by E. R. Torre
The elderly Nox shook her head.
What is this?
The pregnant woman sported no injuries to any part of her body but was clearly uneasy in the presence of the child soldiers. The young Nox didn’t speak to the pregnant woman, but kept her actions as slow and non-threatening as possible. Soon, most of the villagers were packed away inside the trucks. Those few that remained, including the pregnant woman, were herded into the very last of them. Before she entered this last truck, the child Nox offered the pregnant woman her canteen.
Despite her fears, the pregnant woman took it. She was very thirsty and gulped down the liquid. She coughed and cleared her parched throat before taking another long swallow. When she was done, she returned the canteen to the child soldier. She offered the young Nox a smile and small bow. It was the only way she could show her appreciation.
The young Nox clipped the canteen back on her belt.
The elderly Nox examined her younger self, recognizing her dusty clothing and scuffed boots. She recognized her weapons, especially the rifle. The one she so coldly used on the pregnant woman in her nightmare.
But not here.
The child soldiers took a few steps back.
They had lost interest in the transport crafts and the villagers within.
The elderly Nox, too, looked away from the villagers. Her attention returned to their homes, to the village itself.
Things shifted.
The tank crew was there once again, walking among the corpses of the villagers. They approached the injured pregnant woman who, unseen by them, struggled to sit up.
The child soldier –the young Nox– was back in her place. She reached for her rifle…
Nox gasped and awoke from her dream.
For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. She desperately reached for her face. She felt the pains from the many bruises she still sported. She also felt the sharp pain in her right eye. She rose from the couch she was sleeping on and stumbled to the bathroom –how did I know it was there?– and snapped the lights on.
She stood before the sink, her hands grasping its sides. Her head was down. The mirror was directly in front of her, but for the moment she could not bring herself to look at it. When she did, she stared into a pair of frosty blue eyes. Her own.
There was a dull white film, nearly gone now, in her right eye. The eye she almost lost.
For several seconds, Nox stared at her reflection. She noted the bruises, the cuts, the scars. The three thin blue rectangles tattooed over her right eye. She saw the weariness on her face, the utter, almost complete, exhaustion.
She grinned.
“Such a handsome devil.”
Nox turned the faucet tap on and water rushed into the sink. She splashed it on her face. In the living room, the telephone rang.
Nox ignored it. She reached for a towel and dried up. By the time she was done, the phone’s answering machine switched on.
“This is Catherine,” the voice on the machine stated. “I’m not home right now, so if you can please leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
An electronic beep followed.
Nox exited the bathroom and stood before the answer machine. It was on a table next to the couch she slept on. She stared at the device and felt an icy chill pass through her body. Perhaps it was the nightmares, but she felt something very bad was about to happen.
Already happened.
Suddenly, she felt it was important to answer this call. She reached for the phone, but before she could pick it up, a voice blared through the answering machine’s speaker.
“Catherine, this is Roger.”
Nox recognized the voice. It belonged to one of Catherine Holland’s Yoshiwara clients.
“I heard what happened to the bar. Are you OK? Listen if you could—”
Nox pulled the phone’s handle to her ear.
“What happened at the Yoshiwara?” she demanded.
Nox put the phone down and suppressed a shiver.
Her first thoughts were about Catherine Holland. She was at the bar this past night and hadn’t yet returned home. Nox dialed Catherine’s cell phone, for if the message she just received was correct, the Yoshiwara was destroyed and there was little sense trying to call the bar’s land line.
The cell phone rang four times. Catherine’s voice came on.
“This is Catherine. I’m not available right now. Please leave a message.”
Nox hung the phone up. Another shiver.
Was Catherine…?
Nox shook the thought away.
She’s fine. I just need to get over there and make sure.
Her next thoughts weren’t quite as pleasant.
Catherine Holland was a struggling business owner. She had a mortgage through a legitimate bank and paid her bills. Sometimes it was a struggle to do so on time, but payments always came. She had no other debts –at least none that Nox was aware of– and certainly no debts to any shady companies. The people who hung around her bar were young punks, thrill seekers, and partiers. They were often loud and obnoxious and at times prone to provoking idiotic fights. Annoying as they could be, they were hardly the scourge of the underworld. Though there were always exceptions to any rule, these people weren’t the type to traffic in extreme violence. They weren’t the type to demolish entire buildings.
The ones that trafficked in that level of violence were the people in Nox’s world.
The Mechanic frowned.
The attack on the club was more likely a message intended for her rather than Catherine.
Nox walked to the apartment’s main window and cracked the shade open. Six stories below, on the street level, things were quiet. It was just past four in the morning and it would be a few hours yet before the first dull rays of light filtered in from the east. The regular rush hour traffic had not yet begun and very few pedestrians milled about. No one outside seemed unusually focused on Catherine’s building or, more specifically, her apartment window.
If they attacked the Yoshiwara to get my attention, they must know I’m at her apartment.
