Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Page 10

  “Well, shit.”

  Cena pulled out a pulse grenade and hurled it around the corner. As soon as the telltale whoosh of the grenade's detonation rang out, Cena leaned around the corner, then pulled back to avoid another burst from the drone's guns.

  “Son of a bitch is hardened,” she said. “Pulse grenades are no good.”

  “Let's try a real one, then.” Vic pulled a grenade off his vest, pressed the arming button, and threw the grenade around the corner. He waited for the explosion, then peered around the corner and saw the battle drone lying in the middle of a wrecked section of corridor, emitting smoke from a jagged hole in its chassis.

  He looked over his shoulder and nodded at the others. “We're clear.”

  They continued down the hallway with Carper wheezing behind them. As they passed the wreckage of the battle drone, Carper stared at it through wide eyes.

  “This thing's got Concord markings,” he exclaimed. “Why would you be fighting with your own people?”

  “Sorry to break it to you, but we ain't Concord,” Cena replied. “We kind of lied about that.”

  Carper's expression grew even more terrified. “Who in the world are you, then?”

  “That's our business,” Tinubu said. “Looks like the Concord's finally shown up to see what happened to their facility, so you can stay here if you want. Looks like they're shooting first and asking questions later, though.”

  “I—I guess I'll go with you.”

  They reached the roof access stairs and made their way to the top. The others hung back while Cena went forward and eased the door open. A wave of heat washed through the door, emanated by the flaming wreckage of their VTOL. A Concord aircraft patrolled the air over the landing pad and a pair of battle drones stood guard on the roof. Cena slammed the door shut and dove for the stairs as one of the drones turned and opened fire, punching a dozen high caliber rounds through the door that whizzed a few centimeters over her head.

  “Crap,” she snarled. “We're in trouble, guys. ISEC showed up while we were investigating and they've blown up our ride.”

  “New plan,” Tinubu said. “We exit at ground level and make for the mountains. Move!”

  They pounded down the stairs and poured out back onto the top floor. As soon as they came through the door, they spotted another battle drone a few meters away. They darted for a side passage as the drone pivoted and opened fire on them. Just as they rounded the corner, one of the rounds tore through the plaster wall and lanced through Cena's leg. She let out a cry and fell, blood gushing from her wound.

  “Fuck,” she screamed, “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  “Cena, no!”

  Vic armed another grenade and threw it around the corner while Tinubu knelt next to Cena, applied a splash of disinfectant and artificial tissue, then tied off her leg with a tourniquet. Carper watched the unfolding spectacle through wide, terrified eyes.

  “Can you stand?” Tinubu asked.

  “I guess I'll have to,” Cena groaned.

  Tinubu lent her his shoulder and helped her to her feet. Before they could take a single step, a team of Concord soldiers appeared at the far end of the hallway and opened fire on them. Vic and the others fell back to the intersection and darted for cover. As Vic ran, two rounds struck him in the back. His vest prevented the bullets from penetrating, but he was knocked down and had to half run, half crawl around the corner.

  Another team of Concord soldiers appeared at the opposite end of the hallway and were forced back by a barrage from Tinubu's rifle. Vic aimed his weapon blindly around the closer corner and fired off several shots in the hope of keeping the first enemy group at bay.

  “We're surrounded and cut off,” he exclaimed over the roar of gunfire.

  “I think we're screwed, guys,” Cena groaned. “This is a really shitty place for a last stand, so maybe we should think about surren—”

  Before she could finish her thought, a grenade bounced off the wall and landed at their feet. There was a deafening boom and everything faded to white. Vic's ears rang and his eyes were blinded by the harsh light. Just as he began to regain a semblance of vision, a swarm of soldiers poured over him and forced him to the floor. He felt the tingle of a stun rod being pressed into the small of his back and a black puddle appeared on the ground in front of him, inviting him to dive in. It had no bottom.

