That was when Jocasta grabbed my ankle. I was so keyed up, my reflexes didn't know whether to blow her away or scream out loud. I solved the problem by having a slight childish accident. I glared at her.
But she wasn't looking my way. She was pointing across the open aisle. I followed the angle of her finger, and broke into a grin.
It was another elevator block, this one leading not to the lobby of Westlake Tower, but to the Westlake Center shopping mall instead. The elevators themselves were no use, I could just see us standing there, waiting for the car to arrive, all the while absorbing a couple of kilos of high-velocity lead. No thanks. But next to the elevator was a red-painted door marked Fire Exit. Since we were underground, that had to mean stairs leading up into the mall. Just the ticket. Unless the stairs were unusually wide or the bikers unusually good, there was no way they could take their mounts up with them. Which meant we were on even footing again as far as mobility, but we'd have the advantage of high ground as we high-tailed it up those stairs. Perfect.
Perfect, that is, if we could get to the stairs without getting scragged in the process. The hog-riders were out of the picture for the few precious seconds we needed. But the leader on his rice-rocket would see us the moment we broke cover, and stitch us crotch to crown. I grabbed another glance, hoping he'd turned back or was taking another turning. No luck. Time was running out, I knew. We probably had only seconds before the hog-riders decided there was nothing of interest around the blazing car and came back to join their boss.
"The stairs," I hissed at Jocasta. "Get ready." She nodded, and tensed herself to run.
I tensed myself, too, but not to run. Not yet: I had to distract the elf, and subtlety wouldn't do it. I raised my head over the hood-line of the car once more, and squeezed my pistol to stop my hand from shaking. The elf's head was scanning left and right as he cruised down the row of cars. I waited until he was looking the wrong way . . .
Now. I popped to my feet and brought my weapon to bear. I squeezed the trigger four times, and the big Man-hunter roared in response. The recoil punished my hand and wrist, and the reports were like blows to my already-abused ears. I know I hit him with my first shot, and maybe with my second. I was more concerned with squeezing the rounds off fast than with fighting the recoil to keep the barrel on line, so the third and fourth shots were off the mark. But they were probably close enough for him to hear them (and if you've ever heard the whip-crack of a Manhunter round passing close by, you know how distracting it can be). Anyway, he lurched backward as if he'd been kicked in the shoulder, and he ditched his bike. I don't think I hurt him bad-those leathers were almost certainly plated-but at least he was down.
"Go." I yelled to Jocasta. She was off like a hare, sprinting for the fire exit, and I was close on her heels. She flung open the door and darted through. I was following her as automatic fire exploded off the wall and doorframe around me. I didn't hang around to check, but I was sure it was friend elf sending us a farewell gift. Slamming the door behind me, I looked around for some way of securing it. But this was, after all, a fire escape, which meant the door was designed so it couldn't be secured. I gave it up as useless, and took off up the concrete stairs after Jocasta. Wide stairs, frag it, easily wide enough for the rice-rocket, although too tight for the Harleys.
One flight, two flights, and the blood was pounding in my ears even louder than our running footsteps.
We were halfway up the third when I heard the metal fire door crash open, accompanied by the ripping discharge of a machine pistol. The bikers had figured we might be trying an ambush, and weren't taking any chances. I wished for a grenade or something equally unpleasant to send down the stairs to keep the kids occupied, but of course I never carry the gift that's appropriate to the occasion. Another half-flight, and I heard the sound I'd been dreading: the whine of a high-revving turbine. Friend elf had brought his bike and was assaulting the stairs. We didn't have long.
Jocasta flung open the door at the top of this flight and stopped. I joined her. A short hallway lay ahead of us. To our immediate right was another fire door with panic bar, probably leading outside. At the other end of the hallway was a brightly painted door labeled To the Mall. Decision time- again- and quick.
Outside, and hit the streets? Or into the mall, with (hopefully) lots of people and the dorky security boys.
