Authors: Andrew Ball
but no one was coming his way. He started
down again, clambering down shelf by shelf
until he hit the concrete floor. He slipped up
to the edge of a row of crates.
The far end of the warehouse was
actually open into the river itself, creating a
small indoor dock. A rusty boat stacked with
iron shipping crates was moored inside. Men
were busy wheeling smaller boxes off the
ship and stacking them up near a steel garage
door that opened onto the street. Others stood
around, keeping an eye on the proceedings. A
lot of them had rifles. Daniel wasn’t an
expert on firearms, but the big curved
magazine told him it would turn him into
something resembling Swiss cheese very
quickly.
One of the men hit a button near the
door, and the steel plates clacked upwards.
Rudy’s car backed into the warehouse. The
boys hopped out of it. Rudy’s friends seemed
awed by the operation.
"Welcome to the big leagues," Rudy
said.
One of the older men folded his arms.
"Where’s the crud?"
"In the trunk."
"You put something down, right?"
"Yeah, we used some plastic. He was
wearing pretty thick clothes though."
"You don’t want a fucking bloodstain in
your car. Open it up. We’ll put him in the
harbor."
Rudy’s friends jumped to follow the
instructions. A few men cleared a cart of
crates. Daniel noticed that one of the
containers was open, its contents unpackaged
onto a table. Mixed with folded T-shirts
were plastic-wrapped white bricks. Another
man had a few glasses of some clear liquid;
he was watching the white powder drift into
them with a critical eye.
"Hey Daniel, what’s it look like?"
Daniel flinched—but they were talking
to the man watching the glasses, not him. The
other Daniel looked up. "I’ve seen worse,
but they didn’t do us a favor or anything.
How much for the load?"
"About three."
One of Rudy’s friends made a face.
"Three? Three what?"
"Million, you fucktard," Rudy said.
"Don’t ask dumb questions, you’ll embarrass
us."
"Hey, shit, I dunno."
"Do the math for a change."
"Man, I ain’t here to do no math. I’m
here to dump this shit and go home."
Rudy sighed. "Then lift."
They hefted Pete’s body out of the trunk
and onto the cart, then pushed it toward the
ship. Daniel used the opportunity to try and
form some sort of strategy. He counted 21
heads, though there might be more on the
boat. Those that didn’t have rifles had pistols
in their pockets or sticking from their
waistbands. Probably safe to assume
everyone had a gun.
He really wasn’t prepared for this kind
of thing. Being a contractor was living the
life of an opportunist. He only fought when
he had to, when the extractors came.
But the name Daniel was being sullied
here, in this crappy warehouse by the river.
It irked him.
"Hey! Who the fuck are you?!" Daniel
spun on his hands and knees, keeping in his
crouch. A man was walking toward him from
the corner of the shelving behind him. His
rifle was shouldered and aimed at Daniel’s
face. "I said, who fuck are you?"
Daniel slowly raised his hands, but
didn’t say anything. The man stopped a few
feet away. "The hell? What are you, Iron
Man? Hey, people! We got some freak over
here!"
Daniel heard the threatening click of a
pump-action shotgun. He swallowed.
Footsteps and voices were getting closer.
The man still had his gun trained.
"Hey, kid. Hands on the ground, slow.
Then lay down flat." Daniel didn’t move.
"Today, unless you want to get shot."
Daniel looked over the guy’s shoulder,
widened his eyes in alarm, and pointed. His
assailant glanced back.
Daniel’s punch caught him right in the
jaw. There was a crack as the iron plates on
his fists followed through. The man dropped
to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
For a moment, Daniel thought that he’d
just killed him. A groan and shifting legs told
him otherwise. He ran down the aisle of
shelves as two other riflemen came up
behind him.
"Runner!"
"Fucking shoot him!"
Gunshots exploded. It was nothing like
Daniel expected—not like the movies. Every
single one sounded like an explosion in his
ears, amplified off the walls of the
warehouse.
He poured power into his legs and
sprinted down the wall. Bullets whizzed
over his head, ricocheting off steel and
wood. A crate behind him shattered.
He kept running all the way to the end of
the dock—and then he was out of room to
run. And another gunman was right in front of
him. His momentum was too much. His feet
slipped and churned on the smooth concrete.
He slammed full-body into the man and
knocked him into the water.
Daniel leaned back as the river water
splashed onto his clothes. Not exactly a
graceful stop, but it worked.
Bullets sprayed into the wall nearby. He
glanced around, but he was cornered—no
windows, no doors. A group of four men
were coming up on him fast.
The boat. He crouched, then leapt. In a
moment, he was rolling on the deck between
the shipping crates.
"Holy shit!"
"Did you see him jump?!"
"He’s on the boat!"
Daniel had to cut them off before they
could pen him in. The gangway was just
opposite him, on the other side of the boat.
His side was nailed in. He flipped out his
knife, turned it white, and then sliced though
the steel. The gangway dropped into the
water.
Daniel heard a gun cock. He turned. A
man was standing at the deck entrance to the
ship’s control room, a machine pistol
leveled straight at him.
Daniel poured his power into his armor,
every piece at the same time.
A hail of bullets rained down on him.
He shielded his facemask with his arms.
Metal pinged and clacked off him as the
gunman emptied the magazine.
There was a sharp click. Daniel looked
up. The man’s finger pulled at the trigger, but
no more bullets came. He’d just taken a gun
head on and lived.
