Fortunately for both of us, it was still early afternoon. The sun was up. Unfortunately for us, we were in unfamiliar terrain surrounded by the possibility of an attack by something that may or may not fear the sun. In many cases, the dark is the most intimidating place to be. Monsters enjoy the dark. What happens when the monsters could care less if it is dark or not? It changes the paradigm of a deep rooted and natural human fear. Natural humans simply do not perform at their best in low light conditions. It’s a toss up with regards to the things you get to see in The Breach.
Fortunately, I would not be impeded by the dark. Given our situation, that was only a slight reassurance and served little to fuel the hope I desperately needed to hold onto. Things could come from anywhere, hell if Baxter missed something during our hurry, we could run into them. It was even possible that we could be shot and not have any idea where it came from. I would have liked to believe that it was possible that Temple’s group had secured a perimeter but given that it was people in or adjacent to Temple’s group, we could have been shot as soon as we exited the doors to the broken-down office building. He did ask his minions, beyond the rigs, to leave before his search of my person, so I had no reason to believe he was in control of the situation.
Silver lining would be that at least I would get to see the sun one last time, or in my case, the daylight. The problem with finding cover in an area that was rich in hiding places, crawl spaces, hollowed buildings, and general “protective” locations, was that something or someone could and would probably be using them for much the same reason. The last thing I would want is to be stalked by some mentally poisoned, super strong, genetic cat man, who mulched his brain with so many genetic modifications that he had become more savage animal than human. It happens, and it’s one of the reasons I would rather not entertain a modification or two.
That and the stuff causes cancer.
As soon as my feet crunched debris into the sidewalk, I broke into a collected jog in the direction Temple had indicated would be closest to the “civilized” section of the Under-rails. The sooner we were out of The Breach, the sooner my stresses would shift focus to the more familiar cyber junkies, gangers, and low lives that could potentially be attracted to the beacon in my back.
I rolled my eyes at the thought.
Baxter followed, easily keeping pace with me. I tried to keep close to the buildings, but not too close. I didn’t want something to hear us coming and catch me off guard as I passed. There were a few moments when I had to divert my route due to a collapsed building. There was way too much debris to make me comfortable attempting to traverse them. The whole area was a mess.
I had to take a few breaks along the way to massage my temples and catch my breath. My head was killing me. I almost threw up at one point and took a pause in an alley. I pressed my back up against a brick-and-mortar wall and closed my eyes for a moment.
“Don. Let me take point, please?” Baxter put his hand on my shoulder. “I have a good idea of where we are.”
He pointed up in the air to where the metro rail we had fallen from was. The next few hundred or so yards were uneventful. Baxter kept a diligent lookout as we moved, and both of us slowed to casual stroll as we approached the barricade for the quarantine.
The barricade itself was not entirely impressive. Things from inside the Breach manage to cross over all the time. There are Order patrols that frequent the areas, but it is so easy for people to slip in and out without notice that I never understood why the patrols were active in the first place. I know from my time in the academy that “quarantine guard” was not a station you wanted to be placed in. It was a position where you did your time and hoped for re-assignment as soon as possible.
“Baxter… Did Tiberus and crew seriously just carry bodies over their shoulders and pass through the quarantine?”
“Low patrol numbers today?” Baxter shrugged.
I rubbed my temples.
“That is so ridiculous… There is no way that patrols would be released in such a fashion.”
Baxter motioned for me to move toward an alleyway, a hundred or so yards from the barricade. After taking position against a wall, I closed my eyes and waited for his go ahead to move again.
“You do not look good Don. Are you ok?”
I eyed him.
“Baxter… I am off surgery, supposed to be engaging in “lite activity”, survived a train wreck, been punched a few times, and man handled by rather large and dangerous cybers. I think I am out of scope for anything a doctor would prescribe, and that is just today.”
His facial features sagged in concern, his ears drooping. I slapped him in the chest, “And due to your stupid comment back at the dumpsters, I have also not eaten anything. So, add thirsty and hungry to the list. Thanks.”
Baxter clenched his jaw, and nodded, before checking around the corner.
“Once we do make it back into the Unders. We are going to have a bit of a jog through the streets to get to the lift. Do you believe Temple when he said someone is hunting us?”
I corrected him.
“Hunting me, and yes I believe him.” I took a deep breath. “I’m gonna need you to be top of your game when we get in, if we manage to skip any patrols. If I get tagged from a distance, then it’s not your fault. But if I get stabbed or something up close...”
He interrupted me, “Yeah, yeah. You should really invest in some modifications Don. You are a complete burden without them.”
“I would mandate from this point forward that you cease your verbal heresy for the duration of our partnership. I am suffering a minor setback in my personal health and just need to survive the day to get back to an unencumbered state. After that you may stay at home until you are needed again.” I laid the sarcasm as thick as I could.
