Authors: Ren Warom
The cars collected about the limo’s flanks spin away, leaving huge gaps. She’s about to scream at Puss to get them the hell out of here when trucks roar through the chaos of vehicles, blocking them in again. She doesn’t know these trucks. Black, featureless, and bristling with gun ports. On two of them, pointing upward from the roof, sit makeshift EMP devices. Who has EMP devices? Twist does. Probably the Harmonys too.
Amiga closes her eyes for a second. There’s nothing like finding yourself in even deeper shit when you imagined you were in the deepest shit you could find. Still, she’s well beyond panic at this point. Her friends are dead. Shock is basically dead too, considering there’s no way she can get him to safety. And now she’s dead herself, something she expected to happen sooner rather than later even before this shit tsunami hit. The fact that she’s breathing makes no difference. It’s semantics. All she wishes for is a weapon. To give these bastards a little pain before they neutralize her. But her pack is in the footwell and her arms around Shock.
One of the trucks pulls alongside, its side door sliding open. Not one to face her end with anything like fear, Amiga turns with a snarl to take it head on, and there’s Deuce, grinning at her, a gun rested on his thighs. Next to him is Ravi, waving, his moustaches plastered back against his cheeks.
Amiga!
He yells into her IM cheerfully.
We know you can see us! Is there any way we can get the Haunt across here? Or should you and I swap places?
She’s got no words. None. They’re alive. They’re alive and they couldn’t even send a swift IM to let her know. She could simultaneously shoot and hug the lot of them. Struggling under a metric tonne of relief-rage she weighs up the outcomes, aware Shock’s time is all but run out. He can’t be moved, but she finds herself reluctant to let go of him. Seems when she picks a side her conscience takes it deadly serious.
She has a swift internal word. If she doesn’t let go and allow Ravi to take her place, Shock will die, and what difference will she have made then? What change? Murderer to murderer is not what she had in mind.
You take my place. He won’t survive being moved.
She turns to Puss.
I need you to hold him steady whilst I swap places with my friend. Can you do that and drive?
I’m a haptic hologram IRL. I can’t hold him at all.
But… you’re holding the wheel. Shark
ate
people
.
No. I’m
appearing
to for your comfort. And Shark didn’t eat people, he mauled them. I am, however, not Shark. He can use nervous systems against people. I cannot. I am not built for offensive manoeuvres.
Fuck. So how do we do this?
Carefully
, Puss replies. As if it’s obvious.
Amiga nudges the belt button to loose the harness, and moves Shock over between her and Puss. There’s no way to belt him in, so she opts for moving fast, shoving open the door and throwing herself at Deuce, hoping no bullets make it through the Hornet’s covering fire. Deuce grabs her out of the air. Her legs hit the side of the truck as he hauls her in and she bites back a scream. She’d all but forgotten her thigh. Ravi claps a hand on her shoulder.
“Closer in,” he yells to whoever’s driving, and throws his bag across as they veer in toward the limo.
Perching on the edge, he times it perfectly, leaping across the gap. Catching his body on the door he pulls it shut behind him as he ducks inside, his attention already on Shock. If anyone can save that boy, Ravi can. The limo shakes violently under what must be an attempted Shark attack. Amiga’s horrified at herself.
“I forgot to warn him about the avis,” she gasps.
“He’ll be all right,” Deuce snaps, and she looks up, wondering what the heck bit his arse. Ah. He’s got his hands on her leg, undoing the blood-soaked rag of shirt she used as a tourniquet, his face a potent mixture of worry and rage. “Look at this fucking mess,” he says. “Jesus, Amiga, it’s gone right through. When were you going to let us know you’d been hit?”
“When were you going to let me know you were alive?” she snaps back.
He glares at her, as if there’s no comparison. Fuck that shit, and fuck him. He has no idea. She returns the glare, refusing to wince as he shoves in a foam gun and packs the wound on each side. He pushes her leg away from him.
“If you didn’t constantly underestimate us,” he says viciously, grabbing something from the bag behind him and half-throwing it into her lap, “you’d have known we’d be coming for you. No matter what.”
“Word, girl,” Vivid chimes in from one of the gun-slots. “What exactly do you think we are? Hobbyists? We’re J-Hacks, sweetie. Nothing about our lives is
safe
.”
