Authors: Walter Greatshell
Mad Skills (25 page)
In the glare of the cresting sun, Maddy saw the van pulling out of the parking lot. It was one of the silver vans from Braintree, there was no doubt about it—she recognized that stylized banyan-tree logo immediately. The driver wasn’t visible, but Maddy had no doubt that Dr. Stevens, and probably Ben, were inside. The van was pulling out of the parking lot, turning onto the street—she didn’t have much time if she wanted to catch them.
There were a lot of people around, but their attention was mostly focused on the evacuation of the hospital. One by one, the newborns were being brought out, triggering cheers and applause from the onlookers. The media people were all over this feel-good story, not only on the ground but in circling helicopters. Nobody, not even the cops, had noticed the massacre in the mobile command unit.
Maddy didn’t want to be around when they did. Searching for a means of transportation, she went down the rows of cars, checking doors, until she happened upon an unlocked Mercury Monarch in the long-term parking section. Weather-beaten to a blotchy shade of gray, the car was at least twenty years old and probably worthless. She couldn’t imagine anyone raising much of a stink if it disappeared. Plus, it had no antitheft system. She got in.
Maddy stared at the ignition. Hmm. She could picture exactly how it worked mechanically, the problem was getting at it. She needed a tool of some kind. There was nothing in the car except for a thick wad of maps and a lot of fast-food refuse. Popping the trunk lid, she checked to make sure nobody was looking and scurried around back. The trunk was full of boxes, and it took her a second to realize that the Braintree logo was stamped on the lids. What the hell … ? Inside were cases of small, heavy cylinders wrapped in black plastic. The labels read: PTIAG INSULATED BIMETALLIC ELECTRODES. They resembled fishing reels, and were in fact spools of wire. Millions of dollars’ worth of microthin conductive wire—the very same wire that was inside her head. The wire that was supposedly stolen from Braintree.
This was the thieves’ car!
This was the thieves’ car!
But there was no time to think about that now. Underneath the boxes she hit pay dirt: a bald spare tire, a jack, jumper cables, and a collection of rusty tools. Perfect. She grabbed a big monkey wrench and a screwdriver, then returned to the front seat.
Placing the screwdriver into the starter switch, she used the wrench as a hammer to bash it in good, busting the locking pin and nearly busting her thumb in the process. Sucking the throbbing nail, she turned the screwdriver to close the electrical circuit. With a clatter, the engine started right up.
This was kind of exciting. Maddy had her learner’s permit, but she hadn’t driven in over a year, not since before the accident, and even then her actual driving experience had been mostly limited to a few squeamish circuits around the mall parking lot. Her time behind the wheel could be readily computed in minutes and seconds, the way skydivers measure their time in free fall. Her parents weren’t big on teen driving. In their neighborhood, there had been a number of deadly accidents involving underage drinking, and they weren’t taking any chances. She could get a car when she turned eighteen.
Look Ma, I’m drivin’!
Maddy backed out of the space, testing the play in the wheel and the response of the pedals. It really was a shit-box; she could hear every loose fitting in the old V-6, but somehow there was something special about driving it, a feeling that even flying the helicopter couldn’t match. She had been too busy to enjoy that experience, just going through the motions as necessity indicated, and afterward her mind had barely retained the memory of flight. It all seemed like a bizarre nightmare, nothing fun about it. But this was
driving a car
.
driving a car
.
Pulling onto the street, she turned in the direction the van had taken. It was out of sight now, but since Dr. Stevens probably had little reason to think she was being followed, it shouldn’t be hard to find. Maddy hoped. Reasoning that every cop for a hundred miles was tied up in that parking lot, she hit the gas.
“Nice work, killer,” said a voice from the backseat. It was the raccoon. He was belted into a baby carrier and clutching a live earthworm—a big night crawler.
“Holy crap,” she said. “Do you have to keep sneaking up on me like that? God!”
“Hey, you should be thanking me, Princess. How many times am I going to have to keep bailing you out?”
“Why? Isn’t that your whole purpose?”
“Depends. You just killed
people
, honey.” Moses’s voice strained as she swerved around a truck. “Whoa. Don’t you even care?”
people
, honey.” Moses’s voice strained as she swerved around a truck. “Whoa. Don’t you even care?”
“Of course I care!”
“No, you don’t.” He ate the worm headfirst, munching rapidly.
Maddy looked away from the mirror. “Yes, I do.”
“Then why aren’t you more upset?”
“Because it wasn’t me back there. It was Braintree. They made me do it.”
“That’s just an excuse. You’re killing because you can. If you could have done it before your little upgrade, you would have. Many times. I’m not sure I should even be helping you. You’re a cold-blooded murderer. Murderess.”
