He leapt over the back four rows of seats and hurtled toward the center of the auditorium, waving his big arms and avoiding the aisle where the patrons ran. “Fire exit!” he bellowed, the words not meant for the sec men. “Go out the fire exit!”
Another four rows and he caught the armored jacket of one of the sec men, picked him up as if he weighed nothing and tossed him over a broad shoulder. He heard the clatter as the man collided with seats. Another two rows and Hood had another one. He yanked the shotgun from the man’s grip and dashed it on the aisle again and again until he heard the butt splinter, then he threw the man down and in anger kicked him in the ribs, the guard grunting in real pain. Hood cursed his strength and moved up to grab another and throw him against the back of a seat.
The sec men had stopped chasing the patrons and turned their attention to Hood. Elven and human dancers spun above their heads, leaving the screen to gyrate madly in Ihree-dimension to a pulsing, monotonous beat. Light beams spit out from their fingertips and momentarily distracted a few of the sec men—the show of sound and colors making it difficult to focus, the screams of the still-fleeing patrons adding to the cacophony.
Hood fired another tear gas arrow and dropped down on his hands and knees, crawling between a row of seats and away from the bulk of the security men. He reached a far aisle, and cut down it, still crawling, hands and knees growing sticky from food and drinks that had been spilled throughout the day. The smell of stale butter, popcorn and other dropped food made him gag, and the pain in his shoulder grew hotter.
He came up behind one of the smaller security men, his back crisscrossed with two rifles and two bolero packs no doubt filled with extra ammunition. Hood stretched up an arm and pulled him down so fast he couldn’t cry out, his helmeted head cracking against the floor. The troll waited a moment to make sure the man was unconscious, then he fumbled in the shadows for the man’s Predator IV and squeezed it until the slide cracked.
Hood hated guns, and he made quick work of the rifles, the sound of the metal barrels breaking drawing the attention of the rest of the force.
“Yeah, I’m over here,” Hood called. “Come and get me.”
“Where is he?” This came from a man fanning at his face, desperately trying to peer through the green gas cloud. “Where is . . .” He doubled over, retching, the gas doing its work.
“Ohhhhhhh, I am staying alive!” The elf in the white suit flew off the screen and started pirouetting above a spot near Hood. The elf sang in a falsetto voice that the troll found incommodious. “Ohhhhh. yes, I am staying aliiiiiiiiiive.”
“Ain’t showing that fraggin’ picture again. Ever.” Hood charged through the image of the cavorting elf, arms extended and effectively clotheslining two of the sec men. Another brought a subgun up, which Hood spotted out of the corner of his eye. “Keashee doesn’t issue those,” the troll growled. “Not that I know of.”
The subgun spit flame and bullets in a wide spread, nearly catching Hood as he dove between a row of seats. The projectiles sprayed into the screen, putting holes in the dance floor. Another burst and part of the screen was sheared away. The sickly green gas cloud expanded, stretching up toward the elf dancer and his chorus and toward the remaining sec men.
Hood screamed in rage and rushed the man with the subgun, ignoring the pain that cut into his leg when the man fired again and nailed him. The screams of the patrons stopped, the last of them spilling out behind the theater and leaving Hood alone with the security men.
“Kill me for plants?” The troll’s fingers closed on the stunted barrel of the subgun and he flung the weapon toward the ruined screen. “My theater! What in the name of the Green Mother are you doing?” He picked the man up and shook him, tossed him into another man and howled his rage at two security men who fled up the aisle and out of the auditorium. Only one sec man still stood, and the troll churned toward him before he could flee, too.
“What are you doing in my theater?”
The man tried to draw a bead on Hood, and fired off two rounds before the troll was on him. Hood caught another round in the shoulder, his left arm useless and feeling like a fiery deadweight as a result. He brought his right fist up and pounded it into the man’s stomach, pulled his hand back and snatched the gun from his fingers.