  Seventh Escalation

  The dim glimmer... it glows and grows

  Janice almost regretted asking about her companions' backgrounds. After Vic's harrowing story, she had a difficult time falling asleep inside the dark, oppressive confines of the warehouse. Part of her wondered whether they were crazy, or maybe just pulling her leg. But their story was too logical and elaborate for a joke, and they seemed, if anything, saner than most of her friends in the entertainment business—not that that was saying much. Still, she had no choice but to conclude that their story was probably true.

  She woke up to feeble shafts of blue light leaking through the warehouse's high windows, illuminating clouds of dust dancing in the air. They had entered the nighttime waking interval of Chalice's time cycle, with Saris serving as the primary source of illumination in the otherwise dark sky. Janice still felt tired after her restless night, but she was growing used to dragging herself up and forcing herself about no matter how fatigued she felt.

  As she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and looked around, she came face to face with a strange gaze staring at her from between a pair of empty shipping crates. She gave a startled cry, scrambled to her feet, and stumbled away from the intruder.

  “What's wrong?” Tinubu jogged over to her side.

  She pointed. “Someone's there.”

  A thin form slunk out of the shadows and knelt before Janice and Tinubu. It was a girl, a little younger than Janice perhaps, wearing a jacket, shorts, and ratty boots held together with tape. Her hood was pulled low over her brow. Tufts of tousled black hair spilled out from the front of the hood, from whose depths shone a pair of sharp brown eyes.

  “Hey,” she said, “you got any food?” She spoke with an aggressive cadence, as one who expected to be denied and was angry about it in advance.

  Janice and Tinubu stared at the girl in silence for several moments. Finally, Tinubu demanded, “Why did you sneak up on us?”

  “I didn't sneak up on nobody.” The girl reached out with one hand. “Come on, I'm really hungry. Those are some nice packs you got. You gotta have some food in there.”

  Again, she was met with silence. She unzipped the front of her jacket, revealing a low-cut tank top. “I'll make it worth your while,” she said, looking at Tinubu. Then she glanced at Janice and added, “Or you, I don't care. Hell, I'll make it worth anybody's while as long as I get something to eat.”

  Janice took a step back. “Um, no thanks.”

  “We're not interested,” Tinubu said. “If we give you some food, will you go away?”

  “Don't bother,” called a gravelly voice from across the warehouse. Hector walked into view and added, “It's just an act. This chick is probably better at scavenging for scraps than all of us combined. Does that look to you like the figure of someone who's starving to death?”

  Tinubu took a second glance. “Now that you mention it...”

  “There's a weird bulge at the bottom of her jacket,” Hector observed. “Don't know what she's hiding in there, but I bet it ain't no bag of kittens. Just tell her to get lost, and let's be on our way.”

  Janice detected a flash of anger in the girl's eyes, then she got to her feet and resumed her supplication. “You don't want to give me any food? OK, whatever. I can tell you ain't from around here. You looking for something here, or what? I know this hood like the back of my hand. I can help you find it, whatever it is.”

  “Persistent, aren't you?” Tinubu said. “I told you, we're not interested in any of your services. Just leave us alone.”

  “I'm sure of it now,” Hector interjected. “She's a plant from one of the gangs. Probably
trying to feel us out to see if we got anything worth taking.” He took a step toward the girl. “We're done asking nicely. Beat it, before I get mad.”

  The girl took one step back, but then held her ground. “I'm just looking for some company,” she said. “I'm tired of surviving on my own in this pit.”

  “I said beat it!” Hector lunged.

  With surprising nimbleness, the girl scrambled up the side of the shipping container, then leapt up and grabbed the sill of a broken window. Her fluttering jacket briefly revealed a small sword tucked in her belt near the small of her back. She perched in the window frame and glared down at Hector and the others.

  “You got no reason to treat me this way,” she shouted, her voice echoing in the vast chamber. “I ain't done nothing to you.” Then she vaulted through the window and dropped out of sight.

  “Good riddance.” Hector picked up his backpack and made sure his knife was easily accessible.

