Authors: Peter Cawdron
Tags: #science fiction dark, #detective, #cyber punk, #thriller action, #detective crime, #sci fi drama, #political adventure fiction book, #science fiction adventure, #cyberpunk books, #science fiction action adventure, #sci fi thriller, #science fiction time travel, #cyberpunk, #sci fi action, #sci fi, #science fiction action, #futuristic action thriller, #sci fi action adventure, #political authority, #political conspiracy
The Road to Hell (2 page)
“
No,” yelled Kane. “Not till he comes out of phase-shift.”
It was too late, a breeching charge exploded from the far wall sending a cloud of white smoke billowing through the room. Chunks of plaster and wood flew through the air.
Four police officers stormed the hotel room, pouring in through a five-foot hole in the wall. The targeting lights attached to the barrel of each gun lit up the smoke like laser beams. As soon as they entered the room they were attacked. The first officer appeared to be dragged down into the mist swirling around the room, while the second found himself hurled out through the open window. The crack of gunfire echoed around the hotel.
“
The door was locked,” cried Johnson. “How the hell did he get in?”
“
He came in through the hole you just blew in the wall,” replied Kane.
“
But he was in there before we blew the wall.”
“
You fool. I told you to wait. He’s moving in four dimensions, not three.”
On the monitor, a dark shadow moved in a blur, weaving across the opening, cutting down the remaining two officers before they could react. Then there was silence, followed by cries resounding from the far room where the secondary assault team lay in wait. As the screaming subsided the dark image of a man appeared in the midst of the smoky haze. Slowly, he stepped back into the room and over toward the dead woman.
“
Pull back, pull back,” cried Johnson.
There was no reply, only the crackle of static coming in over the airwaves.
“
It’s too late,” said Kane. “They’re all dead.”
On the muted screen, Artemis stood silently over Olivia. His hand reached down and touched hers, his fingers slowly clasping her cold, dead hand. He seemed lost in thought, his head bowed. The still silence was surreal following such a flurry of violence.
Artemis wiped tears from his eyes. He knelt down, with his head just inches from her, whispering something into her ear, clasping her hand in his and warming her fingers.
She moved.
At first, there was nothing, but slowly, her left hand, still lying on the mattress, twitched. Then her head rolled toward the wall and she blinked, squinting as though she were being roused from a deep sleep. She rose up on one side, aching in pain, reaching gently around to touch her back. Feeling the cold, she wrapped herself in the cloak and turned to face Artemis, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
“
That’s just not possible,” cried Agent Johnson. “She’s dead. I saw her die. That’s impossible.”
“
It’s not impossible,” replied Kane, realising the moment was gone, “only improbable.”
With that, the two figures on the small monitor disappeared from sight, slowly blending in with the shadows, fading into the mist around them.
Harrison looked at the young woman standing in front of his desk. Her punk haircut complete with pink spikes, safety-pin earring and nose-stud made her look like any of the other ladies of the night on the south side. But her clothes were too clean, her face was too pretty. There weren’t any bruises or scratches and she didn’t have the deep-set eyes of a drugged-up whore. Her lipstick was too sharp, placed with care rather than out of duty. And her mini-skirt, though provocative, wasn’t torn or stained. Overall, though, Harrison thought, pretty convincing.
“
What do you want?” he asked, pretending he wasn’t paying her any attention, flicking through a folder on his desk. The folder contained three overdue vid-phone bills, but she didn’t know that. For all she knew, he was looking at a case file.
“
I… I need you to find someone for me,” the young woman said sheepishly.
“
Down the hall, second on the left. Casey’s a private dick. He’ll find your boy.”
The young girl just stood there, lost for words.
“
This ain’t the Pound, lady. I don’t do lost and found.”
Harrison kicked his genuine leather cowboy boots up on the desk, leaned back in his wooden-framed chair and puffed on a cigar. Those boots cost him a small fortune, he reminded himself, it was nice to show them off. Light streamed in through the thick wooden shutters covering the windows. Smoke hung in the air, clouding the dark musty room.
“
They told me to see you. They told me I could trust you.”
“
Trust” replied Harrison, playing the game. “Trust is a big word for a hooker. If we’re going to talk about trust you’re going to have to stop lying to me. Why the façade? Why the disguise?”