“What are you doing here?” Hood’s eyes burned as the green gas billowed around him. Tears streamed down his face from the acrid chemical. The man in front of him was faring worse. He fell to his knees, coughing, and Hood dropped the gun and picked him up, dragging him to the back of the auditorium, where the gas hadn’t yet reached. “I. Will. Not. Ask. Again.” The troll pulled the man up until they were eye to eye. “What are you doing here?” “Orders,” the man managed. “Following orders. S’posed to retrieve some plants stashed in this theater.”
“And you brought guns for that?”
“Had the go-ahead to geek anyone who got in the way.” Hood shoved him against the wall and brought his warty face up against the sec man’s. “And the patrons? You needed to threaten them? And the sweet old woman selling popcorn and candy . . . was she getting in the way? You needed to threaten her?” Hood set the man down and tore the ID patch off the armored vest, then stuffed the patch in his own pocket. “Who’s your chief?”
The man defiantly shook his head.
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. Another truck’s on the way. They’ll take your warty hide down.”
Hood growled and jammed his right knee into the man’s leg, so hard the bone broke. “Let’s hope a DocWagon comes with that truck. You’re gonna need one.”
The troll looked over his bloody shoulder at his auditorium. Rows of seats were ruined, the screen so damaged it would have to be replaced. News would spread about this night, seriously hurting attendance.
“Someone’s gonna pay for this!” The troll raged. “Pay hard!”
The doors burst open as Hood pushed into the lobby. Ten security men were sprawled unconscious between Pan and Khase. The green gas had dispersed. The elf still fought with a pair both disarmed, but putting up a struggle with their fists and feet. The glass on the antique popcorn machine was in slivers, the frame twisted. Candy from the broken counter was scattered on the carpet.
“These two are mine to finish,” Khase called to the troll, catching one in a joint lock that left him on the ground, holding his frozen arm and gasping in pain.
“Then hurry up.” Hood leaned against a pillar, feeling a wave of muzziness crash against him. He looked at his shoulder, the shirt red and sticky with his blood. His trousers were bloody, too, and he could hardly stand on his right leg. The adrenaline rush gone, he was feeling every bit of the pain the Keashee men had dealt to him. “Hurry, Khase. More of these goons are on the way.”
35
8:40:02 p.m.
Yat-zeu!” Pan shook his fist at the second Keashee corp truck pulling up outside the theater. “Yat-zeu!”
“Get your wife and sister upstairs. They’ll be safer there than down here. Bet they got another truck out back.” Hood had three arrows ready. His left arm was practically useless, two bullets in the shoulder and blood continuing to flow, another bullet or two in his right leg. Somehow he managed to bring the arm up just enough and steadied the bow, gritting his teeth through the pain. His eyes flashed between the front door, which had been shattered by the earlier Keashee crew, and Pan.
The old man shook his head and motioned to his wife and sister, who were already halfway up the stairs. “My home, Hood-san. I’ll fight for it.”
The troll grinned and fired the arrows just as security men started pouring out the back of the truck. Green gas billowed around the tires, but this time the men ran through it, all of them wearing breathers.
“Drek!”
“Yeah, drek!” Khase started coughing. “Drek on us!” The elf did a back flip away from the windows and toward the auditorium doors. “This was bad enough the first time. We have to take this fight away from that fraggin’
gas you shot off!”
Pan held his breath and leapt behind what was left of the candy counter, coming up with an antique pistol.
“No geeking!” Hood drew two more arrows and let them fly, these emitting a hurtful boom at the theater entrance. The noise immediately stunned three of the men, and brought another three to their knees. The sound was painful to Hood, too, but he, Pan and Khase were out of range of the worst of it—and it was nothing next to the ache in his shoulder and leg. He bit down hard on his lower lip, tasting blood, and reached for another arrow. “Only three left.” Probably can’t shoot even one more of ’em.
Pan drew a bead on the closest sec man and fired, but the bullet bounced off the body armor. “Sei chun!” He aimed again, this time shooting the Ares Predator IV out of the man’s hand. “Better!”