It wasn’t safe here. Neither for Nox or any of the building’s other dwellers. If there was a target on the Mechanic’s back she needed to move and draw the violence away. Then, she would circle back, find those responsible, and put the heat on them.
Nox gathered what little clothing she had and stuffed it into her duffel bag. Once done, she unzipped a side pocket of the bag and reached inside. She drew her handgun and conducted a quick check. The gun was fully loaded and ready for use.
Nox quietly exited Catherine Holland’s apartment and headed down the stairs and to the building’s back alley, where she parked her recently repaired motorcycle.
Minutes later she was on the road and on her way to the Yoshiwara bar.
14
Even from several blocks away, Nox knew the situation at the Yoshiwara was bad.
The late evening air was filled with the acrid smell of smoke and a thick haze of smoke. The shrill blare of sirens destroyed whatever peace the rapidly dying night had left to give.
Nox sped up and drove on, rapidly approaching her friend’s bar. She kept her emotions in check as best she could, but it was difficult to think of anything but the worst.
She called Catherine’s cell phone a dozen times since leaving her apartment. Catherine hadn’t answered and Nox could no longer keep the dark thoughts from her mind. Her muscles tightened. She had to be ready. As much as she tried to deny it, there was the very real possibility Catherine was no longer alive.
Involuntarily, Nox sped up.
The instincts she learned from years as a Mechanic told her to approach potentially dangerous situations cautiously, for haste was the best way to get yourself killed. They –whoever they were– destroyed the bar to draw Nox out and bring her there. They accomplished their task.
She sped up even more.
It’s my fault, Nox thought. I finally pissed someone off ju
st enough.
This situation demanded caution, not haste.
She had a flash of memory. She saw Catherine in her mind’s eye. Catherine smiled.
Fuck, she thought.
Nox rounded a street corner and hit her brakes. Tires squealed as her chopper came to a complete stop.
The street in front of the Yoshiwara bar, over a block away, was barricaded. Security forces manned the inner part of the barricades while a growing group of curious pedestrians lined the outer edges. They craned their necks and gossiped among each other as to what had happened. The blocked road was filled with ambulances and fire trucks. Their emergency lights flashed like supernovas, but even those intense lights weren’t as bright as the one coming from the Yoshiwara. The bar was almost completely demolished. What little remained was on fire and rapidly turning to ash.
Nox parked her motorcycle several feet from the onlookers. The heat emanating from the remains of the Yoshiwara could be felt even from this distance. The Mechanic made her way to the barricades, slipping between the other onlookers to get a better view.
The fire fighters’ hands were full controlling the raging fire. Despite a heavy dose of water and foam, the flames grew rather than recoiled, and the fire fighters were forced back. Nox knew what that meant.
Not only did they blow the bar up, they used some kind of propellant to keep the fire burning and make sure nothing was left. This was the work of a professional.
Nox’s anger and worry grew. She looked past the fire fighters and toward the far end of the street. A single ambulance sat parked far from the other trucks. Its back door was open and the two medical technicians within were hurriedly preparing the rear of their vehicle.
Just then, two fire fighters emerged from around the back corner of what was left of the bar. Between them they carried a stretcher. A smudged white blanket covered a limp body. From this distance, Nox couldn’t tell who the medical technicians were working on.
Was it possible…?
They placed the stretcher into the rear of the ambulance and closed its back door. The vehicle’s engine roared to life. Sirens wailed and the security forces cleared a path for the ambulance to leave the area. Nox watched as the ambulance approached the barricades. In seconds it sped past directly beside her.
Nox had a good look through the ambulance’s rear window and was just able to make out the face of the person in the stretcher. She let out a relieved gasp and ran back to her motorcycle. Nox gripped the starter and kicked the ignition.
Don’t fail me, she implored.
For once, the chopper started on the first try.
Tires screeched as she spun her motorcycle around. In moments she was behind the ambulance.
Nox followed the ambulance through the heart of the Big City and toward the west end.
The ambulance’s lights and sirens remained on as it sped through intersections. This encouraged Nox. Catherine Holland was still alive. If she hadn’t survived the explosion, there would be no need for the ambulance to use either sirens or speed.
Nox closed in.
The ambulance took a sharp right turn and slipped into one of the city’s main thoroughfares. By then, Nox knew the ambulance’s destination was the TransCo Oil Hospital. She considered passing the ambulance and beating it to its destination but decided to remain behind.
She feared the bomb’s maker might try something else.
The ambulance advanced, nearing the hospital with every passed intersection. Nox kept one hand on the chopper’s handlebar, the other in her jacket pocket and gripping the handle of her gun.
Her eyes were on every vehicle and every building the ambulance passed. Enemies could be anywhere and everywhere and Nox wouldn’t let them have another shot at her friend…or her.
Eventually, the ambulance slowed and pulled into the Hospital’s parking lot. It drove to the Emergency entrance at the building’s east side while Nox parked her motorcycle as close to it as she could. When the vehicle fully stopped, paramedics burst out of its rear doors. They hastily pulled the stretcher out.