“
I had to be sure I wasn’t being followed.”
“
Weren’t being followed,” Harrison cried out in amazement, taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward with a grin breaking out over his scarred face. “Dressed like that, I’m surprised you made it to my door. You’re fresh meat, lady. Too clean-cut to be on these streets. Easy pickings for anyone with an axe.”
He picked up an empty bourbon bottle and knocked back the last dregs of whiskey in it, savouring every last drop.
“
So who have you led to this fine establishment?” He asked with a smile.
“
What?” The young woman replied, not understanding his question.
A deep, feminine voice spoke from somewhere behind her with a strong Southern drawl. “Who followed you here, Honey?”
The young girl turned and saw an overweight African-American woman standing in the darkened office doorway behind her.
“
You see, Rosie, here,” began Harrison, “she’s my secretary. And she gets mighty jealous when I start flirting with pretty young things without a name, without an appointment and without a credible story.”
“
My name’s Susan Labree.”
“
And…” said Rosie impatiently, her hands settling on her oversized hips.
“
I’m from section 7-G.”
“
We could have guessed that,” replied Harrison.
“
I need to find my sister, Olivia Labree.”
“
Forget your sister,” said Rosie. “Who are you hiding from? Who’s following you and why?”
“
Because whoever it is” added Harrison, clenching his cigar between his teeth as he spoke, “they’re about to come through that door and I need to know whether to kiss’em or kill’em.”
“
The police-” began Susan.
“
You brought the cops here?” cried Harrison, pulling the cigar from his mouth and jumping to his feet. “Shit, girl. You’re even dumber than you look. Rosie, are you picking anything up on the scanner?”
“
Gimme a moment, boss.”
Rosie flicked open a handheld computer. A semi-transparent hologram appeared before her, suspended in the air, showing a three-dimensional map of the sector.
“
Nothing. No transponders within five city blocks.”
Harrison grabbed his trench coat and hat, adding, “so either they’re still asleep and our girl’s slipped through the net or we’re up against Special Branch.”
“
I… I don’t understand,” said Susan.
“
I’ve got a dump truck out front,” said Rosie, looking intently at all the activity within the holographic scan.
“
Yeah, but the garbage was picked up yesterday,” replied Harrison pulling a handgun from his desk draw, checking it was loaded and shoving it up behind his jacket and into the small of his back.
“
What are you going to do?”
“
If the police are coming this far south,” replied Harrison chewing on his cigar, “they’re coming in force. And it ain’t to hand out good conduct medals.”
“
You want me to frag the drives?” asked Rosie.
“
Nah. They’re after the girl, not us. But they’re going to want to know why we’re mixed up in all this, and it’s going to be painful to convince them we’re as stupid as we really are. Goddamn it, I hate this crap.”
Harrison grabbed a couple of packets of ammo from behind a picture frame on the bookcase and shoved them into the deep pockets in his trench coat. The picture tumbled down onto the floor, but he barely noticed.
Rosie punched a few buttons on her handheld computer and the coloured hologram switched to a transparent image of the building.
“
I’ve got four in the alley, two coming in the front, and it looks like there’s at least three flyers out there with mobile jammers.”
“
Yeah, plus probably a couple of dozen circling up in the clouds just itching to spill some blood. Rosie, lock everything down and get the hell out of here. I’ll take the girl and make a run for it, try to draw them away from the office. The last thing we need is renovations.”
“
Damn, you’re not going to like this, boss,” said Rosie, “I’ve got a visual ID on Kane. He’s out the front, walking toward the building.”
“
Frack
,” cried Harrison, grabbing an old fashion pump-action shotgun and a box of shells from the cupboard. He grabbed Susan by the arm and pushed her out into the hallway, saying, “I don’t know what the hell you’ve done but you’ve pissed off some seriously important people.”
The sound of heavy boots pounded up the stairs below.
Susan tripped as Harrison dragged her down the hallway away from the main stairwell. Her stiletto shoes weren’t designed for running; they weren’t designed for anything at all other than standing around and looking gorgeous. Shuffling and stumbling her way along behind him, she managed to slip out of her high-heels and ran barefoot beside him.
At the end of the hall, Harrison turned to see a plain-clothes officer coming around the far corner with his blaster drawn.