  As she got her own gear ready to go, Janice asked, “Are you sure that was OK? She really didn't do anything to us, and we just ran her off like vermin.”

  Hector's mouth twisted in his trademark jeering grin. “You people sure got a lot to learn about surviving in the underworld. Did you see that monster blade under her jacket? If I hadn't come along when I did, she might have talked you into letting her get close enough to cut both your throats and make off with your packs.”

  Unconsciously, Janice raised her hand to her throat. She offered no further argument as she followed Hector and Tinubu outside. Morganna's decrepit condition was not quite as apparent in the darkness of night, but the crumbling buildings cut ominous black silhouettes against the leering face of Saris.

  Cena and Vic materialized out of the shadows where they had been keeping watch. Vic said, “I just saw a girl drop out of the window and run off down that alley. What was that all about?”

  “Just a rat looking for easy pickings,” Hector replied. “We shouldn't have let her get away like that. Let's make tracks before she comes back with friends.”

  A deep melancholy fell upon Janice as she followed her companions through the maze of back alleys. She was being smothered by the onset of fatigue. Not just the superficial fatigue of too much physical activity with not enough food and rest, but something much deeper. Every regime to take control of Chalice had broken her trust, and now she was trapped in this nightmare world of scraping for survival amidst abysmal living conditions, where everyone looked out only for themselves and no one could be trusted. It made her heartsick and filled her with deepening disgust at all of humanity.

  Her gaze turned skyward and settled on the inscrutable face of Saris. Something in the expression of that enigmatic gas giant seemed to agree with her. Transfixed, she stared at the gigantic planet, thinking almost that she could truly see eyes within the great storms. They were the eyes of a being beyond the petty limitations of human existence, a force so overwhelming that it could only be called a god.

  Within those godly depths, Janice beheld only darkness; rebellion at the very idea of existence, with all its endless sufferings and disappointments. Part of her recoiled at the notion, but another part of her wanted to call out, to ask that darkness if she could vanish into its depths, leaving the wretchedness of her new life behind. Without realizing it, she found herself stretching out her hand, reaching out to the azure god in the night sky.

  “I think that girl is following us,” Vic called from the rear, interrupting Janice's reverie.

  Janice let her hand drop and glanced over her shoulder. She could discern nothing in the shadows, but a moment later Hector snarled, “Son of a bitch, you're right. We need to do something about this wipe.”

  “Like what?” Vic asked.

  “Like tie her up and toss her in a dumpster where she can't cause us any trouble.”

  “Good luck with that,” Vic said. “With her agility and knowing these streets so well, I don't think you have much chance of catching her.”

  Hector's good eye narrowed into a dangerous squint. “You think not, huh?”

  They continued onward, glancing frequently over their shoulders. After several minutes, Hector stopped and stared long and hard into the shadows, his cybernetic eye emitting a faint whirring sound. Then his face contorted into an expression of fury.

  “She's leaving a rock on that windowsill,” he hissed. “It's a signal. That bitch is leaving signs so her buddies can set an ambush for us. I'll tear her fucking head off!”

  Despite the protests of his companions, Hector charged at the girl, who bolted around a corner. Then, more quickly than Janice could comprehend, everything exploded into chaos.

  *

  Hector pounded after the hooded girl, huffing from the intensity of his sprint. She was fast, but gravely mistaken if she thought that Hector's size made him slow: his physique of pure muscle gave him terrifying speed. He caught a glint of fear in her eye as she shot a glance over her shoulder and saw him bearing down on her like an oncoming train.

  The girl managed to prolong the chase by darting in and out of side alleys. Her smaller stature gave her less momentum, and thus she could execute sharp turns more easily. But she was only delaying the inevitable. For every meter of ground she gained with her quick turns, Hector gained two sprinting down the alleys. As her desperation grew, the girl tried to overturn garbage cans and other random obstacles in Hector's path, but this proved counterproductive as the pauses only served to slow her down while Hector vaulted over the obstacles with ease.

