered my family.”
“Did it all with a smile.”
“You have done a lot, but we have still won. Look around.”
I swallowed and flicked my gaze to the window. A fire truck trundled down the road, blazing. Water erupted from a broken hydrant. The steam swirled in the night air.
“You’ve got an odd definition of winning.”
“Do we? Weapons down for a second, K. Think about what you have done. When did RailTech really grow?”
RailTech had always been a big player, always. They supplied weapons to BlackWater in Iran and Iraq, equipped the Russians in Georgia and trained crack squads for both sides in Syria. When did RailTech really grow?
2012.
Chaos breeds carnage; carnage breeds terror. Terror leaves people wanting to protect themselves, their families and their interests.
“Twenty-twelve.”
The laughter picked up again. “That is correct. Good. Yet I still fear you missed the real goals behind project four-hundred twenty-nine. The genius was not in the product. We’ve always had the Product here. Project four-hundred twenty-nine was never about the product. It was always about the demand.”
I remained crouched, but my mind spun with computations. Eric kept talking.
“The gutterages have festered for two years, K. Two years of rape and murder and violence. Drug-addled slums. A grim reminder of two-thousand twelve. Is it not time to be rid of them?”
His voice was level now, and infinitely purposeful.
“I think you know about AEROAR. I just think you are unaware of its intended purpose.”
It was almost too much. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I screamed and let off a warning shot. “Would it kill you to use a fucking contraction once in a while? Jesus! Your second language is showing, Strauch.”
The laughter resumed. I’d bought myself a few seconds to think. What had I missed? I heard a rattle from above and saw someone on a rooftop, shooting into the streets. Click.
The plane, rattling overhead again and again and again. It wasn’t transporting, it was spraying. The mall junkies—driven mad by an unknown trigger. What if that trigger was in the air? That twisty, ever-present desperation you felt as you walked through the gutterage. The spontaneous eruption of gunshots and violence as you returned to the Helix.
I spoke slowly. “You… You didn’t just gas John Rourke and the Midnight Hour. You hit the whole gutterage. You—”
“Crop dusters, K. This is RailTech. We do not deal in small business.”
“You wanted this?”
“Of course. The city is on fire. Crazed addicts spilled in from the gutterage. It needs to be dealt with. Who do you think will get the contract?”
“Of course.” I said it under my breath. My knuckles were white around the grip of my pistol.
“We are just working for the greater good. The world will be a better place once we root out the scum, like you. The world is already on fire, K.”
“RailTech just wants to sell the marshmallows.”
“As we speak, as the city burns, AEROAR is being shipped across the country. In a few scant weeks the other hives will boil over and erupt. This time, the government will allow us to prepare. We are taking the world back, K, we just needed the world to let us. I am not the villain. You are.”
A tight, hot ball of rage built up in my stomach. Strauch’s words made me sick. He was talking about genocide on a massive scale. It was wonderful, but it was RailTech’s genocide. They got the credit.
Not a fucking chance.
This was my revolution. This was my fucking revolution. Strauch was not going to take that from me. I pressed the button again, and all the screens flicked on. The room was filled with a red, flickering glow. Strauch stopped talking. I tapped my phone to activate the sound, and the screams began to play over the speakers. There was a wordless burst of noise and Eric started firing wildly. I hit the floor and covered my head.
Glass and plastic rained onto my head as Eric blasted the screens one by one. Every single one was now linked to my phone. The video was on loop, but I didn’t think it would last that long.
I glanced up in between rounds. An arm reached out of the burning truck, slapping at the ground desperately. The gold ring glinted on the index finger. The screaming did not abate. I heard a footstep, nearby, and scrambled into motion. Strauch was not concentrating on me. All he wanted to do was get rid of the images. It was my turn to laugh as I shot him in the back. He grunted and went down again, but I didn’t have time to close in.
“This is me, Strauch. This is my bloodshed, not yours. I caused this.”
He seemed beyond listening, hoisting his assault rifle and spraying my location. I flattened myself again. One screen remained. He took aim and pulled the trigger.
Click. Click. Click.
I soared at him in the proceeding silence, vaulting onto the desk and leaping forwards. I snapped my arm downwards and brought the butt of my pistol into his helmet. His head cracked sideways and we pitched into the ground. His rifle fell from his hands and I kicked it, sending it flying out of the shattered glass and into the street below. I pinned his arms down and grabbed his helmet.
“We’re done.”
I jammed my pistol into the neck space and fired my last two bullets.
For a few seconds, my breathing consumed my world. Blood rushed to my head as I stared at my reflection in the glossy black paint. Red streaked my face from an injury I didn’t recall. I dropped my pistol and gasped, while the sounds of violence filtered through to me.
