Cloak Games: Shadow Jump

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Hang out!” shouted Boccand. “We…”

  A roar boomed out.

  I looked up and saw a fireball erupt from the upper reaches of Corbisher Tower. I was pretty sure that Martin Corbisher had just blown up Boccand’s apartment. As the car shot forward, I saw anthrophages and Homeland Security officers erupting from the lobby of the Tower, scrambling into their vehicles.

  We had gotten away from Martin Corbisher…but he wasn’t going to let us go without a fight.

  “Drive!” I shouted.

  Chapter 9: Horsepower

  “Drive where?” said Boccand, gripping the wheel as the Venator zipped in and out of traffic. A chorus of angry horns rose around us as Boccand broke every possible traffic law. Behind us I saw a flare of red and blue lights as the Homeland Security SUVs fired up their sirens, their wailing cry cutting through the roar of Venator’s engine. The traffic would slow us down, but the other cars would hasten to get out of the sirens’ way.

  “Head for the freeway,” I said, the cold wind whistling through the opened window.

  “The freeway?” said Boccand. “We’ll be bottled in!”

  “What’s this thing’s top speed?” I said, watching the Homeland Security SUVs roar after us.

  “Two hundred and seventeen miles an hour,” said Boccand, swerving past a car and accelerating with a roar of the engine, the fancy dials on the dashboard flashing. “In an open stretch.”

  “Right,” I said. “Those SUVs can’t do more than a hundred miles an hour, especially loaded down with all those people. We get on the freeway, we can outrun them. Then we’ll abandon the Venator, steal another car, and get the hell out of Minnesota.”

  “And if we’re cornered?” said Boccand. A stoplight ahead turned red, and he stomped on the gas. The Venator roared through the intersection before the cars on either side could start moving, the sudden speed slamming me against the seat.

  God, but this thing could accelerate. It could accelerate even faster than my beloved Royal Motors NX-9 sportbike. And Boccand, I had to admit, was a hell of a driver. With a car like this and a driver like Boccand, we had a chance of outrunning the anthrophages long enough to escape.

  “Then we’ll improvise,” I said. “We’ll fight our way clear.”

  And if the situation got desperate…well, I could always open a rift way to the Shadowlands. That would be dangerous, but less dangerous than getting cornered by Corbisher and his thugs and his monsters. After that, I could open another rift way almost at once back to Earth. We could appear anywhere in the world if I did that, but most of the world would be safer than Corbisher Tower at the moment.

  “Goddamn it, woman,” said Boccand, “you are insane, you know that, utterly and totally…”

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Armand,” said Cecilia.

  Suddenly I knew where Boccand had acquired his religious streak.

  Boccand grinned back at her. “I missed you too, dear. Well, you want to outrun the anthrophages, is that it? Watch this!”

  He hit the gas again, and the Venator came to life.

  It might have been a ridiculous, overpriced, overpowered car, but by God that monster could move! The raw force of the acceleration slammed me into my seat, the leather squealing against my motorcycle jacket, and we hurtled forward, doing sixty miles an hour in downtown Minneapolis on a weekday. If you’ve ever been in a major American city at lunchtime on a weekday, you know that it gets crowded, and you’re lucky if you can do twenty miles an hour. Boccand was doing sixty, and he did it by ignoring traffic, stop signs, stop lights, pedestrians, buses, and anything even remotely resembling common sense. In the space of thirty seconds, he accelerated past a semi, the driver gaping at us, ran two red lights, and dodged a bus, skidding onto the sidewalk for a moment before zooming back down the street, the high-rise buildings blurring on either side of us.

  I didn’t know whether to be terrified or exhilarated. I settled for being grateful that I hadn’t eaten anything other than a scone today, because I didn’t think I could have kept it down. Boccand spun the wheel to the right, slamming on the brakes, and the Venator skidded through a hard right turn, shooting down a narrow alley between two buildings. I was certain that we would hit the walls, but the brick blurred maybe a half-inch from the tips of the side mirror.

