by Mike Morris
"Stop! Police," cried the man behind him.
Wing raced down the corridor. It was only thirty yards but his lungs burned with the effort. He skidded to a halt at the elevator, slammed his hand against the call button, half-expecting the doors to magically open. A glance up told him the car was four floors away and a glance back told him he didn't have time to wait as the brute walked towards him, gun raised and aimed at Wing. The stairs were another ten yards down the corridor so Wing gave up on the elevator and ran for his life towards them.
He heard the gun shot just as he reached out for the door handle. He flinched as the round punched a hole in the frame. Splinters flew in every direction. One nicked his face, leaving a sharp pin-prick of pain but at least he was still alive. He didn't bother looking at his pursuer again. Wing reached for the door a second time and bundled through it. Another bullet slammed into the door. He slid down the first few steps, twisting his ankle in the process. He hauled himself upright with the bannister and took the remaining steps two at a time.
He hurtled out of the exit door into the foyer, relieved to find it empty still. He slipped on the tiled floor, and went sprawling. The kit bag flew out of his hand into the far corner as he knocked the wind out of himself.
A little voice in the back of his head told him to stay where he was, just give up and wait for the cops to come, but he ignored it as he pushed himself back on his feet once more. He'd never been one for listening to good advice anyway. He snatched the bag, crashed through the doors into the street, pausing for a moment to get some air back into his battered lungs, and then set off to find Song at the tea stall. He moved as quick as he could, but it was no more than a jog, and that required every last ounce of energy he had in him. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, as if he could will the corner of the street closer, not caring about any police watching for him. Fuck them. There was nothing he'd be able to do about them anyway. He just had to find Song and get out of there.
He made it to the corner, his jog now not even a brisk walk. His right ankle screamed in protest every time he put weight on it, as jagged shards of pain shot up his leg. He slipped through the gridlocked traffic without stopping. A taxi honked when he used its hood for support. Wing didn't even have the energy to scowl in return. He just had to make it to the tea shop.
He stepped back onto the sidewalk, pushed passed a couple of drunk businessmen still looking for excuses not to go home. The corner was ten yards away. A couple, arms filled with shopping bags, bumped him as they went their merry way. They looked so happy. A pang of jealousy swept through Wing for a moment until the next jolt of pain from his ankle focused his mind on reaching Song.
He turned the corner, saw the tea shop, and a heartbeat later spotted Song. They locked eyes on each other, smiles of relief appeared on both their faces and Wing lifted the bag for her to see. Song rose from her seat but hesitated before she was halfway up. The smile dropped as quickly as it appeared and the excitement vanished from her eyes.
Someone stepped in front of Wing before he could work out what had bothered her. The man was so close Wing had to step back just to even focus on who it was. He saw a broad chest first and a very familiar looking black leather jacket. Something jabbed him in the ribs, and an electric charge ripped through him. He tried to scream but his jaw was locked tight. His teeth crunched together as his body began to jerk around of its own accord. He hit the floor, the electric shock overriding any pain from the impact with the concrete. His body curled up like a baby's before shooting straight as a board as another shock ripped through him. Foam dribbled between his teeth, and a part of him registered that he had wet himself. The man leaned in one more and jabbed the taser against Wing's neck. The fucker smiled as he pressed the trigger again.
Blinding light exploded in every part of Wing's consciousness followed quickly by a wave of blissful darkness.
Somewhere far away, he heard a gun shot, and waited for the pain to tell him he'd been hit. A second shot, closer, echoed through his mind, but no pain came.
Hands grabbed him, dragged him along the street. "Get up," said a girl's voice. Song. "I can't carry you. Get up."
His vision swirled with neon lights as the world somersaulted around him when he opened his eyes. He vomited down himself as he tried to stand, falling back down without making a step. Nothing worked.
He could feel Song's breath hot in his ear as she hauled him along, grateful that she wasn't giving up. He tried to get his arms to push himself upright, his legs to get him back on his feet, anything to help get them the fuck out of there.
Then Song was firing the pistol and Wing was on his arse on the ground again. He was aware of screaming from all around him. People ran in every direction. A body lay in the street. Dead.
Song shoved her face in his. "Get up!" She manhandled him up again and this time his legs worked. With her arm around his waist, they ran along the street, forcing their way through the crowds.
A drone skimmed across the top of people's heads heading straight for them. Song stopped, raised her right arm and fired once more. The bullet struck the centre of the drone, sending it spiralling off, smashing into a shop window.
"Where'd you get that?" Wing stared at the gun in Song's hand. It made Jim's old relic look like a toy.
"Later. We've got to get away," shouted Song. Sirens came from every direction and echoed off the buildings. People screamed in fear around them, but the gun in Song's hand helped clear a path and they stumbled on. "Head for the bridge."
The road dipped down, connecting to Third Street by a flyover. Open space loomed on either side. On the other side of the bridge, Wing could see the flashing blue and white lights of an APC blocking off the road. Troops spilled out in every direction, assuming firing positions. He stopped but Song yanked him forward again.
