16

Turning the wrong way on a one-way street, I met a very large bus. “Well, shit!”

Swerving onto the sidewalk, I learned my vehicle didn’t have the weight and mass to smash aside a bench that was bolted to the street. I hadn’t strapped in, so when the obstacle stopped my economy vehicle cold, the impact threw me at the dash, then the window.

The automatic safety foam deployed. Warnings sounded. The car advised me it was calling for an ambulance unless I advised I wasn’t hurt.

I opened the door and fell out, blood streaming from my nose and lips. Stars filled my vision that for once had nothing to do with my problematic Reaper nerve-ware, but sure as shit, that came down like a hammer as well. Static bloomed in my vision, twitches disabled my left hand, and pain went everywhere.

“Your biometrics are all over the place, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned.

I staggered away from the vehicle, too hurt to get angry—which was a bad sign.

“You may be going into shock, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, voice breaking up.

The magnification feature of my cybernetic eye zoomed in and out. Night vision flashed with the brightness of daytime, stabbing into my brain like a knife. When that was gone a second later, everything became a surreal blur of infrared and static pulses.

“Fuck.” I really needed to catch a break. “Please give me some good news, X.”

“I'll do what I can, but I would not expect any in the near future,” X-37 advised.

Crank’s van looked like a stepped-on beer can when it careened around the corner. Paint from at least three vehicle collisions stripped the side. One of its fenders dragged on the ground throwing up sparks. Smoke poured from under the hood.

I was too messed up to move. Facing death wasn’t new. Knowing I was going to fail Elise was what really sucked. Sure she was pissed at me for abandoning her on Greendale, but I still had an obligation to look after her.

Another hover van, this one black and orange, flashed through the intersection, striking Crank’s vehicle at a ninety-degree angle. Both vans smashed through a micro-park near a coffee bar. Tables, pedestrians, and decorative landscape items flew into the air.

Citizens ran screaming from the violent collision. Some only made it a few steps before falling down from injury or overwhelming psychological trauma. A crowd of onlookers gathered, taking pictures and chatting excitedly. It didn't seem like any of them were pointing at me, however.

I pulled up my coat collar and limped into the larger crowd, stalling for time, searching for options. Some of the citizens watched at me. One offered help. I waved him away and kept moving.

Crank kicked out his windshield and tried to climb over the hood but was tangled in his seatbelt. Stunned by the violent collision, it took him several seconds to realize why he couldn’t pull himself free of the wreck.

Michaels and Olathe emerged from the black and orange vehicle.

I paused, ready to shoot them both but hoping they wouldn’t do something stupid.

“You’re a fucking menace to society. You know that, right?” Michaels asked.

“What do you want?” I asked, wondering if I should just open fire right here to prevent further threats against Frank’s family.

“The girl is ours, but we’ll give you a cut of the reward—ten percent, and that’s generous, so don’t try asking for more. We’ll leave your friend alone unless you do something stupid,” Olathe said.

“You’re the one who gave us the idea of killing his entire family,” Michaels said. “Thanks for the tip.”

“I could have killed both of you sorry motherfuckers,” I said, wishing I had put a bullet in each of their foreheads.

“I know,” Olathe said. “We recognize professional courtesy when we see it. So we owe you for that. But now we’re even. So get the hell out of here and stay away from the girl, or if you catch her, you better remember to pay us ninety percent of the contract.”

I maintained a healthy distance from the local killers and observed that Crank was almost free of the destroyed service van. Sirens approached from three directions. People pointed at us. Smoke from the white van and the black and orange van billowed into the air, making our confrontation even more obvious to responding law enforcement units.

“If you go near any of them, I’ll hunt you down like a Reaper and rip you limb from limb,” I said. “I’ll teach you the meaning of hell. Fear the Reaper. Respect your limitations. Live to carry on with your small-time extortion and stay away from the big leagues.”

“We are the big league,” Michaels said, but Olathe jerked his hand horizontally near his neck, indicating his friend should shut up right now.

“Don’t push me. It’s been a long time since I killed for fun.”

Realization of who they were dealing with hit Michaels and his partner at the same time. They backed away, hands on weapons.

This didn't mean I’d won. Michaels and Olathe were dangerous and I knew I’d do well to remember the fact.

“Just don't forget what we said, ” Michaels emphasized. “Maybe you can kill one of us, but the other will go after Frank and his family. So check yourself, Reaper.”

“Do you really want to go to war with me?” I asked.

Michaels and Olathe declined to answer, choosing instead to retreat.

Another vehicle raced toward us, parked in the middle of the street, and produced Commander Briggs. He stepped out, aimed his HDK, and fired a stream of bullets at the position I’d vacated the moment I saw him.

Shell casings streamed from the ejection port of his weapon. The muzzle flashed continuously as bullets peppered a parked car near me. I squatted low, then rapidly duckwalked to a better position.

A short distance away, Crank had finally struggled free of his wrecked van. He bent at the waist, elbows on his knees as he puked between his feet.

“You can’t hide from me, Cain!” Briggs shouted.

“What does he think I’m doing now?” I asked.

“Perhaps he believes you’re using some Reaper tradecraft to come up behind him and cut his throat,” X-37 said.

“I like that idea,” I said.

“Cain!” Briggs roared. “I’m going to hunt you to the end of the galaxy! Forget about the girl. She’s Union property and you are interfering with things you don’t understand.”

I waited until he fired another stream of HDK bullets toward the front of the parked car, then ran from the back. Staying low and hoping the smoke and noise of the scene would give a few seconds, I looked for Crank and the local assassins while running toward a side street.

Almost too late, I saw Crank dropping behind a vending shack on the corner and changed course. All that was left was an alley, and despite my recent bad experiences, I dove for it.

This was a better part of Zag City, I hoped. Maybe the nooks and crannies would be cleaner.

OceanofPDF.com