Baxter gave me a flat stare.
“You are such a dinosaur.”
I returned a similar stare.
“You are wet behind the ears.”
He rolled his eyes and returned a look back around the corner to our target destination.
“Think you can handle a run? If we move fast, we might be able to skip a patrol. I am not seeing one.”
I nodded.
“Not much choice. Let’s move.”
We did.
I am not out of shape, but I felt the run by the time we made it to the barricades. I was almost excited that we made it. It was so close. My mood sank like a stone when a loudspeaker called for both of us to halt from a distant group Baxter thought we would miss. They noticed us. I ran as many excuses, and explanations regarding the weapons we were carrying as I could come up with.
Were it not for the distance we had to travel to get to the lift, I would have tossed the illegal weapons we were carrying somewhere. Unfortunately, that would have left us defenseless. As the guards approached, it was simply too late to get rid of the weapons without being noticed and I found it hard to believe I would be able to get a message to Tiara so she could bail us out.
I raised my hands, holding the Tech-10 in a non-threatening fashion. Baxter did the same with his rifle. The Order agents approached, all six of them, weapons ready, and focused on our position.
The man in front spoke loudly through the loudspeaker in his helmet, “Purpose outside the barricade?”
“Ugh… Passing through?”, I spoke hesitantly.
The guy stepped close and cocked his head to the side as he pulled a scanner pen from its sheath at his chest.
“ID Chips. Now.”
I closed my eyes and held my palm forward toward him. He scanned, and the scanner beeped. I took a deep breath and resolved myself to a prison sentence. There was no way I wouldn’t be doing time over the weapon I had in my hand. My job was over, and I would probably never see Baxter again, but at least there was a possibility that I would be placed in a section of prison where no one I had put in would recognize me.
The beacon in my back wouldn’t matter. Maybe Temple would have the whole situation resolved by the time I got out, and then I could just figure out what to do with myself afterwards.
Ginger would understand.
The leader snapped the pen back into its sheath on his chest, “Alright. About your business Detective Kenter.”
My heart may have jumped out of my throat as the guy about faced and rejoined his crew, all of which lowered their weapons and resumed their patrol. I caught myself before I asked the dumb question, What about our weapons? Baxter’s collar?! My brain did not compute.
Baxter leaned close and whispered.
“What the hell just happened?”
“How long till fate stops smiling Baxter?” I whispered back.
“Dunno, but we should probably not take up gambling anytime soon.”
I pushed him in the direction of the street, ushering him to get moving as we both watched the guards walk away. We walked in a hurried pace. While the guards, for reasons unknown, missed the rather obvious signs that we were up to no good (or ignored them); I figured it would be common sense to get out of the area as fast as possible.
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It bothered me a great deal as we walked through the street. I didn’t take half the notice I probably should have of the people we were passing, much less the environment we were traversing. I kept looking back to see if the patrols, or another Order patrol was enroute to fix the mistake or tail us. My conversation with Temple got my paranoia working overtime and I couldn’t make sense of the dismissal.
It pays to look like you have a place to go. People tend to adopt an aversive attitude if you act like you have a goal that does not include them. That attitude is likely also affected by the environment. The Underrails are the kind of place where smiles and goodwill can attract the wrong kind of attention. That or the openly brandished weapons we had were sufficiently intimidating.
Where most of the streets and avenues in the Rails and Mantle were identified as easily read numbers, the Underails identified them by name. The people of Porter’s Street seemed to have an acute awareness of how things worked in their sector of the district. They gave us our space or gave brief passing glances.
It was not a great neighborhood; rundown flats and abandoned shops and other struggling small businesses lined the road, most of which were packed tightly together with only a few alleys breaking up the blocks. The locals knew enough to avoid people looking for trouble or running from it. We made our way through the street, passing a few broken down, gutted, and generally non-functional vehicles.
Baxter remained alert.
“Couldn’t have picked a nicer route to the lift, could we?” I said snidely.
“Given circumstance, I figured shorter was better.”
I gave him a side look.
“Yeah, given circumstances…”
“You’re a dead man anyway, so why not take the shortest route?” He snapped his gaze to the left, ears perked.
I gave a deadpan look at the guy Baxter had noticed. He was wearing a long green coat and he almost brushed my shoulder as he passed. He had short hair, and dark reflective glasses that were built into the rig that made up half his fac. He ignored me and continued walking like he had a purpose. I cursed myself silently, realizing that I was not paying attention. He should never have been able to get that close.
“We could have at least made things a little difficult. Less people that way.” I refocused.
“You are hardly in any condition for a scenic route.” Baxter spoke pointedly. His attention was on something I was not aware of.
I shrugged and looked over my shoulder.