“Into the auditorium, Pan! With Khase! Move it! We can’t defend the place from here!” The troll drew back and this time launched a heavy, metal-tipped arrow that found its way through body armor and deep into a sec man’s thigh, sending him collapsing to the floor. Hood howled from the effort and watched Pan and Khase run into the auditorium, then he started backing after them, fitting another arrow and praying he could get his arm to straighten out one more time.
Max and Sindje could have passed for drunks, weakly stumbling along the sidewalk. It had taken them a long time to get this far, stopping every half block for a breather. Max had almost collapsed at the top of the stairs, and Sindje had blown what little mana she had managed to regather on stabilizing the wounded hacker. The elf was so mentally and physically exhausted from healing the ork she was oblivious that all the other pedestrians out this night were coming toward them, and in a hurry. However, a scream that cut above the clack of heels against the plas-crete drew her attention.
“Max, what in. . . .”
The ork had been looking down, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. She looked up and her mouth dropped open. Her eyes widened.
“That ain’t a good sign.”
People were shouting and running toward them, a green cloud billowing in the background in front of the theater.
Across the street were braver souls, who stood and watched, one of them a tourist taking pictures with what appeared to be a wide-angle attachment to a cybereye. The ork leaned away from Sindje and against the side of a smoke shop.
“Keebler, that ain’t Plantech up there. Or Lone Star.”
Sindje was humming, moving toward Max and propping herself up against the ork and the wall. She sagged, and now it was Max who managed to keep her from falling. A few minutes later she was back in her body.
“Maroon goons.” Sindje was in the center of the sidewalk again, staring at the theater. “Side of the truck says Keashee. The guys have Predators and rifles mostly, and they’re wearing breathers and goggles. A bunch are already on the ground, must have been the first wave. There’s a lot of them, more than came at us in Ballard. Wanted to take a look inside, but I just don’t have the energy. Surprised -I was able to ghost at all.”
“Keashee? What the frag is that?”
Sindje shrugged and pointed to an alley that ran between the theater and a tailor’s that was closed for the night.
“Can’t you just cast one of your spells and take ’em all out?”
“No. more spells. No more anything. Hard enough just standing here. Max. ’Sides, there’s too many of them. Didn’t see Hood, but I only took a quick look-see. Let’s head around back, maybe get in that way and see what’s going on.”
The ork let herself be prodded down the alley. It was relatively clean along the side of the theater—the tailor’s side was another matter, with crates and trash cans in a row and rats staring out between the gaps. The deeper they went, the darker it got, the glow from the streetlights not reaching far enough.
“Lovely, lovely, lovely, Keebler. I hate rats.”
“Just move it, willya?”
Max shuffled at too slow of a pace to suit Sindje, but the elf knew the ork was hurting, and certainly should be resting, not running around near a firefight. Sindje offered her shoulder for support, but Max shook her head and tried to move faster.
“Wonder what will happen when our Johnson and his boss show up, hmmm?” The ork stiffened. “And just what is Keashee?”
Sindje looked over her shoulder at the thinning cloud of green gas stretched to the end of the alley. She saw the faint shapes of gawkers across the street through it.
“I could use my commlink, see just what Keashee is, and . . .”
“I think I know what Keashee is, Max. I think it is our employer.”
“Then you would be the folks with the plants, right?” A man stepped around the back comer of the theater. He leveled a submachine gun at them, as did the two men who joined him a heartbeat later.
Sindje searched for the inner spark of mana that would fuel a stun bolt, but there was nothing there. More men came up behind them, and she could hear the distinct sound of safeties being clicked off. She looked at Max, both of them clinging to each other, too tired to resist.
“Frag, frag, frag.”
“I agree, Max. I agree completely.”
Khase crouched inside the auditorium doors, waiting for the first sec man. He almost argued with Hood about taking the fight in here, but once inside had realized this was a much more defensible place with all the rows of seats and the darkness. The smell of blood was strong, and he knew he was standing in a pool of it, possibly the troll’s. It mingled with the scents of popcorn and various candies, and he spat to clear the taste filling his mouth. The unconscious forms of half a dozen sec men were sprawled nearby. Near the screen, another struggled to get up.