“No I’m not—shut up! It was self-defense.”
“You could have escaped without killing them … if you’d really wanted to.”
“Not without taking a bigger risk.”
“So it’s all about playing it safe?”
“Yes! Maybe. So what?”
“Just asking.”
Barreling down the main drag, blowing through all the cross streets and stoplights in favor of the fastest route back to the highway, Maddy spotted the van.
Gotcha.
It was easy to see, its silver finish gleaming brightly in the morning sun. There was very little other traffic at that time of the morning.
Gotcha.
It was easy to see, its silver finish gleaming brightly in the morning sun. There was very little other traffic at that time of the morning.
Now what, genius?
It would be easy enough to nudge the van into a spin—the dynamics of that classic police maneuver were very simple to figure out. The problem was, there was no telling how the other driver might react, and if he or she was stupid, the van could crash or flip over. This wasn’t a game of billiards—if Ben really was in there, he could be killed.
No, she would have to disable the van so that it stopped on its own, which would be tricky since the big vehicle was quite a bit newer and more powerful than her clunker. And what then? She was leery of more hand-to-hand combat. The very thought of it suddenly made her sick. Moses was right: She couldn’t just kill everybody who got in her way, even if they were trying to kill her.
I have to be the good guy.
It was a worrisome prospect, but at least this time she had the advantage of surprise, the sun at her back. In the glare, they wouldn’t notice her approach until it was too late. Perhaps she could avoid violence altogether. The firemen were dead, and Dr. Stevens was certainly in no condition to fight.
I have to be the good guy.
It was a worrisome prospect, but at least this time she had the advantage of surprise, the sun at her back. In the glare, they wouldn’t notice her approach until it was too late. Perhaps she could avoid violence altogether. The firemen were dead, and Dr. Stevens was certainly in no condition to fight.
It was a nice thought, as hopeful as it was brief. As Maddy advanced on the other vehicle, two police cruisers suddenly swooped in from a cross street, blocking her car between them. They had been waiting in ambush. Flashing their lights and blurping their sirens, they forced her to slow down as the van accelerated away.
But Maddy refused to lose Ben again. Flooring it, she simultaneously spun the wheel 180 degrees, clipping the car in front with a lateral glancing blow, then a hip check that spun it into an oncoming bus. The Mercury spun the opposite way, tires smoking, and as the second cruiser came up, Maddy allowed it to bump her so that she completed her spin, describing a full circle and rocketing forward once more.
Suddenly, her windshield crazed and blew in.
Oh shit!
Stung by bits of safety glass, Maddy dropped to the floor and slammed on the brake with her left knee, the old car fishtailing out of control for a second until she was able to grab the rearview mirror off the seat and hold it up like a periscope. As the police car tried to jam her in, she punched the reverse and peeled clear, then shot forward into the lane again, bullets knocking out the rest of her windows and thumping into the upholstery.
Oh shit!
Stung by bits of safety glass, Maddy dropped to the floor and slammed on the brake with her left knee, the old car fishtailing out of control for a second until she was able to grab the rearview mirror off the seat and hold it up like a periscope. As the police car tried to jam her in, she punched the reverse and peeled clear, then shot forward into the lane again, bullets knocking out the rest of her windows and thumping into the upholstery.
Staying crouched below the dashboard, operating the pedals with her knees, steering by the reflection in a cracked mirror, she drove like a bat out of Hell. People witnessing the chase were astonished by the sight of a car without a driver, but to Maddy it was not so remarkable. She was only frustrated that the car couldn’t go any faster. With no view of the speedometer, she had no idea she was pushing a hundred in a 25mph zone.
The cops were right there with her, trying to blow out her tires. Maddy juked and jived to keep them off her, but their car was some kind of souped-up V-8 police special, and hers was a pile of junk. Bullets pelted the Merc, making a sound that reminded Maddy of squirrels dropping horse chestnuts on the tin roof of the garden shed. Stuff was flying every which way, chunks of foam rubber and door paneling. Her sad little engine was about to explode.
All right, then.
With the police car bearing down hard, Maddy abruptly jumped the curb and sideswiped a row of parked motorcycles, deflecting them into the cruiser’s path. She hated motorcyclists anyway, noisy jerks always drag racing down her street late at night and setting off the car alarms. Well, these hogs would never bother anyone again. They tumbled and spun and came to pieces all over the road, so that the patrol vehicle couldn’t avoid them all. Brakes squealing, it plowed into a big one, a customized Harley outfitted with straight pipes, which flew up over the cruiser’s hood and peeled back half its roof. The motorcycle’s chrome chassis landed in the backseat, spewing gasoline from its ruptured teardrop tank. The cops barely leaped clear before their car careened wildly into an empty sports bar, taking out the kitchen and severing all the gas lines. The explosion was spectacular.