Nothing to say to that. It’s truth. Amiga’s lived with these guys for over two years, but she’s not
lived
with them. Thanks to her involvement with Twist they’ve had to hold her out of most of what they do, for their own safety. Helping with the drone was one of the few times she’s been able to join in. It’s not like they didn’t give her the chance to choose who to work with right from the beginning. They did. Deuce did. She chose wrong, let her fear talk for her, let old habits prevail.
Thing is, she’s always been convinced that this couldn’t last, so she went out of her way to prove it. Probably too late to fix that now really, but having quite literally burnt her bridges with Twist, and happily so, it’s good to know the last thing she does will be alongside them. A fitting end. One she probably doesn’t deserve, which makes it all the more precious.
Amiga looks down at her lap. The object Deuce threw is a compact silver oblong edged in black. Her new crossbow. Well holy hallelujah! It’s a beautiful thing. Lethal. Fires titanium bolts from tight-packed, 200-capacity clips; single, multiple, arrayed or targeted. There’s no clip in the bow, so she rifles in the bag, hoping to fuck Janosz remembered to include them. He does not disappoint. A quick count comes to thirty clips. That’s a fuckload of ammo.
Flipping the bow open with her thumb, she slams in one clip, shoves two in her belt and takes up position at an unmanned slot; finally able to scope the trouble brewing at their rear with intent and boy does it feel orgasmic. Part of her, the part that still sort of belongs to her life as a Cleaner, tries to use this. Tell her that killing is all she’s good for, all she is. Maybe for the first time ever, Amiga ignores it. Killing does not have to make you a killer. That’s a choice you make, and she’s been making the wrong one all along.
The gang troops behind are all muddled in together, an occurrence so rare she almost gives it a minute of silence. She recognizes members of Yang’s troops, the Grey Cartel, and the Dengway Mafia amongst the rabble. No more or less than she expected. None of Twist’s people are present, and none of the Harmonys’ either, which means they’re hanging back, waiting for the right moment to attack. She’d do the same for sure; use the competition as the front line. Let them take all the fire. Wait until ammo and energy is low, then hit hard and fast with everything you’ve got.
Taking her time, judging each shot, Amiga cherry-picks familiar faces, people she definitely doesn’t want at her back if they’re heading into yet more danger. Done dealing with them, she takes a moment to reach up and pull off the goggles, handing them to Deuce, glad to have gotten them back to him. That he’s alive to give them to. Her intention to keep them has evaporated under those things. Probably she’d never have kept them anyway.
Probably
.
“You stole my goggles?”
“Borrowed.”
He sighs. “Right. Borrowed.”
“Figured you could use them back now.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, turning back to his post. Has he run out of patience with her at last? She’s been coasting on the certainty it’ll never happen when he’s only human, and she’s pushed him further than anyone she knows. Even now, long after dumping him, when he’s in a new relationship he should be able to focus on, she’s pushed and prodded at his limits. Fuck. He must hate her.
Deep down, she thought she wanted that. Thought it would be easier. It’s not. Heart in her throat, Amiga concentrates on firing, but with each hit her throat tightens, threatening tears, the very last thing she needs.
Taking heavy fire, they move onto a main district freeway. They’re more open here, more vulnerable to attack from side roads and junctions. Amiga tries to keep eyes both behind and ahead, but it’s impossible, and seemingly out of nowhere, tyres shrieking, dozens of new vehicles slam into them.
Two of the Hornet’s trucks careen out of control, falling behind and crashing through the trail of cars at their rear. Explosions like chain reactions follow in their wake. At the wheel, Raid, a Hornet Amiga barely knows, fights to keep their truck under control and stop it from running into the limo, where Ravi’s still trying to save Shock.
With nothing to hold onto, KJ is thrown away from his console at the second impact. He hits the side of the truck and falls into Vivid’s lap, out cold. The only other truck with EMP capability is now a fireball and the drones, realizing the threat is gone, swoop in and begin peppering them with laser fire from above.
Hanging on to the slot next to hers for stability, Amiga fires back at them, clinical shots aimed straight at their ocular processes. Bullets won’t damage the reinforced carapaces much but her crossbow bolts slam right through minute eye-screens, tearing out huge chunks of vital hardware as they exit. She takes out eight drones in swift succession and, as they spiral out of control, the rest fall back. Smart tech indeed. Or else the Queens have called them off.