  Then the car burst back into the street, missing a gray van by a few feet, the wail of a horn ringing out. Boccand hit the gas and surged towards the onramp for I35W South, accelerating through another red light. The wail of sirens cut through the roar of the engine, and I saw the four Homeland Security SUVs pursing us. An anthrophage in a dark suit leaned out of the passenger’s window of the leading SUV, a shotgun in hand, and the weapon's barrels spat fire. The shot didn’t come anywhere near us, but I swore in anger. The roads were crowded, and if those idiots started spraying bullets, they were going to kill a lot of innocent people.

  Of course, the anthrophages didn’t care about that.

  “Hang on!” said Boccand, and he turned, accelerating again, and the Venator roared into the onramp. The ramp started as two lanes, but in a failure of planning, it merged into one lane before it actually joined the eight-lane freeway crossing through the heart of the Twin Cities.

  “Boccand!” I said. “Truck!” There was a semi in the right lane, rumbling towards the freeway as its stacks belched plumes of black exhaust.

  “I see it,” said Boccand, and he applied even more gas, the RPM gauge on the dashboard maxing out. The Venator screamed alongside the truck, the driver sounding his horn. I cursed and grabbed at the side of the door for support, fearing that we were going to get crushed between the concrete wall and the side of the truck, but the Venator shot past with a few inches to spare, zooming onto the freeway as Boccand cut across three lanes of traffic to the accompaniment of a chorus of furious horns. I stared out the back window as the semi pulled onto the right shoulder as the Homeland Security SUVs boiled out behind it like a swarm of angry blue hornets. Two big gray vans about the size of my Caravanserai followed the SUVs, emergency lights flashing on their roofs. Homeland Security sometimes used vans like that when they needed to make someone disappear quietly. That, or Corbisher had loaded them up with more anthrophages and sent them after us.

  “Can’t we shadowjump away?” said Cecilia, staring at the approaching fleet of vehicles. “The three of us? Just far enough to escape?”

  “Can’t!” said Boccand. “My anchor’s in the trunk.”

  “Oh,” said Cecilia.

  “A random jump might leave us worse off,” said Boccand. “Or, more likely, dump us in the middle of the freeway.”

  “They’re gaining on us,” I said, the SUVs drawing closer. “Boccand, move it. We…Cecilia, down!”

  She ducked at once. A dark figure leaned out of the passenger side of the nearest SUV, the flash of gunfire visible even in the noon sunlight. The first shot missed, but I heard the thump as the second slammed into the trunk. They were trying to shoot out the tires. It seemed reckless, given that if Boccand was killed, Corbisher would have no way of finding the tablet. On the other hand, a running gun battle through downtown Minneapolis would draw the attention of the local Elven nobles and even the Inquisition, and if we were all killed Homeland Security could claim they had put down a trio of Rebel terrorists.

  Boccand swerved back and forth as the SUVs and the vans pursued, but he couldn’t go any faster. Semi trucks filled all four lanes ahead of us, traffic piling up behind them. The Venator might have been able to go two hundred miles an hour, but that would do us no good if there was too much traffic.

  “Boccand!” I said, adjusting my grip on the AK-47. The SUVs were pulling up behind us. All four of the Homeland Security vehicles had been fitted with push bumpers, and once they were close enough, they would likely try to force the Venator off the road.

  “I know,” he said, scowling. “Just a little further…”

  One of the Homeland Security SUVs pulled up next to the r
ight side of the Venator. I glimpsed the driver, armored in full riot gear, his black mask and helmet making him look like some monstrous mechanical insect. I saw a flicker of motion on the side of the SUV, and an anthrophage crawled onto the SUV’s roof, moving on all fours.

  It was getting ready to jump onto our roof.

  I raised my AK-47, flipping the lever to single-shot mode, and squeezed off three quick shots. I hit the anthrophage, and the creature rolled off the roof and into the freeway, where it was promptly crushed beneath the wheels of an oncoming semi. The driver of the SUV raised a pistol, and I started shooting at the driver’s side door. The SUV was armored, its windows bulletproof, so I don’t think my rounds penetrated. Nevertheless, the shots persuaded the driver to back off, and the SUV braked, dropping back to join the others

  “Armand,” called Cecilia, peering over the edge of the back seat. “I think they’ve got a rocket launcher.”

