Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats (12 page)

‘Do you accept the terms outlined to you as
legally binding?’ said the Code Whisperer once the instructions
were given.

‘Sure,’ Kaptu murmured angrily and pulled the
headset off. He took a moment to recompose himself. He had taken
the call in the recovery ward of the Leanov Veterinarian Clinic and
he found himself noticing the animals filling the glass enclosures
around him. He walked up to a lion in the corner and met its eyes.
He had learnt during his time with Hurt World One to recognise in
the eyes of animals whether or not they had ever been free. The
dull, glazed eyes looking back at him now attested to a lifetime’s
captivity. Knowing that such things did not change whether it be
Asylum City or here, gave him resolve, helped him to focus. The
Code Whisperer’s restrictions made it riskier but there was still a
way out. He went to McRaven’s backpack and searched through it for
weapons legally available to Hurt World technicians. Quick firing
laser-acid weapons were not on the list, nor were the aura-lock
dart missiles; it left Kaptu a small laser guiding slug pistol of a
kind to conceal in shoes or trouser legs. He looked it over,
suspecting a battle hardened poacher would consider it little more
threatening as crickets in the African savannah.

‘Blast is ready to leave,’ announced Dr
Leanov poking his head out from the operating theatre. His voice
softened somewhat when he noticed the pistol in hand. ‘Is
everything alright?’

Kaptu pocketed the weapon in his moleskin
pants. ‘She’s ready?’

‘Yes. Would you like to see?’

Kaptu joined him in the operating theatre. On
the silver table in its centre, there was a sausage shaped black
duffel bag. Nurse Nell was beside it monitoring the vitals signs on
its monitor box.

Kaptu’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘You’ve
stuffed the dog into a bag?’

‘It’s a Cocoon 41,’ said Leanov. ‘It’s a
rehabilitator environment. Blast is in an induced coma and she is
set to be woken in two weeks from today. Your job in the meantime
is to keep the bag out of harm’s way in the meantime. If you can, a
full recovery is likely.’ Leanov had to battle to hold himself
together as he said these things, for lying was not in his nature.
At least he was only lying by admission, neglecting to mention that
the Cocoon 41 was only intended for use in transporting a sick
animal to a veterinarian clinic, not to take one away. Nurse Nell
was well aware of the malpractice he was perpetrating and looked on
stone faced. She might even have said something if not for Kaptu’s
menacing air and the way he had arrived at the clinic, dropped in
by military plane. Clearly, this was not a usual situation. Not
that Kaptu was so foul tempered or surly mouthed as those gangster
types that had tormented Leanov’s practice in the past. He even had
a sense of humour, laughing as he saw what had happened to Blast:
‘You’ve put the dog in the bag.’

Leanov folded his arms tensely. ‘The Cocoon
41 is now ready to go mobile. You are of course welcome to stay
here long enough to enact your escape plan.’

Kaptu pulled a face. ‘It’s not going to be as
elaborate as I’d hoped. In fact, could you give me directions to
the local train station?’

Leanov stared at him incredulously. ‘We’re
quite out of the way here. The nearest station is down in the
valley. In Par.’

‘I think I saw it during the descent.’

‘You’ll have to descend a whole lot further
to reach it. A couple of thousand feet worth of world class ski
slopes stand in the way. Wouldn’t the people who flew you here come
pick you up again? In these parts, the sky is the flattest road
you’ll find.’

Kaptu shook his head. ‘Things are going to
get a little bumpy. Do you have skis and a sled?’

‘We’re on top of the Alps. Of course, I do.
But the snow is sludgy this time of year. I could simply give you a
lift to the station if you prefer.’

‘Stepping outside is going to be too
dangerous for kind offers. There might be people keen to undo the
work you’ve done in keeping Blast alive.’

‘The Stamford TF agent explained the
situation to me. I’ve heard of Mas and the things she’s done.
You’ve got to move quickly before she gets here.’

‘I’ve heard of her too,’ replied Kaptu.
‘That’s why I’m assuming she’s already in position.’

‘If Mas is outside, I’m afraid you’ll find
yourself in a bag of your own: a body bag.’

Kaptu frowned. ‘You’ve heard of Mas but
perhaps you haven’t heard of me. My name is Kaptu Z. I am from
Asylum City.’

Leanov looked to Nurse Nell. ‘Bring my skis,
could you? The news ones.’ He smiled despite himself and slapped
Kaptu on the shoulder. ‘As the recovery ward may have hinted at, I
am well used to the company of wild animals. My sled is by the
backdoor. I’ll take you there.’

The corridor they walked along was lined with
medicine cabinets including the anti-venom of the world’s one
hundred most poisonous creatures. Leanov pointed them out with some
pride. Kaptu managed to nod despite being preoccupied with
McRaven’s operations bag. He found what he was looking for,
promptly pulling out the Pulsar Flare. It was pen-shaped black
Nithian metal and would be powerful enough to disrupt the
functioning of any drone a poacher might throw against him.

They reached the backdoor, which led out to
an expansive terrace and a remarkable view of the snow drenched
mountains descending to the distant valley floor. The sled was
strung up on the wall by the door. Leanov pointed to it and quickly
stepped back inside the building. ‘Are you sure you want to go
through with this? I will give you my prognosis. It may not be
entirely worthless. Surgeons resemble generals in the way they must
sum up all the elements of a battlefield. Usually the battlefield
is a living body but on this occasion it is the mountain on which I
have made a home. And I would say your chances are slim. A thousand
feet descent on avalanche prone slopes with an expert hunter poised
on higher ground. Secondary considerations are your lack of skiing
experience and the obvious reticence of the United Nations to get
involved - if they’ve left you to catch a train you had better not
count on them for anything much. Unless there is some miracle cure
in that bag of yours, I’m afraid the condition may be
terminal.’