“Point taken.”
The guy with the shades who had just passed was now following us. He did not seem to care that he was noticed either. Between whatever Baxter had noticed, and my guy, it had become very clear that we needed an exit strategy and fast. I refused to believe that there was only one guy behind and one or two somewhere else. There must have been more, and if they were not already here, they would have been on their way.
Walking in the street was not going to help us stay alive.
My heart rate rose as the thoughts of dodging or taking bullets laser beamed my focus. The best chance was to strike first and use the opportunity to find cover. The only cover I could see, if we could make it, was a store several meters ahead.
“Any plans Don?” Baxter said over his shoulder.
I looked forward, keeping pace in hopes that it wouldn’t spur the people hunting us into action.
“Store on the right, one guy behind us.” I took a brief look back, and the one guy had become two guys, the new guy without shades, both now brandishing rifles.
“Two guys behind. Armed.”
“One across the street pacing us, and I am pretty certain there is someone keeping watch, second floor of that apartment a few yards in front past that store.” Baxter spoke over his shoulder again, keeping his eyes on what he had seen. He made a clicking sound through his teeth, “Yeah he has his weapon ready now.”
“Store.”
“Store.” Baxter affirmed.
I took a calming breath as we walked.
Preparing yourself for a violent death is probably one of the hardest things to do in my profession. You don’t have time to run enough scenarios through your brain to settle the flighty feeling in your stomach. It takes discipline; it takes focus, and a certain “inevitability” mindset. Having nothing else to lose is a great motivator to engage in activities that one would otherwise be averse to. The goal in and of itself is to convince yourself that whatever happens in the end is for the best.
I had an objective. I had to find Doctor Holste, and to do that I needed to reach the Mantle. Given the beacon in my back, I doubt there would be any alternative to getting there. While I did have things to lose, it was all or nothing.
No options.
Knowing that gave me everything I needed to focus on my current situation.
Deep breath.
One thing to be aware of was that many buildings in the Underrails were connected in one way or another. If the specific store in question did not have access to its surroundings, it would at least provide a base of cover from the folks outside. It would buy some more time to think of a plan B.
As it stood, we were only going to have time for plan A.
I hate not being able to plan ahead. I rarely get that opportunity in my profession. I get to make plans occasionally, but in most circumstances, I get to be reactionary. On the ground, in the thick, under heat; you only have instincts to help get ahead of problems before they occur. Our only hope was to take the initiative as best we could.
It was surprising that we managed to make our approach within twenty steps of the store.
We couldn’t wait anymore.
“Now!” I prompted.
Baxter leveled his rifle and released a burst of rounds that hit the man in the window of the apartment across the street. I snapped my shotgun around and took quick aim at the guy with the shades behind me. I had not fired a Tech-10 shotgun before, the illegal part helped with that. I did, however, read up on them. They were supposed to have a massive kick, and I would argue that Baxter probably should have been using it instead.
The gun boomed and despite the butt of the gun being pressed firmly against my shoulder. It pounded hard enough to bruise through my armor. The flechette from the casing ripped into Shades, knocking him to the ground. If he was not augmented, he would not have been getting up from that shot. I didn’t have time to properly assess his condition, but what I could glimpse was he looked devastated.
The store next to us was a pawn shop. It was run down and looked abandoned. The window was broken leading into what was left of a display, and the metal door was still up and barred. I broke into a sprint for the window.
Baxter had immediately followed his first burst with a second, taking out the guy across the street and he turned to head for the same window. I was about to make a leap into what was left of the glass, when a shot from the other guy behind us hit me in the shoulder. I was thrown into a spin and almost lost grip on the shotgun as I hit the ground in front of the store window. Baxter had already put his shoulder into what was left of the glass and threw himself through it.
It took me a moment to get my bearings and fortunately the guy who shot me must have thought he did the job. I didn’t have time to check myself for injury, and to the best of my knowledge, everything was working fine. As Baxter shouted my name, I scrambled to my feet and lunged through the window, a few more gunshots peppering the area as I passed through.
I hit the ground on the other side of the display, tumbling in the glass and debris. Fortunately, my duster and armored outfit prevented any skin contact with the stuff, or it could have been messy. Before I could stand up, Baxter pressed his hand hard against my chest forcing me to sit with my back against the knee-high wall of the display.
His face was grim, and his ears lay to the back of his head as he gave a stern look to my shoulder.
“Bullet busted the plates in your shoulder. I thought he hit you.”
“He did.” I grumbled.
His ears perked and he quickly pulled his rifle to bear, firing three controlled bursts out the window at his targets. Baxter threw his back against the wall to my right as bullets poured into the window tearing into the back wall of the shop and peppering both of us with particles from the wall we were using for cover.
“More of them!” Baxter shouted as the bullets continued to pour into the room.