"…heh." Daniel grinned. "Is that it?"
The man backed up a step. His hand felt
frantically at his pocket. He fumbled with
another clip.
Too slow. Daniel slid in low and
grabbed his ankle. He stood. The man was
flipped upside down. Daniel grabbed him,
then chucked him over the edge of the boat
before he had a chance to start kicking.
Another satisfying splash echoed over him.
"What the hell is going on?"
"There’s some kid on the boat!"
"He knocked out John!"
"What happened to the gangway?!"
They were in disarray. Daniel had to
make something happen. He looked up. The
warehouse ceiling had a few iron
crossbeams—he might be able to jump up to
one and get to a skylight. But he’d be wide
open to get shot. The front side of his armor
was the toughest. The joints did have cracks.
His gaze fell back to the bridge. The
controls for the boat were probably in there.
Daniel ducked inside and ran straight
into another man. They fell in a tangle. The
man’s fingers grabbed at his arm, but slipped
off his armor. Daniel elbowed him in the gut.
He felt his leg being bent back, and
twisted. Daniel shoved power into the limb
and pulled back. The man clung on for dear
life as Daniel dragged him across the floor.
Daniel kicked, hard, and the man went flying
across the cabin.
He collapsed against the end of the
hallway on his knees. Daniel was there in an
instant before he could get back up. His boot
took the guy right in the liver. His breath
whooshed out of his mouth, and he fell flat
on his face.
Daniel kicked him again for good
measure, then took the stairs at the end of the
hall two at a time. He shut the door behind
him and clicked the lock. Turning, he found
himself faced with a captain’s chair, a
dizzying array of buttons and knobs, and a
windowed view down into the warehouse.
They were scurrying around like ants. It
looked like a group of them were pulling out
one of the long wood shelves to use as a
makeshift gangway. One of them pointed up
at him. Guns were leveled at the windows.
Daniel ducked. A storm of bullets hit the
cabin. He covered his neck as slivers of
glass sliced around him.
After a few seconds, it stopped. He
didn’t risk poking his head up again. It was
only a matter of time before they got onto the
ship.
He looked at the controls. A key was
sitting in position, turned into an on switch.
Was the boat idling?
Two levers sitting on a red-and-green
half circle looked like the main power. The
red section was small and read reverse.
Well, he couldn’t sail through concrete.
Daniel gripped both levers in one hand and
threw them backwards.
The boat rumbled. The engine’s roar
thrummed through the warehouse. Water
started churning under the docks. The boat
moved backwards.
Daniel crouched again as guns were
pointed up at him. More bullets sprayed into
the cabin. He folded himself under the
console for protection.
The ship shuddered. Daniel put a hand
out to steady himself. There was a long, ugly
groan.
The dock wasn’t open to the harbor.
The shriek of tearing metal made him
cover his ears. There was a snap, and then a
bang.
The right side of the cabin erupted in
plastic and wooden splinters. Half of a
broken bay door was gutting the wall like a
razor blade. Daniel threw himself down. The
steel carved a path of destruction over his
head. The control console snapped and
fizzed as wiring was wrenched out.
When he next raised his head, the cool
night air of Boston harbor was blowing
freely through a gaping hole in the bridge.
The skyline was reflected on the black river
below. The boat wasn’t slowing—it was
picking up speed.
In a few moments, he was clear of the
warehouse, sailing out into the inner harbor.
A few idle shots were taken at the boat.
Daniel stood tall and gave them the finger.
He was still picking up speed. He
looked at the console. Most of it was gone—
scattered pieces of electronics were littered
across the shipping containers below him.
The levers that controlled the power were
gone, and he was pretty sure he had no way
to steer.
Daniel took stock. He was in the middle
of Boston Harbor, riding a stolen ship
holding several million dollars of cocaine.
The opposite side of the harbor was
approaching at an alarming rate.
He wracked his brain for options. No
brilliant thoughts came to mind. How did this
happen, again? All he wanted to do was kill
Vorid.
He probably had about ten seconds until
he smashed into the docks. He had to get off
the boat.
Daniel climbed up on top of the broken
section of wall. He balanced there, exposed
to the sky. The other side of the river held a
small marina. He had a feeling some boats
might get dinged up, but the ship would
probably stop at some point.
Wait. That guy was still down in the
hallway.
The boat slammed into the docks. Daniel
was flung off his perch. He spun, flailing his
arms and legs. A roaring whirlpool of white
foam and crunching wood swirled below
him.
Daniel shoved his power out at full
blast.
The world slowed down.
He could see the light of the city twinkle
in individual drops of water. The docks
were steadily sucked into the roar of the
engines like planks being fed into a wood
chipper. A nearby boat was crushed to the
side as the cruiser plowed forward. Daniel
watched its siding bend, ripple, and then
crack, all in slow motion. Individual flakes
of paint soared into the air like snow.
He was falling right behind the ship. He
began to right his fall. It didn’t happen
immediately. His mind was working a
thousand times faster than his body. Slowly,
he rotated. He kicked against the back of the
ship. The metal hull bent inward where his
feet impacted.
He sailed forward, across the marina,
clearing the death zone near the engines and
tumbling to a stop on the docks. He heaved in
his breaths. He’d never slipped into his
sped-up mode for so long.
The dock shivered under him. The sound
turned back on. The boat was raging toward
Daniel in a mad fury of iron and water and