Put that way, the choice was easy. "Come on," I yelled, and nearly dragged Jocasta off her feet as I charged for the door to the mall. From the sound, I could tell the elf was almost on our butts. I had a bad moment when the doorknob-no panic bar here-didn't turn immediately. But then I twisted it the other way and it opened easily. I remembered only at the last minute to stash my pistol, then we stepped through the door, shutting it after us.
We stood there a moment, overwhelmed at the transition. From the life-and-death world of the street, we'd stepped straight into the business-as-usual operation of a flashy corporate mall. Bright lights, tastefully riveting shop-window displays, even a few premature Christmas decorations hung here and there. There weren't many people, as most of the shops were closed, but the few patrons still coming and going to and from the restaurants and bars were dressed in much the same style-or at least the same quality-as Jocasta.
I was very much out of place.
Who gave a frag? One of the Westlake security guards, a troll who looked like a real geek in his Zorro hat, was giving me the baleful eye. If we moved out of the area fast enough, maybe Zorro and crew and the bikers would keep each other busy while we bugged out.
I could hear the elf's turbine bike even through the shut door. We didn't have time. I grabbed Jocasta's elbow again, and dragged her further from the door. Zorro the troll was up on the mezzanine level, looking down at us over the glass guardrail. Better get him into the action now rather than later, I figured.
"Hey, security," I shouted up to him, waving. "We need help down here. There's something going down in the underground."
He scowled down at us, and I saw him mutter into his radio headset. Then he started down the escalator toward us. He locked his black-gloved hands together and squeezed, and the shoulders of his uniform almost tore apart at the seams as his musculature shifted. All right, already, I was impressed.
Jocasta and I moved further from 'the door toward the foot of the up escalator. A corporate-looking couple were on their way up. As they passed the troll, he glanced at them, touching the brim of his hat in a sketchy salute.
That was why he was distracted when the fire door burst open and the elf howled out into the mall.
The troll spun, and his bloodshot eyes bugged wide open. He reached for his weapon, reached fast.
But the elf already had his machine pistol out and ready. He tightened down on the trigger, emptying the whole clip into the security guard before the troll's piece had even cleared its holster. The troll just stood there, and I thought for a moment his armored uniform had done the trick. But then the blood burst forth from multiple head wounds and he pitched forward-crash, bang-down the escalator. The corp woman screamed, and her partner very bravely flung himself prone, leaving her alone up there to absorb any lead coming their way. I charged up the elevator at a full run, dragging Jocasta with me. I knocked the corp broad aside, and I think trod on her swain's neck. Jocasta's high-heeled boot must have come down on some more sensitive part of his anatomy, because he howled in treble.
I risked a glance back over my shoulder. The elf had jammed another clip into his weapon, and was cutting loose. Bullets sparked and sang off the metal steps of the escalator. The bullets tore a scream from the corp broad and threw her to the steps in a bloody heap. The elf was using his favorite trick again, letting the recoil walk the fire up to his target-us. We had maybe a second. But we were at the top of the escalator. I flung myself forward, dragging Jocasta down with me. Before I hit the ground, something slammed into my left elbow with the impact of a baseball bat. It felt as though the flesh on my hand and forearm had burst into flam
e. I bit back a howled obscenity, and rolled away from the top of the elevator.
I looked around quickly. No security up here. Why? Hadn't the drekheads heard the gunfire and the bike?
The bike ... I crouched low and risked a glance down the escalator. Corp broad and corp guy were still lying on the escalator, perfect obstacles. (Obstacles? Yes. A good rider can run over a prone body on flat terrain without undue risk of ditching. But not while riding up a staircase. The elf might make it, but better odds were that he'd be over the guardrail before he knew what happened.) The elf recognized the situation, too. He was at the foot of the escalator, revving his bike angrily, glaring at the bodies. Which meant he wasn't looking at me. I pulled out the Manhunter, and drew a bead on his dark face. As they'd taught us at Lone Star, and as the troll security guard had discovered to his terminal detriment, even the best body armor in the world won't protect you from a through-and-through head shot. I triggered the sighting laser to check my aim-yep, center-head-and brushed the reactive trigger twice.
