I didn't have a reply on hand for the random
comment, and she was gone before I thought of one.
BOOM
The setting sun was still above the horizon
when I climbed down through the alley grate. I'd done some basic
recon earlier that afternoon and didn't see any potential problems.
As the strangest young lady I'd ever met had suggested, I shaved
and trimmed my goatee when I got home from the recon drive. The
steak dinner I cooked was fucking awesome, if I do say so; I could
still taste it as I pulled the grate back into place over my
head.
Fifteen minutes later, I stood in the corner
of a dark alcove behind some ventilation pipes. The only light in
there was dim, cast by the small signal bulbs on the row of control
boxes next to me. It wasn't much later that I heard voices out in
the main tunnel - two voices, getting closer.
By the time they were close enough that the
echo didn't garble their words, one of them said, ". . . told you
before, man. We have to turn it up a notch. What we've been doing
obviously isn't gettin' the job done, is it? Don't worry, I got
this."
"I'm not so sure," a deeper voice replied.
"We were told to disrupt -"
"And that's what I'm doin'. I'm just uppin'
the ante. Trust me, this'll make 'em notice."
By then, I could see the beams of their
flashlights and one of the guy's feet. I didn't have a good angle
unless they came into my area. It sounded like the guy who was
going to "up the ante" was across the hall, in what the city power
and light workers called an electrical vault. It was nothing like a
bank vault, though. The room had no door and was filled with
bundles of wire and an underground transformer. The way he was
talking was getting me nervous, and I wondered who they wanted to
notice.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing,
Johnny?" the deeper voice asked from further away.
"Have a little faith," Johnny called out. "I
used to be a fireman a long time ago; we were trained in this sort
of shit." There was a pause, and then he said, "I'm almost ready in
here. Once it starts sparkin', there ain't no stoppin' it. And we
better be back outside when it goes boom."
"How big of a 'boom' do you mean?" the other
one asked. I was wondering the same thing.
"I mean, boom, man," Johnny said with a
chuckle. "The pressure of the blast might make manhole covers a
couple blocks away shoot in the air. Yeah, like I said - boom."
My nervousness just jumped from mild to holy
shit. I had to move and take them down. Stepping out from behind
the pipes I saw the flashlight of the one I assumed was Johnny,
thirty feet away. I noticed the other beam somewhere further back
in the tunnel that separated the electrical room from my recessed
area. The guy back there would spot me when I made my move, but
that couldn't be helped.
As fast as I could, I charged at Johnny. He
never saw me coming. My left shoulder buckled his ribs. The
momentum carried us into a big breaker panel. I jumped back and
reached for a weapon. To his credit, the guy named Johnny wasn't
quite out of it yet. He groaned and wobbled, but started getting to
his feet. His flashlight was on the ground, still on, so I could
only see his general shape. It was enough.
Johnny never really got the chance to get
back up. I snapped my expandable steel baton to full length and
beat the shit out of him with it. There wasn't much technique to my
attack, but it worked - he was down and out. I heard running
footsteps; the other guy was retreating. Kneeling, I grabbed the
flashlight and shined it on Johnny, mostly to make sure I didn't
fuck him up too bad.
The face I saw was familiar. A little bloody
and marked up from the baton, but I knew him. The last time I saw
that guy, we were on Civil Ground; he wore a stocking cap and had
dog shit smeared down the front of him. He was one of McKenna's
minions, which meant the guy who just ran off was most likely
Blake. I had one of those 'oh shit' moments.
The old stockyard district was a good place
to hide if you needed to lie low, so a fair guess was that McKenna
wasn't far away. I had to catch Blake before he could report to his
boss. With another burst of speed, I ran down the tunnel after him.
He had a big lead, but I was hoping my enhanced speed could catch
up to him pretty quick.
I reached the wall-mounted ladder rungs and
sped up them, nearly leaping out of the uncovered grate. The sky
was dark by then, but I could still see. Twenty feet down the
alley, a metal service door was swinging shut. I was gaining on
him.
Surging forward once more, I caught the door
before it closed. Holding it open with my foot, I pulled out my
phone and speed-dialed Viggo. He didn't answer, so I left a
whispered message that there was an unexpected situation and that
he might want to come. I exchanged the phone for my little Ruger
and peeked inside.