Take that, you bitches
, she thinks, hoping they hear it somehow.
Their earlier pursuers have fallen back too, though they’re still firing intermittently. Mostly they’re waiting. What do they know that she doesn’t? Amiga runs a swift visual check on the remaining Hornet trucks. They’re riddled with bullet scars and dents from impacts, and five out of seven bear long melted runnels from drone laser fire. At least two of them are running on tyres trying to self-heal significant hits, and the newcomers are herding in close, keeping the Hornet formation tight.
She can’t see who these newcomers are, all of their trucks are as dark as these, with blackened glass, and no one’s firing. That worries her, especially with the others hanging back. Unbidden, the thought occurs that the Hornets had to carry EVaC out of Jong-Phu. Where is he now? Is he in one of those fireballs behind them? There are members of the Hornets she’s never met, and losing them before she’s had the chance is bad enough. Losing him though…
“Tell me EVaC isn’t in the middle of this,” she shouts over at Deuce, her heart actually aching.
“Of course he’s fucking not. We sent him in another direction, with some of the n00bs. He’s almost at Shin, almost safe. How the fuck we gonna get there?”
Helpless, she shakes her head.
“Don’t know. Any word from Ravi on Shock?”
“None. Reckon he’s too busy for updates.”
“Sorry about this,” she blurts out. “It’s my fault. Should’ve kept you all out of it.”
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he snaps. “You’re family, Amiga. If I found out you got yourself into this kind of shit and didn’t ask for our help, I’d come kill you my fucking self.”
“You could try,” her smart mouth whips out before she can catch it, and he smiles. Properly.
Jeez but it’s good to see him smile like that so soon after she thought she’d lost the right. Funny how happy his death threat made her as well. Probably down to the fact he doesn’t mean a word of it. These Hornets of hers are tough as hell, but they’re not killers. They’re the only people she knows who wouldn’t kill her without blinking. There’s safety in that. A safety she thought she didn’t want, because it felt too raw, too personal, too
intimate
. She was kidding herself. She not only wants it, she needs it. Knew it as soon as she thought she’d lost them.
The end of the freeway looms, the road narrowing to two lanes. Metal screams as the surrounding echelon slams inward in concert, and they go into a sideways skid, belching black smoke as they burn rubber on the road. Vivid, busy supporting the unconscious KJ loses hold of her firing slot and Amiga grabs for her jacket before she’s thrown against the other side of the truck.
Across from her, Deuce skids on his arse, legs akimbo, into the front seats, wrapping his arms around the back of the passenger seat as Raid and the other drivers swerve madly to steer clear of the limo. This is what was planned, crash the Hornets, single out the limo.
Get the hell out of here!
Amiga screams at Puss as the trucks slide on, colliding with each other to keep out of the limo’s way.
“Raid!” she yells, her right hand aching as she hangs on to the nearest slot, pulled by the doubled weight of Vivid and KJ. “Don’t let any of those fuckers past!”
“Done,” he shouts back not even thinking to argue. All the Hornets know what’s at stake here, but their unthinking commitment to help some guy they’ve never met and probably only heard bad things about still impresses her. He starts to turn the wheel. Yells wildly instead, “Brace!”
Amiga cranes to see the nearest Hornet truck bearing down on them at speed, one of the enemy trucks practically welded to its rear. The crash deafens, metal against metal, metal scraping along tarmac. Sparks shoot upward like fireworks, and the side door wrenches away with a hideous screech of torn hinges, dragged under the truck as it skids.
Another truck slams in on that side, flipping them from one extreme to another. Jolted by the impact, Deuce loses his grip on the seats and slides across the floor of the truck. Both hands occupied and utterly helpless to prevent it, Amiga watches him flip out onto the road through billowing smoke as the trucks slam together and come to a screeching halt.
A scream tears out of her, raking her throat,
“Deuce!”
Making sure Vivid is secure; Amiga struggles upward out of the wreckage. Aching all over from the impact, and clumsy with only the one leg working properly, she turns to help Vivid with KJ, but Raid shoves her away.