  They rounded another corner and came upon a fence blocking the way. The hooded girl clambered over the fence with simian agility; then an instant later Hector leapt up and grabbed the top of the fence, propelling himself over it in a single bound. He turned over in midair and landed in front of the girl with a crash, kicking up clouds of dust where his boots met the pavement.

  Hector could clearly see the fear in her eyes now, but she showed no sign of folding. With one flashing motion, she drew her shortsword and struck a fighting stance. Hector could tell from the way she carried herself that she was very experienced in the use of her weapon. He grinned and drew his own knife, which was much smaller than the girl's blade.

  “So, you want to do this the hard way, huh?” he said, twirling his knife through his fingers. “All right, little girl, let's dance.”

  The girl lunged and swung at Hector, executing a series of precise strikes. He had been right about her proficiency. Her strikes were swift and accurate, all aimed to kill or maim; she targeted weak points in his posture; and she maintained her range perfectly. Yet despite the disadvantage of his smaller blade, Hector parried every strike with even greater facility. Finally, she overextended herself just the slightest bit, leaving her open for Hector to step in and ram his elbow into her chest, sending her flying back into the fence.

  The girl readied her sword and Hector readied himself for another strike; but instead of attacking him, she dug the tip of her blade into a pile of dirt and flung it in his face. He raised one hand to protect his eye, which gave her an opening to spin around and clamber back over the fence.

  “Slippery little rat.”

  Hector grabbed the lowest rung on a nearby ladder hanging from a rusty catwalk and, with a surge of strength, broke the rung free of the rails. He leapt onto the top of the fence and hurled the rung after the fleeing girl, sending it spinning like a bolas. The rung got tangled in her feet and sent her sprawling onto her face, her sword flying out of her hand and clattering across the ground.

  Hector was on the girl before she could scramble back to her feet. He wrapped one hand around her slender neck, lifted her off the ground, and slammed her into the wall. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, kicking and flailing with her legs, but without any leverage she could not muster any force in her strikes.

  Her hood fell back, revealing the face of a young girl of Eastern descent. Hector often had trouble pinning down the age of Easterners, but he would have guessed her to be about twenty. H
er hair was short in back while long bangs fell past her chin on either side of her face like little wings. She might have been cute if she hadn't just tried to get him killed.

  “Well, my sweet little rat, that was quite a stunt you pulled back there,” Hector said. “Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't snap your neck right now?”

  “I can't breathe,” the girl gasped.

  “Bullshit. You can talk, you can breathe.” Hector pulled the girl back, then slammed her into the wall again. “Well? I'm listening. This is your chance to plead for your life. You'd better make it good.”

  “B—b—”

  Hector leaned in closer. “What was that?”

  “Bastard.” The girl spat in his face.

  “Wrong answer.”

  Hector threw the girl onto the ground so hard that she bounced, then picked up her sword in one hand and pulled her up by the scruff of her neck with his other. Keeping a firm grip, her propelled her ahead of him as he headed back to where he had last seen his companions.

  “Not sure why I don't just split you open and let the rats feast on you. Maybe 'cause I got a soft spot for feisty chicks,” he said. “Let's take you back to my pals and see if they've got any input on my little dilemma.”

  *

  Just as Hector took off after the girl, two gangsters emerged from around the corner in front and leveled pistols at Cena, who was in the lead. Her movements a blur, Cena removed her backpack and charged at the gangsters, holding the pack in front of her as a shield. Her pack absorbed their shots until she barreled into the gangster on the right, the momentum of her charge causing both of them to tumble end over end. The gangster's pistol flew out of his hand and Cena swept it off the ground, firing several shots into the chest of the second gangster, then a single round into the head of the first before he could get back on his feet.

  While Cena enacted her massacre, a third gunman appeared atop a nearby roof and opened fire on the targets trapped in the alley below. Tinubu flinched and grunted in pain, then drew his knife and threw it at the shooter. The gunman fell back, causing the knife to miss its target. He quickly reappeared and tried to reacquire his aim.