With the police car bearing down hard, Maddy abruptly jumped the curb and sideswiped a row of parked motorcycles, deflecting them into the cruiser’s path. She hated motorcyclists anyway, noisy jerks always drag racing down her street late at night and setting off the car alarms. Well, these hogs would never bother anyone again. They tumbled and spun and came to pieces all over the road, so that the patrol vehicle couldn’t avoid them all. Brakes squealing, it plowed into a big one, a customized Harley outfitted with straight pipes, which flew up over the cruiser’s hood and peeled back half its roof. The motorcycle’s chrome chassis landed in the backseat, spewing gasoline from its ruptured teardrop tank. The cops barely leaped clear before their car careened wildly into an empty sports bar, taking out the kitchen and severing all the gas lines. The explosion was spectacular.
Maddy missed all the fireworks, focusing on the speeding van. The highway on-ramp was coming up fast, and both of them were racing for it. There were no more police in sight, but Maddy didn’t even bother to get up on the seat—she felt safer down underneath, so close to the engine. Like part of the car. The Mercury was her body, its metal chassis alive with sensation, and she its brain.
As the other vehicle slowed to take the ramp, Maddy accelerated. This was it.
Swerving alongside, she impatiently bumped the van in the right quarter—a gentle tap, hardly more than a nudge, that sent it flying over the grass embankment into a marshy sump. Ducks scattered, quacking furiously.
Maddy braked hard and backed onto the grass. She hoped someone would appear waving a gun so she could smash them flat. She was not hysterical. She was remarkably calm, in fact, but she was tired and fed up and wanted all this to be over.
No one appeared. The sight of the disabled van reminded her of the other one, the one she had blown up. Ben’s van. Hearing sirens in the distance, she took the screwdriver and the big monkey wrench and got out of the car.
Making her way down the steep slope, following the van’s wake through the cattails, she called, “Ben! I’m here! Say something if you can talk.”
There was no reply. Trying the rear cargo doors, she found them locked, and worked her way through the reeds to the driver’s side. That door was ajar. There were smears of blood on it, and traces on the grass.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hi there,” said a muffled voice from behind.
It was a doctor—one of the tall, masked surgeons Maddy had seen with Dr. Stevens. The man was standing in the reeds like some kind of weird sentinel, his eyes black slits in a fish-belly white face, leering at her with prurient intensity. There was something funny about the shape of his head. It was sort of … lopsided. Asymmetrical. His nose was bloodied from the crash, and the hem of his blue gown was stained with mud. In his rubber-gloved hands was an alarming pair of cutting shears.
“I’m just here to take Ben,” she said. “Don’t try to stop me, and you won’t get hurt.”
The man didn’t move or say anything, and she warily stole a glance into the van. Empty.
Shit.
Shit.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “What have you done with him?”
But she already knew; Ben had never been there at all. The van was a decoy. They had tricked her.
The doctor shrugged. Not a sincere shrug, but a buffoonish pantomime of a shrug, palms raised to the heavens.
Oy. What are you gonna do?
Oy. What are you gonna do?
“Let me by,” she said.
He just stared.
“Let me by, or I’ll have to hurt you.”
It was like talking to a wall.
All right, then.
She went for him.
All right, then.
She went for him.
Her arms were tired, and her whole body hurt, but as she advanced. Maddy slipped right back into action mode, or what she was beginning to think of as “going turbo.” It required nothing on her part but to hop aboard—it would have been more of an effort to refuse, not to mention a lot scarier.
As the doctor raised his shears, she pinwheeled the heavy wrench, working up enough centrifugal force to take him out with one blow.
Sorry, jerkwad!
But as she batted his blades aside and lunged forward, the man was quicker, fluidly sidestepping her blow and catching the wrench on its downswing, using its own momentum to tear it from her grip.
Sorry, jerkwad!
But as she batted his blades aside and lunged forward, the man was quicker, fluidly sidestepping her blow and catching the wrench on its downswing, using its own momentum to tear it from her grip.
“No way,” she gasped.
Vectors realigning, she drove one foot into his knee, the other into his groin, and pushed off, catching the shears handle under her arm and stripping him of it as she vaulted backward.
My turn.
Rolling to her feet, she held up the long-bladed scissors, and said, “Nice—what do you use these things for?”
My turn.
Rolling to her feet, she held up the long-bladed scissors, and said, “Nice—what do you use these things for?”
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