But the fragger must have seen the flare of my laser. Flinging himself aside just as the big pistol boomed, he triggered off a quick burst that sent me rolling for cover. Frag, almost. I all-foured it over to Jocasta, who'd hunkered down behind a synthetic marble bench. Her pistol was out, leveled at the top of the escalator. Good thinking. I joined her and chose the same aiming point. When the elf came up the escalator-which he would, I knew it-we'd blow him off that fancy bike. Hopefully by then Westlake security would have arrived to deal with the two foot soldiers.
The corp-chick's body reached the top of the escalator, followed by the corp-guy. He was still alive, and the moment he hit the top he vaulted over his erstwhile date and headed off for parts unknown. I wiped cold sweat from my brow and steadied my gun hand. The elf's be coming any moment.
A booming gunshot and a scream sounded behind us. I turned. The corp-guy was collapsing to the floor, cut damn near in half. A dozen meters further on, a mahogany-clad figure had emerged from a hallway between two storefronts. He jacked another shell into the chamber of the big fragging shotgun he carried, and swung the muzzle around toward us. I rolled and sent a couple of slugs his way. No chance I hit him, but he was so busy ducking back that his own shot went way wide. A store window exploded into fragments, and the well-dressed mannequins within came apart.
I sent another round his way, yelled, "Let's go!" at Jocasta, and took off in the other direction. Jocasta hesitated-I think she still wanted to ambush the biker-but discretion took over. As we ran, she demanded, "Where did he come from?"
I shrugged, then mentally kicked myself. The elf on the bike had come up the same stairs as we did.
But the other two guys could have taken any other route, including the elevators. The second human could be anywhere, even just around the next corner. We hung a hard right, down one of the "arms" of the cruciform mall.
And the other biker was just around the corner. Just around, like maybe a meter. With us coming round that corner like a bullet train, he had just enough time to bug his eyes before I plowed into him. He went one way, his gun went the other, so I pumped a round into his chest at point-blank range, and we kept on going. Another store window detonated behind us, this time blown to bits by automatic fire. That meant friend elf had mounted the escalator and was after us big-time.
We took another hard right, and skidded to a stop. A couple of meters ahead of us were two Zorro-type security guards, weapons drawn, ready to geek us on the spot. I essayed an ingenuous smile, but it's hard to look non-threatening when you've got two-and-a-quarter kilos of laster-sighted iron in your fist.
"Turn into ice," one of the Zorrp-cops snapped. "Drop it, now!" his partner added. I turned into ice, and was about to drop the Manhunter.
That's when Jocasta stepped forward. Her hands were empty, her Colt had vanished miraculously.
Her posture was erect, her expression aloof, and she looked every bit the high corporate official. "He's my bodyguard, you drekhead," she snapped. "The killers are behind us." Her delivery was impeccable. The Zorro-cops thought so too. The two guns wavered.
Friend elf chose that moment to come around the corner, machine pistol blazing. One Zorro-cop went over backward, spouting blood from his throat, and I felt something hammer into the back of my duster. The other security boy switched his point of aim away from the bridge of my nose, and squeezed off a quick burst. This close, I could feel the overpressure from the submachine gun like slaps to my face. I sent another heavy slug the elf's way for good measure.
The biker had started to turn our way, but the sudden fusillade of lead changed his mind. He unloaded from the turn, and kept going clear across the intersection. Our security man gabbled something about "motorcycle gangs" into his radio headset, and took off in hot pursuit. (A classic case of brave like hero, smart like streetcar, if you ask me.) He rounded the corner, and the mall echoed with the chatter of automatic fire. There was the high-pitched scream of the elf's grease-gun and the deeper-throated roar of the Zorro-cop's SMG. No, more than one deeper-pitched weapon. The Zorro-cops were finally arriving in more force.
Which was all to the good. While security and biker were busy blazing away at each other, Jocasta and I could make ourselves scarce. I turned my back on the fracas and started to run again, grabbing Jocasta's arm as I went by. She shook me off with a curse, but followed.