It was a near-empty storage room, lit by a
few flickering ceiling lights. Blake was thirty feet away on the
far side of the room, leaning against a stack of palettes and
trying to catch his breath. There was a set of swinging doors next
to him, but he'd stopped running for some reason. I'd only met
Blake a couple times, but I didn't take him for a coward or a
weakling. I didn't trust the situation.
A hand came around the door I was holding
open, grabbed me by my clothes, and yanked me into the room. "Don't
be shy, Mr. Beck," Declan McKenna said, still gripping my shirt and
jacket. "I've been waiting for you to show up."
Two 'oh shit' moments in less than five
minutes - it was a new record for me.
UNINFORMED
Declan McKenna, hemo Outsider on the run,
glared at me with red-flecked lunatic eyes. He shook me with one
hand like I was a child. He shut the back door with his free hand
and growled, "I've been debating how you should die once I had my
hands on you."
I wasn't going to offer any suggestions.
Instead of trying to say anything as he kept me off-balance, I
pointed my Ruger at his midsection and started pulling the
trigger.
A couple things happened at once. McKenna let
go of me and stumbled backwards. Blake got there just as my gun
emptied, and landed a side kick to my chest that knocked me back
hard against the door. He had some skill. I managed to block his
follow-up swing, and counterpunched with a jab to his nose. He took
a step back, his eyes immediately watering. Taking one step to the
side - away from the doubled over McKenna - I launched a kick to
the side of Blake's knee. I heard the pop as it dislocated.
Just as Blake was dropping with a groan of
pain, something hit me in the side of my head. For a second, I
thought it was a brick. Confused, I stared at the white linoleum
floor, wondering why I was laying on it. I turned my heavy head and
saw McKenna coming at me. Most of his dress shirt was bloody, his
young face was contorted with rage, and his normally slicked blonde
hair was a mess.
Still trying to regain my senses, I looked
over at Blake. He was still down, holding his knee. I had just
started to wonder how he'd gotten ten feet further away when
McKenna jerked me to my feet by my neck. He was in my face,
snarling. He started to say something, but I stomped on his foot
first. When he flinched, I threw a hook to his bloody gut. It
didn't have the effect I was hoping for. Hell, it didn't have any
fucking effect at all.
McKenna, keeping a hand clamped on my neck,
grabbed my jacket with the other hand and heaved me across the
room. I sort of remember being airborne for a second, but the
impact of smashing into the stack of wooden pallets was
unforgettable. I'd crunched a lot of the thin slats with my back,
and found myself in an awkward reclined position in a bed of broken
wood that my body just made. Aside from feeling like a bag of
hammered shit, there was sudden hot pain in my left shoulder and
right butt cheek.
There was no time to inspect my wounds, or
even try to get up; McKenna was coming at me again. Reaching for
me, he started to say, "You'll be happy to know I've made -" I cut
him off with a boot to his face. It only pissed him off even more.
He grabbed the collars of my shirt and jacket and yanked me out of
the ruined pallets. Using the momentum, McKenna spun and slammed me
into a wall.
My breath left my lungs with a grunt, and my
skull smacked the cinderblock wall hard enough to make me see
stars. McKenna held me there with one hand; my feet were a few
inches off the ground. "You've caused me quite a bit of grief," he
said with clenched teeth. "Your actions placed me into a costly
deal with no return, and then you forced me to kill one of my own
minions."
"Wait, I didn't -"
"As if that wasn't enough," McKenna said
loudly, pulling me away from the wall and slamming me back into it,
"you dumped the body of one of my business partners in my
warehouse! It was the opening Le Meur needed. It no longer matters
if she put you up to it, or if it was a damned Deviant plot. I've
lost everything I have here, but I wasn't going to leave without
getting some vengeance first."
McKenna was seriously uninformed. I guess
being on the run kept him out of the loop. "Whoa, hold on," I said,
trying to focus. "That video . . . it was a set-up - both of us. I
didn't do it."
"Oh, yes, I saw in the newspaper how the
police no longer considered you a suspect. How nice for you, Mr.