My reflection shifted and Strauch struck out. His right fist caught me on my chin and I flipped backwards onto the floor. Lights burst into my vision. Strauch got to his feet and kicked me. It wasn’t strong, but I was still reeling. I gasped, winded. I looked up as I heard the sound of tearing Velcro.
Strauch had taken off his helmet. His hair was tangled, his eyes red and puffy. A massive bruise was already forming on his neck. He kicked out again, but I rolle
d with the force, out of his reach. I reached out and pulled myself up. Strauch dropped something heavy.
“Ceramic neck plating, built today. We learn quickly, K.”
I pulled out my throwing knives, but Strauch covered his exposed head with his forearms. The blades bounced off the armour ineffectively.
“Shit.”
My last resort was the large knife by my belt. I raised it, defensively. Strauch didn’t back down; instead, pulling his own length of steel from his belt. His blade was bigger.
“Shit. Again.”
I jumped forwards, but Strauch fought like a man unhinged. The tip of his weapon snaked through the air and sliced through the folds of my coat. His other hand powered into my face. I sailed backwards again, kicking out to keep him at bay while I found my anchor. Strauch jumped forward and kicked out, but I had already rolled out of his reach. I found my feet again. German frothed and spilled from his lips as he closed in. I picked up a paperweight and flung it at his head, catching him just above the temple. It checked his murderous advance.
“Come on!” I shouted. “You want me, you can catch me!”
I backed off, slowly, and ducked into the stairwell. The bright lights jarred me but I forced myself upwards, two at a time. The door slammed open again below me and Strauch stared downwards before realising where I’d gone. His voice echoed up and down as he chased me. I did what I could to make my laughter heard.
***
The night was cold and laced with smoke. I inhaled a heady breath of my handiwork when I burst out on the roof. Ten floors, straight up. When all this was over, I intended to sleep for days.
Strauch was still on my tail. I’d made it clear where I was going. He was stronger than me, and better armoured, but he was also heavier. I had to tire him out before I went in for the kill.
I patted the pockets of my coat down to find what I had left. One large knife, one disposable cell phone and one lonely straitjacket pill. I stuck it back in the pocket, for later. I wanted to be present when I killed Eric Strauch. I wanted to be aware of the moment.
He walked up the last set of stairs. He couldn’t run them all. The bruise on his neck had darkened to a delightful, massive black-blue blotch. He wiped a hand along his mouth and leaned against the door, leaving a red streak. He was not doing well.
For a while we stared at each other: one gasping and furious, the other still and waiting.
I broke the silence. “I never much cared for the greater good. It’s what I’ve never quite understood about people like you and Vincent. That bizarre concept of ‘greater good’, and how you use it to justify what you do.
“I think it’s bullshit. The way I see it, there is no greater good. In all seriousness, who the fuck cares about who lives and who dies? What does it matter who does what? Who kills whom, who burns whom. I’ve never understood why you need that reason. I don’t understand why we feel the need to justify doing these things. Look at you. You tried to throw everything down the tubes again, all for the sake of what? ‘Cleaning the filth’? Come off it, Strauch. This is about money. This is about you and your insane convictions. What about Rourke and Cartwright? Zachary? His daughter? His family? How the fuck do you justify that?”
He regained his breath, slightly, before speaking.
“Of course you do not understand; you are a monster.”
I pouted.
“Words hurt, you know.”
“This is not about money. I watched Rourke, personally, as he realised what he had done to his wife. Angel-rage only nudged him in the right direction, K. Zachary... Well, it is clear who he decided to consort with. And Cartwright was simply an unfortunate case of someone standing in the way of progress. Their deaths do not tarnish my soul any more than they redeem yours. You are not the hero here, or the anti-hero who still saves the day. You are the monster, K. You are just the monster. I will put you down.”
My body tensed and I started moving towards him. Words bubbled and boiled out of my throat. “You call me Fletcher!”
I flicked my left hand upwards, and released a handful of gravel. Strauch cried out and raised his hand, but he was too slow. In two leaps I bounded into him, thrusting the knife at his chest, but he twisted and cuffed me blindly on my right side. My ear stung and my blow fell off target. Strauch rubbed grit from his eyes and snarled.
I met his blade as he swung downwards, locking at the hilt. For a second we struggled, but he was still stronger and I had to disengage with a kick to the shins. I caught a fist with my teeth on the step backwards and skittered away before another could land.
He stood his ground, knowing better than to chase me. I lifted another handful of gravel and advanced again.
This time I hurled half a fistful, keeping the other half locked in with two fingers. His arm snapped up and he blocked it fully, but I threw the second half as he lowered it. Again, his eyes stung and he swung wildly to keep me at a distance.