We were in one of the shorter "sub-arms" of the mall, and there was a wall of glass in front of us. The lights of nighttime Seattle shone through, a little blurred and given a greenish tinge by the bulletproof transparency. Were we in a dead end?
No. There was a door, another fire exit. I hit the panic bar at a dead run, Jocasta on my heels, and we burst out into the cold night air. A concrete staircase was to our right, a wheelchair ramp to our left. I found myself cursing the concept of wheelchair access. If the elf got through the gauntlet of security guards, he'd be able to blast his bike down the ramp without any problem. We sprinted down the stairs, two flights and we were at road level. When I skidded to a stop, Jocasta just avoided rear-ending me. I hesitated, my sense of direction totally wasted by our flight through the mall. It took a moment to get my bearings. Looking around, I saw the big illuminated billboards shining down on us: one for the Universal Brotherhood ("The All You Can Be!"), the other for Fiberwear Disposable Clothing ("The Future Is Disposable"). That told me we were on Olive Way, facing roughly southeast. The area directly around Westlake Center is wide open, kind of a paved park, and astonishingly well-lit. This time of night, the place was deserted. Well, almost. I saw one of my erstwhile colleagues- a Lone Star bike cop, brave soul-cruising away from us along Fifth. I felt very exposed.
I reached out to grab Jocasta, but thought better of at the last moment. "Let's get out of here," I said breathlessly.
"What about my car?" she demanded. I bit back on my suggestion as to exactly what she could do with her car. "Pick it up in the morning," I told her. "I'll even pay the parking."
She glared, but at least she followed as I cut across Olive. I could see an alley between Fourth and Fifth, its entrance looking dark and safe and inviting. I felt like sprinting, but I didn't have a sprint left in me so I settled for a painful jog. As I trotted along, I checked my watch. Still short of midnight. We'd packed a lot into the last five minutes or so. Well, that's life in the big city.
We were halfway across Olive, perfectly illuminated by streetlights, when I heard another burst of gunfire from behind us, the sound of something fragile shattering and a frenetic whine that was becoming almost familiar. I glanced back, knowing what I'd see. The blue-white of a high-intensity halogen light zigzagging its way down the illuminated glass wall of Westlake Center. The elf was still with us and was, in fact, soon to join us. Jocasta saw it, too, and we picked up our pace. Into the alley, and we couldn't see Westlake Center anymore.
Alleys are very much alike, whether they're out in Redmond or downtown behind the Mayflower Park Hotel, which was where
we were. Same blue-painted dumpsters, same scavengers, both four- and two-legged, waiting for you to do something dumb. We legged it down this one as though the devil were at our heels. We were a couple of dozen meters from the street when I put on the brakes. The alley was narrowed down to maybe six meters by two dumpsters facing each other across empty space. I pointed to the dumpster on our left, and tried to gasp out instructions to Jocasta.
She picked up immediately on what I meant, which was good because I was sucking wind too intensely to speak coherently. Her pistol was back in her hand as she ducked around the back of the huge metal container. Her slate-gray synthleathers merged with the shadows, and she fragging near disappeared.
Perfect.
I ducked into the cover of the other dumpster, and heard the scrabbling of either a big rat or a small squatter getting out of my way. I crouched down, gun in hand, and stuck my head around the dumpster's corner to watch the entry to the alley. For a moment I considered the elf biker's options, of which he had several. From watching the slag operate in the mall, however, I thought I had him pegged as the direct-action, in-your-face type. Odds were he'd seen us duck into the alley, and those same odds said he'd come after us with a mittful of throttle in one hand and his grease-gun in the other. I heard the approaching whine of a high-revving turbine, and tensed. One thing I'll say for that elf, he had guts. No brains, but serious guts. He came in hot, leaning into the turn so low that his bike's pipes sprayed sparks from the road surface. His headlight dazzled me so much I couldn't see the muzzle flash from his weapon. I could hear and feel the slugs slamming into my dumpster, though, and knew very well he was hosing down the alleyway. I squatted lower so my face was at knee-level, and brought the Manhunter to bear.
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