Nox’s breath caught in her throat.
The paramedics worked on Catherine Holland during the ride. IVs ran from a pair of bottles and to her right arm. Her face was cleaned up, bandaged, but very bruised. Catherine’s eyes were shut tight. A thick plastic tube was inserted into her mouth. Splotches of blood filled the white blanket that covered her.
More medics rushed out from within the hospital and approached Catherine’s side. They accompanied the ambulance crew into the building.
Nox followed them in.
15
A long corridor extended from the Hospital’s emergency entrance. Several doorways and a flock of Doctors and nurses moved from door to door. There were no easy cases here, and the level of tension was obvious from everyone’s near manic movements. Frantic orders were shouted from staff member to staff member. One medic, a young man, walked slowly down the corridor with tears in his eyes and a look of utter exhaustion in his face. The emergency staff had their hands very full this early morning and Catherine Holland was only the latest person they needed to attend to.
Nonetheless, plenty of staff remained at her side and rushed her to one of the few remaining empty rooms.
Nox tried to follow, but a security guard noticed her and quickly approached.
“You can’t be here, Miss,” he said.
Nox nodded, doing her best to look lost.
“Where is the hospital’s entrance?”
The security guard looked incredulous.
“Are you kidding me?” he said. “Exit from where you came, turn right, and look for the large double doors that have a really big sign over them that says ‘Hospital Entrance’.”
The security guard shook his head and rubbed his face. He sported two days’ worth of stubble and his eyes were a very tired red. He sighed.
“Look Miss, I didn’t mean to be…to be rude. It’s been a hell of day and—”
“No need to apologize,” Nox said. “I’m usually the one with the smart assed things to say. Today I’m all out.”
“Please,” the security guard said. “Go around to the entrance. There’s an information desk there. You can find everything you need to know about whoever you’re looking for from them.”
“Thanks.”
As Nox turned she saw, from the corner of her eyes, Catherine’s room. The door was ajar and the doctors worked on her. Their movements weren’t as frantic as before. Hopefully, her condition was stabilizing.
Nox headed for the exit.
When she entered the hospital’s main lobby, instinct kicked in and Nox automatically sought out and spotted the security cameras. She realized it would be impossible to avoid them all, but kept to the lobby’s west side and tried her best to be as inconspicuous as possible. Considering the very heavy crowd of people that filled the lobby, it wasn’t too difficult to hide in plain sight.
Nox worked her way to the front entrance of the emergency corridor. A large wooden double door overseen by another security guard ensured no unwanted visitors could cross in, whether by accident or on purpose.
The wooden double doors, however, had glass panels. Thanks to them, Nox could see most of the corridor beyond. She spotted the door leading to the room Catherine Holland was taken to. Over time, several hospital staff personnel entered and exited that room.
At least you’re still alive, Nox thought. Or else they’d be moving a hell of a lot slower…if at all.
Nox unclenched her fists. She was so tense for what seemed so very long. She rubbed her hands through her hair. She felt a very strong headache coming on.
It’s already there, she thought. There was a pounding in her head, as if a group of burly construction workers were slamming her brain with sledgehammers.
Must be getting old.
Nox couldn’t remember ever getting this intense a headache before.
She tried to shake it off, but found the pain grew with each passing second. Wo
rse, she realized there was a low level electronic buzzing noise that filled the lobby. Despite the conversations from the crowd around her, Nox couldn’t ignore that irritating sound.
The speaker system must be malfunctioning, Nox thought.
For the next hour, she held still and watched Catherine Holland’s room from afar.
16
It was hard not to notice the large black truck rambling through the Big City streets. It sported bland civilian colors but its massive size failed mightily to blend in with the other downtown traffic. Clearly, it was a military vehicle. The only people who didn’t notice this either weren’t looking or couldn’t see.
The people on board the truck sat before their computers in the cargo bay. They surveyed a staggering wealth of information and sorted it into more digestible portions.
General Spradlin sat in the front passenger seat, away from the others in the back. He no longer carried his computer pad or any electronic items. Unlike the General, Sergeant Delmont did. He sat directly behind him working on his pad.
The mood within the truck was dark. Despite all their best efforts, Joshua Landon eluded them in the desert and, by this time, General Spradlin assumed the worst: That Joshua Landon was in the Big City.
No one understood the gravity of the situation more than the General.
“What are the odds we hear from Landon again?” Sergeant Delmont asked.
“Trying to be optimistic, Sergeant?”
“Why not? It’s a long way to the Big City, maybe he didn’t make it.”
“He’s used to Desert conditions. In fact, he thrives in that environment.”
“Even after twenty years in prison?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, let’s assume he made it to the Big City. What’s to say he doesn’t take advantage of his freedom and go underground?”
“Joshua Landon isn’t the type of person to run and hide,” General Spradlin said. “Whoever was behind his escape went through a lot of effort to accomplish that task. His escape serves some greater purpose, one we have to—”