Beck, that some numen cared enough to pull you out of the fire.
There's no escape this time. You ruined me," he said, seething,
"and now it is your turn to suffer."
He let go. I dropped unsteadily to my feet.
The storage room seemed darker; I thought I was slowly blacking
out. Still stunned, I never noticed that McKenna's fingers had
grown claws . . . Not until he used them on me. With an angry
sneer, he swiped at me once and then walked away.
My stomach felt hot. I numbly looked down and
pulled up my ripped shirt. Blood was gushing out of three long
horizontal gashes in my flesh. More alarming was my guts bulging
out of them.
I'd seen similar wounds in combat, and knew
that was it. Game over.
DECISION
I was trying in vain to keep my innards from
spilling out, so I didn't pay attention to anything else. That is,
until someone screamed. I looked up from my wounds and saw the
blurry form of Viggo literally ripping Declan McKenna apart. Blood
flew in arcing sprays. Blake was still down, but not holding his
knee anymore. His head was a lumpy pancake with crimson syrup
poured all over it.
My pressing hands felt the pulse of my open
wounds. They were deep; nerves were cut, so all I really felt was a
tingle as a chill began to settle in me. I slid and slumped against
the broken stack of pallets, sort of propped up on my hip. Okay,
not my best day. The screaming had stopped. Good, it was annoying.
The chunk of wood in my butt cheek hurt worse than my splayed-open
belly. That was weird.
I wished Al was there, doing his best to make
me laugh. I didn't want my mom to cry anymore. A vision of Val
Foster came to mind - a gorgeous woman, an opportunity lost. Keeg
and Deb, Miss Loretta, Diego, Gwen and Traeg . . . there'd be no
more smiles, no fond farewells. Who would take care of Thunder? I'd
failed Viggo, my commander, the father I wished I'd had. Damn, I
needed a drink.
Viggo had crouched down in front of me, his
black eyes staring into mine. I chuckled and said, "I told Barnabus
you needed moisturizer. I thought that was funny." He didn't smile.
"Sorry . . . I'm sorry I kept being a pain in your ass, sir."
He glanced down to my stomach and then back
up to me. "It is I who should apologize, Leo."
I leaned my head back against the rough wall.
"No, it's okay . . . it's okay. You can rest now." My breath came
short and choppy; I wondered if one of the claws nicked a lung. "I
had a steak dinner, best I ever had. Clara went shopping for me."
Viggo's eyes widened with surprise. "Yeah, I think she knew . .
."
He nodded and said, "Leo, had I known how
things would turn out, I would have -"
"But you didn't, you couldn't have. No
regrets, sir." My hands were trembling. I didn't trust them. "Could
you get my flask for me?"
Viggo patted my jacket and found it. He
unscrewed the lid and brought the flask to my mouth. I felt bad he
was doing that for me, but just one gulp helped. "I give you one
last choice," he said as he wiped my lip for me. "I can bring you
into the night, or," he held up my little Ruger, "you can end your
pain."
I smiled and shook my head. "Gun's empty . .
. only one I brought."
He hung his head. "There is no other humane
way, Leo. I will not strike you; I cannot. To be selfish, I will
not let my hands cause your demise. My oath will not allow it. I
cannot let that be my last memory of you." Viggo looked me in the
eye once more. "Come with me, Leo - let me take you into the
night," he said almost pleadingly. "Even though it will damn you,
it will save you as well."
"It's your choice now, sir," I said with a
labored breath. "Make me a fucking hemo, or stay here with me until
I'm gone."
Viggo made a quick decision. "Not here," he
murmured as he scooped me up with ease. We spun into the void; I
didn't mind it at all that time - the last time. He brought me to a
place of stone walls, cool air, and the scents of dust and
potpourri. Viggo set me in a soft chair; leather, I thought.
My brain was weaving in and out of
consciousness. I barely noticed when Viggo gently pulled my right
arm away from my wounds. Feeling the weak pulse in my wrist, he
stated more to himself than to me, "There is not much life left in
you to take." Eyes closed, I laid my head back into the cushion.
There was a momentary sharp pain in my wrist that turned into pure
intensity. It faded, and I blacked out.