“
Get your head down, girl.”
Shots rang out from both men. Shooting from the hip, Harrison fired his shotgun up above the officer at the sprinklers on the ceiling. The buckshot tore through the plaster into the antiquated fire suppression system. Thick foam shot out of all five sprinkler points along the hallway coating the floor and walls, making it impossible for the officer to see them clearly or to move quickly.
“
My name is Susan,” the young woman protested, still reeling from the sound of the shotgun going off in a confined space.
“
Yeah, and I’m Dick Tracey,” replied Harrison pumping the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell and loading another.
A shadow moved across the outside window beside them.
“
Stay down,” yelled Harrison, pushing her away as a uniformed officer wearing a jet pack flew down from above.
A single pulse wave shattered the window, sending glass flying inward. Harrison flinched, hunching his shoulders as the blast wave ripped through the air just inches from his back. He knew it was pointless. His reaction time was nothing compared to a plasma bolt moving at sub-light speed but it was instinctive. Somehow it made him feel like he’d dodged the blast instead of it narrowly missing.
Harrison fired back. The blast from his shotgun hit the officer in the chest. Although the shot was absorbed by the officer’s body armour, the impact caused him to spin out of control down and away from the window.
Steam rose from the back of Harrison’s jacket. The smell of burnt leather provided a not-so-subtle reminder of just how close that shot came to tearing him apart.
“
Girl, get your skinny ass moving,” yelled Harrison, pushing the young woman through an open fire door leading to the rear stairwell.
“
My name is Susan,” she cried again, stumbling down two flights of stairs toward the ground floor. Harrison followed hard behind her.
“
Now is not the time,” yelled Harrison, pounding down the stairs after her. “Tell someone who cares.”
With that, he pushed her out on to the factory floor of an African sweatshop.
“
What are you doing,” cried Susan as she sprawled out on the floor.
“
Hey,” said Harrison, loading another couple of shells into the breech of the shotgun as he looked around the busy factory floor. “If you want to lay a complaint, wait here. I’m sure the cops will be happy to take a statement from you.”
Steam shot out from a press beside the door. Illegal Moroccan immigrants scurried everywhere, hearing the sirens and thinking they were the targets of a police raid. Above them, huge robotic arms carried bundles of clothing across the ceiling. Large rotary tumble-driers sat against the far wall turning over tonnes of counterfeit-brand clothing. The whole floor was a sea of noise and confusion but, hey, thought Harrison, that’s why he had his office here in the first place. It was perfect for evading drug runners and the occasional cheating husband that wanted to take his frustrations out on the sweet lady’s private eye.
Harrison didn’t waste any time. He knew the layout like the back of his hand. Susan grabbed her handbag from the floor and charged off after him calling out, “Wait! Wait for me.”
Uniformed police poured into the factory floor and began fanning out between the rows of robotic knitting machines, bulk presses and industrial silk spindles. Ducking and weaving between the aisles, Harrison kept his head low, staying out of sight. Automated cleaners and other robotic serfs rolled by, tending to spilt fluids and other menial tasks. The smell of formaldehyde and chlorine hung in the air. Harrison slipped a few more shells into the shotgun, loading the magazine to the full.
“
Why don’t you use a blaster?” Susan whispered, coming up behind him.
“
Because I don’t want to be hunted down like a wild dog for killing a cop.”
Harrison peered around the corner, checking to see if the coast was clear.
“
This baby gives them a little bit to think about in the morning, but doesn’t piss them off so bad they want me hung, drawn and quartered.”
Darting across a small alley, the two fugitives moved into a storage area within the factory. Row upon row of packaged clothing reached up to the warehouse ceiling some forty feet above.
“
Rosie, where are you?” whispered Harrison into his wristwatch communicator.
There was no reply.
Harrison jogged to the end of the row and peered around another corner, looking out across the main aisle dividing the factory in two. Large automated carts rumbled past following electromagnetic strips laid out like railway lines on the bleached concrete floor. Between the constant movement of robotic helpers in the distance, Harrison caught sight of someone in a black trench coat walking slowly through the factory, a blaster hanging from his right hand.
“
Kane,” said Harrison softly. “This is going from bad to worse.”