Hood backed into the auditorium, trying to use an ear-bud cell phone. For a moment it sounded like the troll was trying to contact one of the sec goons, and asked for someone by name. But then he growled and gave up, and Khase remembered what Pan had said about tech being blocked by a sophisticated system.
“Wouldn’t want the movie interrupted; no, we certainly couldn’t have that, now could we?” Khase mused as the first sec man passed the threshold. The elf’s leg shot out, knocking the Predator IV away. Then he grabbed the man’s sleeve and pulled him in and down, where Pan popped up from between banks of seats and delivered a hand chop where the man’s helmet met the collar of his body armor. He went down with a groan.
The pair was able to pull off their snatch and grab a second time, then the sec team wised up. Someone in the lobby fired a sustained burst into the auditorium, chewing through the frame of the open double doors and punching holes in the plaster. Khase dove for the floor and Pan dropped between the rows of seats again. Hood started down the center aisle, making himself a target.
“I do not need protection, Hood-san! Save yourself!” The troll ignored the old man. He tried to raise his bow to fire one of his last two arrows, but his arm was deadweight again. This time he couldn’t even move his fingers. Bullets ripped into the carpet at the troll’s feet, more than one cutting through his shoes and stabbing into his toes.
Hood howled in pain and grabbed a seat back with his good arm.
“Stop, troll! Don’t move!” This came from a barrelchested man who stood a few meters back from the door-way. In the diffused lobby light his body armor held the hue of thick blood. “We want the plants, that’s all. It’s your choice if we have to kill you for them.”
Hood swayed and leaned against the seat to keep from falling. “You can have the plants! Have all the fragging plants!” His eyes burned black with anger, but his shoulders were slumped in defeat. Softer: “Pan, Khase . . . stay put.” He hobbled up the aisle. “I’ll take you to the plants, then you’ll take your sorry selves out of my theater!”
He managed to make it all the way to the back row when he stumbled. Khase darted out to help him and danced as more bullets chewed into the carpet. One ricocheted off a seat panel and buried itself in Khase’s right hip, spinning the adept into a row of seats.
Khase fought to block out the new pain that had blasted through his layers of concentration, competing with the ache in his arm from the bullet still lodged there from this afternoon.
“Watch it, elf!” the sec man warned.
Khase gritted his teeth, clamped one hand over his new wound, and held the other hand out as he limped toward Hood, keeping an eye on Pan. The old man peeked above a chair, gaze flitting from Hood to the sec men to Khase, lips working uttering silent Cantonese curses.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.” Hood glared at the lead sec man. He steadied himself and stepped into the middle of the aisle, swaying a bit. “This is the biggest mistake of your life and . . .”
Another shower of bullets into the aisle carpet cut Hood off.
“Listen, trog, your hoop is mine. So shut up and pay attention.”
Hood growled softly, but gave the man a nod.
“You’re going to take us to the plants, then we’re going to take them out of here. If you play nice, you and the elf keep breathing. Understand?”
“We understand.” This came from Khase. Under the watchful eye of the lead sec man, he moved to Hood’s shoulder, then slipped under the troll’s useless arm. “Let’s do this and get them out of here. You can lean on me. I’m strong enough yet.”
“Not that strong.”
“Just wait.” The elf breathed in and out, his eyelids fluttering as he forced himself deeper into a pain blocking trance. He straightened up, and any trace of the effects from his injuries seemed to be gone. “Try me, tad.”
Though a full meter taller, Hood used Khase as a crutch, and the pair shambled up the last few meters to the waiting Keashee security men. Pan walked slowly behind them. A moment more and they were all in the lobby. A dozen security men had Predator IVs, FN HARs and Uzi IV subguns trained on the troll and the elf. Three more had weapons held to the heads of Sindje and Max, far up the winding marble staircase.
Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock Page 26