  I looked back and cursed. They did indeed have a rocket launcher. On the rightmost SUV I saw an armored Homeland Security officer leaning out the window, wrestling with a long black tube. The SUVs were falling back into a line, and I saw men leaning out of the windows, raising firearms. The rocket launcher was going to blast the Venator to shreds, and if the rocket missed, the officers could pour bullets into us into they ripped the car to pieces.

  “She’s right,” I said, leaning out the window and sending a few shots at the SUV with the rocket launcher. The bullets left white spots on the windshield and failed to penetrate the armored glass, but the driver panicked and braked, slowing down and ruining the rocket launcher’s shot. “We’re sitting ducks. As soon as they get their act together, they’ll shoot the car until it stops.”

  “Yes,” said Boccand. “Fortunately, you’re going to want to get your head inside the car now.”

  I frowned behind my mask, and then realized what he meant. The freeway had been passing through a giant concrete trench, massive retaining walls rising on either side. But the retaining walls had come to an end as we headed south towards the suburbs…

  Which meant that the road had a shoulder again.

  I jerked all the way back into the car, and Boccand hit the gas, wrenching the wheel hard to the left. The engine roared, and we shot across lanes of traffic, passing so close to the semi in the left lane that I could have reached out and touched it. Had my head and shoulders been sticking out of the car, my head would have struck the truck’s rear bumper and exploded like a pumpkin thrown from an overpass.

  The Venator roared onto the left shoulder, the concrete divider whizzing past an inch from the driver’s side mirror. The rumble strips beneath the car let out a constant growl, the vibrations shooting through the seat beneath me. I felt my teeth rattling in my jaw from the shaking. Boccand pushed the gas, and the Venator accelerated, going from fifty to sixty, and then to seventy.

  The SUVs and the gray vans piled onto the shoulder behind us, stretching out in single file. Boccand pushed for more speed, and the Venator leapt forward like a startled deer, the speedometer shooting up to ninety. I didn’t think he dared to go much faster. The shaking from the rumble strips was intolerable, and I was afraid the car was going to fly apart.

  But the idiots in the SUVs and the gray vans had lined up behind us. Unfortunately, it looked like the SUV with the rocket launcher had gotten the front of the line, and I saw the officer with the launcher lean out of the passenger window, taking aim with his weapon.

  “Cecilia!” I said, twisting around in the seat to rest the AK-47’s barrel against the side of the headrest. “Down!” She ducked behind the seat again. “Sorry about your window, Boccand.”

  Boccand winced, and I started shooting.

  My first shot left a bullet hole in the back window, but after the fourth shot the entire window exploded in a spray of greenish safety glass. A shocking blast of cold wind filled the car, and I tried to sight the gun as the car shuddered from the rumble strips, taking careful shots at the blue SUV. More white spots blossomed on the SUV’s windshield, the bulletproof glass deflecting my shots.

  Then I got lucky, and the officer leaning out the window jerked back, grabbing at his arm, and dropped the rocket launcher. The weapon bounced into traffic, vanishing beneath the wheels of the cars. Boccand whooped and coaxed a little more speed from the Venator, the car rattling like a box of gravel. I peered out the shattered back window, but it didn’t look like the SUVs were shooting at us. In fact, we were outpacing them. Even on the shoulder, the Venator could go faster, and we were leaving our pursuers behind.

  Then I turned around, and my heart dropped into my stomach.

  “Boccand!” I said.

  There was some kind of construction on the shoulder ahead. I saw yellow earthmoving equipment there, ringed in orange road cones and surrounded by yellow barrels with black lids. Those barrels would have been filled with water to cushion any impacts, but in the cold weather they would have frozen solid. Hitting them with the Venator would be like driving full-speed into a boulder.

  “Hold on!” said Boccand.

  The Venator roared to one hundred and ten miles per hour. The construction equipment hurtled towards us.

  At the very last possible second, Boccand jerked the wheel to the right. The car shot onto the freeway proper, just missing a passing car. We passed so close to a van that the Venator's side mirror got ripped off, a little knot of wires dangling from the side of the car. Yet Boccand avoided hitting anyone, and we swerved back into traffic, settling into the middle lane.