I jumped into a kick, powering one leg into his stomach. We both hit the ground, hard, grit and stone tearing into our faces. He lashed out and dug into my thigh, sending a jolt of pain through my system. I kicked him in the jaw and he slumped back, dazed. I think I saw a tooth fly through the air.
I pitched myself forward onto his chest and pinned his knife-arm under my knee. With both hands I brought my own weapon down on his face. The tip came to millimetres above his eye before his free arm stopped me. We strained against each other for what felt like minutes. Even with one arm, he had incredible strength. We both grunted and heaved. I tried to put all my weight behind me.
Unexpectedly, he bucked and arched his back, shifting me to the left and letting go of my arm. The blade plunged down and bit past the gravel, sticking in the roof.
Fuck!
I grabbed his head and slammed it into the protruding weapon. The flat of the blade took the brunt of the blow, but the serrations on the edge cut into his cheek. He thrashed again and threw me head-over-heels. I continued the roll and spun on my haunches. Strauch was already standing, knife in hand. He shouted—more incoherent German—and stomped on the protruding handle of my own blade. There was a crack and it snapped clean off, leaving a spike of metal. I stepped back and tried to assess the situation.
He still had a knife. I had a phone and a pill.
And...
I pulled my coat off and continued my retreat, twisting it into a tight cylinder. The phone was an old Nokia, and gave my new weapon some weight. I twisted until the cloth was tight and almost hard. It would have to do. I swung my cosh in circles and glared at Strauch.
“You want to know the truth, Eric? I don’t care for your master plan. I don’t care for the people who will be hurt, who have been hurt, the people who will die. I’m killing you because you decided to make an enemy of me. This is just a pride thing. You could have left me out of it, but you struck out. A bad dog needs to be put down, or else it will bite again.
“I know I’m not the hero, Eric. I’m not Joan of Arc, encouraging the grimy peasants to go to war. I’m not the honourable detective. I don’t need to be any of those things to end you.” I paused. “You’re very keen to point out that I’m not the saviour, that I’m the villain. What you don’t realise is that I don’t give a fuck. I’m whoever I need to be.”
Blood slicked the right side of his face. The cut was deeper than I thought. I lowered my voice and growled.
“Let’s finish this.”
I eyed the steel spike, the remains of my knife. If I could force his weight onto it, it would drive through his chest. He followed my gaze and smiled grimly. One kick of his steel-toed boots, and the blade snapped off. He picked it up and threw it off the roof.
No Chekov for me, then.
I forced my breath out and swung, whistling by his head as he leaned back. He tried to snatch at my weapon, but I was too fast. The skirmish stale-mated for several paces with neither of us committing and neither of us backing off.
Strauch twitched and I snapped, but it was a fe
int. This time his grab succeeded, outstretched arm catching the cosh. He tried to tug it out of my hands, but I moved with it and crashed into him, forcing his knife arm wide. Teeth out, I lunged for his throat and was met with a stinging blow from his elbow. My jaw burned, and I howled.
I let go of my coat, grabbed for the knife with both hands, and pulled us to the ground. Desperate scrabbling ensued. He also let go of the fabric and used the distraction to punch me in the face, over and over again. I plunged my head into his shoulder to rob him of his angle.
The heat of his body was incredible as we rolled along the rooftop. My hands were sweaty and slipping over his glove, but I threw everything into this gambit. I had to get the knife.
We scrabbled on the roof as I tore at his hands. I targeted the chink in his grip and forced myself in. There was a second of resistance before I got a hold of his thumb and wrenched backwards. Strauch screamed and slammed his forehead into me. There was a crunch and I felt my nose break.
The pain blinded me and I scrambled backwards to wait for it to pass. I forced myself to listen intently and located the sound of his moans. I’d dislocated his thumb, I was sure of it. My vision came back into focus.
His teeth were together, jaw clenched shut to try mute the instinctive screams of pain. I tasted blood when I licked my lips. Strauch lifted the knife in his left hand, tested his grip and growled. In a fluid movement he hurled the blade off the side of the building.
If he can’t have it, no one can. Petty.
My coat followed suit. Ha ha. My mouth formed an indignant ‘o’ and I started to run towards him.
“That was my last straitjacket, you cunt!”
I powered my legs and drove myself into a spear tackle. There was a satisfying whoosh as I forced the air out of his lungs. He hadn’t expected the renewed burst of ferocity. Strauch went down.
I sat on his chest and rained bloody, knuckled fury on his face. His arms lay limp at his side. Skin split under my blows. The meaty, dull thuds slowly gave way to wet squelches. I kept hitting him until the energy was drained from my body.
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