As they reached the bridge, Wing's old friend vertigo returned with a vengeance, despite the sidewalk being wide enough for a dozen people to walk side by side and barriers that came up to his chest. He dropped his head, concentrating on just looking at his feet, doing his best to ignore the voice inside him urging to stop.
"Get down! Get down!" The police screamed and bodies hit the deck like dominoes around them. Song wouldn't let him stop though, dragging him by the hand to side of the bridge. They stepped over the fallen bodies, more exposed by the second. Open space yawned all around them but nowhere more so than on the other side of the bridge's safety barrier. He certainly didn't want to go any nearer to that. The police suddenly seemed a much better option.
"This is the police," a voice called out from behind them, distorted through amplification. "You are surrounded. Stop and you will not be harmed." A look back showed APCs had cut off their rear as well. It looked like every policeman in Hong Kong had their rifles trained on them. "Take one more step and you'll be shot."
"We didn't do anything," shouted Song, still moving, gripping Wing's hand tightly. "We're innocent."
"Stay where you are, drop the gun, and we can talk about it," said the voice.
"You'll just shoot us if I do that," replied Song. They were four steps away from the barrier. A westbound monorail moved towards them, across the chasm of space.
"Put down the gun and you've my word you'll not be harmed."
"I don't believe you," shouted Song.
"What are you doing?" asked Wing. "It's over. We've got nowhere to go." They were two steps from the barrier. The monorail was close enough for Wing to see the driver's face as the flashing lights on the barrier caught his eye.
"This is your last warning," commanded the police.
Song smiled at Wing. "There's always somewhere to go." She gestured towards the monorail off to her left as it began to pass underneath the bridge.
"No fucking way," said Wing, horror flooding through him. "I'd rather get fucking shot."
Song ignored him and clambered to the top of the barrier. "Come on. Trust me."
He looked from her to the police and back again. Too
k a step towards the barrier. Stopped. Then a red dot appeared on his chest. Followed by another. And another. Matching red lens flares sparkled amongst the troops as more and more of them locked their sights on Wing and Song.
"Trust me," said Song once more and held out her hand. He took it without thinking and didn't fight as she pulled him up. He let his feet climb up and shut his eyes to avoid seeing what was before them. The rumble of the monorail passing nearly drowned out the first gunshot, but Song pulled him once more, and falling stopped him from worrying about bullets.
17
Ziyi
The forward throw from the plane propelled Ziyi towards the rooftop. She spread-eagled herself against the wind to slow her descent as much as possible. Three hundred feet was a hell of a distance to jump without a parachute, more than she had ever attempted before, and she couldn't afford to reach terminal velocity if she were to have any hope of walking away from the landing. She had no idea if the mek in her legs would survive even if she did everything right.
The stolen flyer exploded behind her. Broken metal and flames showered down around her as the roar of destruction burnt the sky. She prayed the pilots wouldn't spot her descent and add bullets to the mix.
The wind pushed her slightly to the East so Ziyi twisted her body to keep on course. She counted down the seconds, marking the distance as the air pounded her chest, making it hard to breathe.
The roof rushed towards her. She twisted her body so her legs were the first to touch the ground.
The impact was hard, harder than she'd liked. Every joint felt like it had popped on impact. She immediately went into a forward roll, ignoring the pain screaming through her and the fear that everything was broken. The momentum carried her across the roof as the world spun around. The tarmac battered her body and smacked her head, and only colliding with the end wall stopped her from flying off the edge of the roof. Ziyi staggered to her feet like a Friday night drunk, using the wall to haul herself upright. The remains of her flyer burned on surrounding rooftops but she couldn't see any guards or sentries to worry about.
Above her, the two flyers hovered overhead, searchlights sweeping the skies as drones buzzed beneath them. She didn't have much time before they'd spot her. She staggered towards the roof exit, relieved that her movement grew easier with each step — her body seemed unscathed from the fall. The mek had done its job.
The padlock on the roof door gave way with a simple twist of her hand. The door groaned on rusted hinges as she pushed it far enough to one side so she could squeeze through. Inside, the air stunk of damp and decay. Somewhere, a broken pipe dripped a steady beat of water. A worn out staircase climbed down around a central atrium, illuminated by the neon array leaking through the skylight above.
Two days earlier, Ziyi would’ve had all the intel she'd need on the interior from blueprints and spy cams, with Wing talking to her through her earpiece and a full squad of assault troops at her beck and call, ready to go in hard and heavy, and sweep away the terrorists. Instead she was alone and about to go in blind.
Ziyi slipped the pistol from its holster, and flicked off the safety catch. Gripping it two-handed, and keeping her breathing soft and steady, she proceeded into the stairway. Four long abandoned office spaces led off from the atrium, filled with desks still scattered with paper. Piles of garbage lay here and there and most of the walls were tagged in a multitude of colours, proclaiming the property for one gang or another. Gaps appeared here and there in the ceiling where tiles either hung half in or had fallen completely. Cables dangled from the spaces like spider webs and gang tags covered every inch of wall. The terrorists had certainly found a lovely place to hide.
Sweeping the gun from one corner to the next, she checked as much of the space as she could before stepping into an actual room to confirm there were no hostile targets to worry about. Once she was sure it was clear, she moved onto the next room. Only a fool gets shot in the back, so it was important to know there was no danger behind her before she moved down to the next level.