  “God,” I said. “I…”

  Right about then the first Homeland Security SUV slammed into the construction equipment.

  The noise was thunderous. The second SUV slammed into the first one, both vehicles crushing themselves like accordions. The third and fourth SUVs managed to avoid the wreck, as did the gray vans, but as they skidded into traffic the cars behind them slammed on their brakes. A massive traffic snarl leaped into existence behind us, trapping the Homeland Security vehicles and the gray vans within it.

  My heart thundered in my ears. I really wanted to throw up.

  “Okay,” I said. “That was reasonably clever.”

  “Thanks, Miss Rastov,” said Boccand. He looked smug.

  “But if you ever do that again,” I said, jettisoning the empty magazine from the AK-47 and loading a fresh one, “I swear that I am going to…”

  My voice trailed off as I looked through the windshield. The traffic ahead of us was lighter, likely from the widening gap left by the traffic jam behind us. Yet directly ahead of us was a gray van. A gray van with flashing emergency lights on its rooftop, the brake lights flaring as it slowed down. The back doors swung open…

  “Duck!” I shouted.

  The two anthrophages standing in the back of the van raised M-99 carbines and started shooting.

  The carbines were on full auto, and standing in the back of a braking van on a freeway does not make a good firing platform. Yet they were right in front of us, and they could hardly miss. A volley of bullets ripped across the hood, leaving black holes in the blue paint, and the windshield exploded, glass spraying everywhere. Boccand yelped and wrenched the wheel to the left, and we shot past the van, but the edge of the front bumper clipped the back bumper of the van.

  That made a mess.

  Both vehicles jerked, the van to the right, the damaged Venator to the left. The impact sent a shock through the car, and I grabbed at the door handle, wishing I had been able to put a seat belt on. Boccand cursed as he wrestled with the wheel, the tires howling, and I heard Cecilia screaming.

  Then I recovered my wits, and I saw the anthrophage crouched on the hood of the car. It had jumped from the van and landed on the Venator, shifting into its true form as it did. Its skin was gray and glistening, black fangs filling its mouth and black claws like daggers jutting from its fingers. Its eyes were venomous yellow pits, its nose a triangular black crater. Black spines rose from its back, and with the windshield smashed, the
creature’s vile smell washed over me, a mixture of sulfur and rotting meat.

  It started to haul itself forward, reaching for Boccand, but I raised my AK-47 and squeezed the trigger. My first two shots stabbed through its chest, exploding from its spiny back in a spray of black slime. The anthrophage loosed its horrible, metallic hunting cry, so loud that I could hear it even over the roar of the engine and the howl of the wind.

  My next shot went into its temple. That shut it up.

  The anthrophage slumped on the hood, its carcass quivering from the vibration of the engine, and then rolled off and landed on the freeway. The engine itself was making odd noises, and I wondered if something important had been damaged. The Venator’s blue exterior looked expensive, but it was only fiberglass, which was useless against bullets.

  Boccand straightened up with a grunt, brushing some glass from the lapels of his coat.

  “Are you all right?” said Cecilia from the back seat. She did not straighten up. Smart girl.

  “Yeah,” said Boccand. “I think…”

  Something ripped through the ceiling. A gray hand, tipped with black claws, the arm behind it wiry with muscles like steel cables. The clawed hand seized the back of Boccand’s coat and wrenched him backwards, and both Boccand and Cecilia screamed.

  I pointed the AK-47 at the roof and squeezed the trigger, moving the barrel back and forth as I guessed at where the anthrophage stood. I carved a smoking gash in the roof, and another metallic scream rang out. The anthrophage fell backwards, bounced off the trunk, and rolled away down the freeway, leaving a smear of black slime.

  “Armand!” said Cecilia. “Are you all right?”

  Boccand nodded. “Just startled, that’s all.” He glanced at me. “Thanks, Rastov. That was good shooting.”

  “Considering I just blasted a hole in your roof, I’m glad you think so,” I said.

  The Venator lurched. It wasn’t much of a lurch, but a whining noise from the engine accompanied it, and several red lights appeared on the dashboard. Boccand cursed and pressed the gas, urging the car faster, but the whining noise got louder and the car got slower.