I hunkered down where I was and shouted back.
“I noticed!”
The door to the left side of the store that was maybe fifteen feet away from me was kicked into the store a few seconds after the hail of bullets stopped. I tucked the shotgun to my shoulder and pulled the trigger. The guy moving in barely trained his rifle on Baxter before the flechette mulched his body. What was left became a spatter against the wall. I yelped in pain as the shotgun punched into my already tender shoulder.
“Damn it! Baxter, trade!”
I tossed him the Tech-10 and he tossed me the rifle. It felt much more comfortable by comparison to the rather large shotgun. I wasn’t familiar with the model unfortunately. Catching a quick peek out revealed at least three men ready to fire on sight. They did, and I flattened myself back to the ground in response.
As the bullets flew through the window, I pointed to the door.
Baxter nodded.
I assumed our assailants would continue to shoot at us until there was either no cover left, they received enough backup to just storm our holdout, or we ran out of ammo. There was no winning scenario in either of those situations, so a little risk would hopefully pay out a little reward. We were likely to run out of ammo first anyway.
Amidst a brief break in gun fire, I sprung up taking aim at the first gunmen I could see as I moved to the wall opposite Baxter. I had intended to give suppressive fire, only to discover why Baxter seemed to be firing only in short bursts.
The gun was only able to fire a few shots with each pull of the trigger. I didn’t have the time to figure out how to correct the issue or determine if it could be adjusted. I pulled the trigger a few more times ready to duck back into cover.
Baxter took the opportunity to make a break for the door. I followed, firing several more times as I moved. Baxter managed to take a gunman by surprise. He caught the gunman over his shoulder and bashed him against the wall in the hall. Before the guy could recover, Baxter slammed the butt of the shotgun into the guy’s jaw with a crushing blow. The gunman dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his hands and feet twitching as he slumped against the wall. I was certain he was dead, but if he lived through that attack, he was not going to be happy when he woke up.
Baxter shouted, “Clear!”
I passed through the door, gunfire following me as I rounded the corner. Baxter had his eye down the hall to our left. It led to an open doorway to the outside which would have put us right back into the area we had decided to escape from in the first place. There was another door about fifteen feet in the other direction with stairs leading up another twenty feet further down the hall.
Gamble number two.
Ground level meant we would inevitably find our way back to the street and could possibly end up in another dead end if the home or business did not have an intact escape out the back. Upstairs could lead us deeper into the complex and might even give us a bit of an advantage to deal with the gunmen as they gave chase. It could also give us less mobility as well.
I chose the stairs.
I moved quickly keeping the rifle aimed at the stairs as I did. Baxter fired a shot back at the door down the hall toward the exit as a gunman took aim from aside the doorway. The gunman pulled back out of sight as the flechette peppered the doorway. Baxter caught up with me quickly as I climbed the stairs. We climbed twenty stairs before reaching the first landing, and we rounded into another set of twenty before we were on the next floor and another hallway. The stairs continued spiraling up, and so I continued to climb them till we reached the third floor.
This was a residential segment of the building with two flats on either side. The wall of the hall had collapsed on the right, which fortunately for us was the direction we needed to go to make it to the lift. We hurried through; Baxter needed to hunch over to fit through. He kept watch over the hole as I assessed our options.
, “Baxter do you still have your PDA?”, I insisted as I unhooked my ammo belt from my waste, “Belts, quick!”
“Yeah, why?”, He looked confused as we traded belts.
“I need to make a call?”, I beckoned him to hand it to me and motioned for him to follow me.
He shrugged and unclipped his PDA from its sheath as I secured the new ammo belt around my waste.
The flat was about as big as mine, consisting of four rooms, with a master bedroom along the northeast wall. The living room led to a balcony overlooking the street, the wall had collapsed exposing the room to the outside, with a portion of the ceiling caved in. I took the PDA and attempted to sync it to my Mediband. Baxter snarled and fired his shotgun at a gunman that had made his way to the hole in the wall.
From where I stood, I could see that the balcony led to an alleyway with a roof on the other side. I clipped the PDA to my sheath and ran for the balcony. Baxter got the hint, firing twice more before following me.
There are dangerous things, and there are stupid things. Then there are dangerously stupid things. Given an unknown number of gunmen, a lack of potential ammo to accommodate said gunmen, and maybe an easy kilometer or so run to get to the lift station; I opted for the better part of valor and decided to work out a dangerously stupid escape.
I approached the balcony.
No time to look down, no time to gauge distance, and no time to think about how badly it would hurt if I missed the roof on the other side. I hoofed it as hard as I could and took up a piece of the wall that made a sort of ramp off what was left of the balcony’s railing. I placed my right foot as close as I could manage without slowing down and made my leap of faith.