Four more rooms. Sweep, clear. Sweep, clear. Finger ready by the trigger. Down to the next floor. There was no sense of time, just the need to be precise, leaving no space unchecked. At the academy, she'd first been taught close quarter battle craft at the age of eight. The children used to treat it like a game at first but the shifus soon beat that from them. By the time the children turned ten, the techniques were ingrained into their very beings. They practised alone and in teams, occasionally leading troops and then being led. A special kill house had been built on the grounds where they could practise with live rounds and eventually live hostages.
Xiao's signal was strong, but still several floors away. The urge to rush was incredible, but she forced herself to take her time, continuing on with her sweep and clear of each room as she came to it.
She paused on the stairs two floors further down at the sound of voices arguing in English.
"I say we get the fuck out now." A man, maybe mid-western US judging by his accent.
"It's not safe. Every man and his dog are out there looking for us." The second voice was calmer, trying to be reassuring. Failing.
"Didn't you hear that fucking explosion two minutes ago? They're coming for us. We've got to do something," said the first.
"And do what? We're deep in enemy territory here. We can't exactly just jump on a plane."
Ziyi continued down the stairs, placing each foot with care. Silence and surprise were her best allies.
"What about the chief? What does he say?"
"He says keep your shit together. We're doing good. Just hold your nerve, man."
"I wish he'd just shoot that imperial bastard. I fucking hate babysitting him like this. They'll never do what we want anyway."
"The woman says they will."
"And you believe her?"
"We have to," said the second man as Ziyi stepped onto their floor. "We get this right, we could change the whole course of the war, change everything. It's worth the risk."
“She’s just a fucking traitor. If she’ll sell her own people out, she won’t give a shit about sending us down the river.”
Ziyi watched from the shadows one of them light a cigarette with shaking hands. He wasn't anyone she recognised but the man with him was Murray. Both had automatic rifles slung across their backs. Despite the concerns voiced, neither was expecting to deal with any trouble, too busy arguing to notice her. Who was the woman — the traitor — that had helped them? Was it her double? Then why did they show her a prisoner on the video? If they were going to frame Ziyi, why not show her a willing participant?
The man took a long drag of his cigarette. “We’ve got to trust Anderson. He’s done all right by us so far, man. He’ll get us home.”
“Yeah? You sure? Tell that to the fuckers who’ve gone out with bombs strapped to their chests,” said Murray.
“We all knew that could happen. We signed up for this. Better to die free than live a slave. Let’s just make sure we kill enough of the fuckers when the time comes.”
The two men bumped fists. “Amen, brother. God bless America.”
Ziyi didn’t wait for the other man to reply. Holstering her gun, she quickly closed the gap between them. Hooking an arm around the smoker's neck, she grasped the side of his head with her other hand and twisted. The bone snapped, too loud in the darkness. She pivoted around the body in her arms and lashed out with a roundhouse kick at Murray. Her foot slammed into his temple before he'd even realised what was happening. The light went from his eyes instantly. She dropped to her knee and smashed his throat with her fist. There was no point leaving anyone alive who could pose a threat to her later.
As she looked down on their corpses, Ziyi knew she’d done the right thing. The Americans were responsible for so much death and suffering — killing them would not haunt her later. They were the enemy.
Arming herself with one of their rifles and three magazines of spare ammunition, Ziyi continued her sweep of the
rooms on that floor.
She found the rest of the AFA two floors further down. A single guard stood watch on the stairs and he died as easily as his friends. The others were gathered in the main office space. Cowie, the hulk from the ICBB, Conway, plus eight others. All armed with assault rifles and the Heavens only knew what mek. Their mood was agitated, spooked by the explosion. Eleven hostiles minimum. Probably two or three more guarding the lower levels. How had so many of them gathered in Hong Kong without anyone noticing? She searched for Anderson without luck but Xiao's signal showed he was close. She could only presume the AFA leader was with him — hopefully not with any more men.
She retreated back to the stairs. Taking on the AFA without securing Xiao would only put him at risk. Even with surprise on her side, the odds weren't in her favour. Maybe she could find a way in to where they were keeping Xiao either through the floor or a window. There had to be a way she could swing things to her advantage.
Leaving the main floor, she headed down towards the next level, searching for another way in.
"Hey!" The voice came from behind her before she made it half way.
Ziyi pivoted, saw a man's silhouette on the top of the stairs, assault rifle in his hands. She fired two shots into his chest without hesitation. The sound shattered the silence of the building. There was no time to waste — only speed and aggression could save Xiao now. She raced back up the stairs as he fell and fired another round into the man’s head as she passed him.
As her eye line cleared the top of the stairs, bullets ripped up the floor in front of her. The AFA were just as quick to react to react and were ready for her. She lifted her rifle up, firing blindly, hoping to force them at the very least to keep their own heads down, and then she was running as fast as she could.
Ziyi grunted as a bullet nicked her shoulder, but she ignored the pain, kept moving and fired controlled bursts, not wanting to burn through her ammunition. Bullets nipped at the ground around her and chipped splinters off the bannister as she took the steps two at a time.