Kaptu pushed the bag to him. ‘Actually, I
would like you to hold onto it. It belongs to a man named McRaven.
He’ll be coming shortly with a rather unfriendly black bear.’

‘I spoke to him over the radio.’ Leanov took
the bag and glanced at all the weapons inside. ‘These are just the
sort of belongings I would expect of such a man.’ He snapped the
bag shut. ‘Halfway down the mountain there is a monastery run by
the Order of Saint James. You may way want to renounce your
sins.’

‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

Nurse Nell arrived with the skis. ‘Here you
are, Doctor. The good ones.’

*

Mas was following Hopital’s progress away
from the Leanov Clinic. The Ferrari A40 was cutting neatly and at
speed along the sharply winding mountain road, ducking in and out
of the sparse traffic with a ruthless indifference, clearly not
restrained by the traffic-control satellites, which only specially
licensed vehicles were permitted to disengage from. The images were
being transmitted with sharp resolution onto the lenses of Mas’s
tech glasses. She was perched on a steep slope overlooking the
Leanov Clinic and she was aware she needed to be focusing her
attention in that direction rather than on Hopital. But she was
only plotting the demise of Blast because she had to. With Hopital,
it would be a lot more pleasurable. She would have done it with the
first glimpse of his departure from the clinic if not for the risk
of betraying her presence on Par Mountain. She was still hopeful
that Blast would make an appearance while Hopital was still in
range, giving her the chance to take care of both in the one
moment. It was a thought that kept her warm as she huddled behind a
cold jagged rock in the snow with her hunting rifle in hand. It was
a good vantage point, giving her a comprehensive view of the
clinic’s front and quick access to the rear should Kaptu attempt an
escape that way. Mas had been encouraged by his arrival by
parachute. There had been nothing subtle about it and did not give
the impression he was the type to sit around for any length of
time. An adrenaline junkie. And none too careful. Mas had come to
accept these as the all too typical traits of probably the easiest
species she had ever hunted: humans. Even predators as skilled as
tigers and lions were not so complacent about their own survival.
If an overzealous Hurt World technician got in the way of her shot
at the signature dog, it would not mean much to someone who had
spent a lifetime fascinated by the cruelty of nature. Mas tried to
get more comfortable against the rock. Her thoughts started to
drift to the plains of Africa. It had been so long since she had
been home crouched in tall grass, stalking a lion in a long steamy
dusk. Mas started to pine for her lost youth.

Suddenly her glasses went blank. It was so
inexplicable Mas found herself momentarily frozen. Her initial
thought that it was a malfunction was dispelled in an instant. Both
the tech glasses and the drone were the best on the market. They
simply didn’t malfunction. The likely alternative came with a rush
of excitement. A cloaking device had been employed. It seemed this
was not going to be a turkey shoot after all. Mas whipped off her
glasses and ran, her rifle poised to fire at the hip. There was
movement at the clinic’s rear terrace and she fired even before she
had registered what it was. Bullets clanged off the terrace’s steel
railing with puffs of smoke and sparks. Mas sprinted further along
the mountain face, weaving through tall Alpine pines, analysing in
her mind’s eye what she had seen: Kaptu Z had been leaping from the
terrace on skis, a large, black backpack upon his back. It was the
backpack that occupied her thoughts the most. It was bulky and by
the way he had dropped so rapidly, it must have had some weight
behind it. It probably even saved his life, for if he had dropped
any slower, the bullets would have had their target. Still, Mas
would only let it be a temporary reprieve. She recognised the kind
of bag, having owned a couple herself and she knew that a dog could
very well be inside, though she had only used hers to smuggle
leopards and cheetahs. If the Hurt World technician was going to
put himself that close to the target, he in turn would be the
target.

Mas jumped up onto a rocky outcrop, rifle
pointed towards the base of the terrace, ready to finish him off
quickly should he have landed poorly. To her surprise, however, he
was on his feet and already making great distance down the
mountain. Her next volley of gunfire ruffled the snow around him
without getting any closer than his ski tracks. And then he was out
of range and there was no indication that she would get another
opportunity at him anytime soon. He was well balanced and picking
up speed. Mas felt the rage of it. When wildlife eluded her on a
hunt, she could admire their tenacity. For people, however, she was
not so forgiving; she would burn with anger until she had ended her
pray.

She put her tech glasses back on. The screens
were still down and there was no interfacing with her drone. Only a
minute had passed but a change that could disable this level of
equipment for so long was beyond even current recognised military
grade.

Zelda swopped down at Kaptu. She had been
trained to pursue anyone that Mas pointed a weapon at. No matter
how fast Kaptu might be able to ski, Zelda would keep circling
above him in an effortless glide. The tech glasses would not be
suppressed for long and then it would be a straight forward shot
with the dart missiles tethered to the eagle’s feet. Although one
missile would likely be sufficient to obliterate the man and his
dog, Mas would fire the entire weapons load all the same. She would
splatter their guts across the mountain.

She brought her telescopic sight to her eye
to get a closer look at the technician. He might have been
impossible to shoot from her position, but not to remember. And it
was quite a memorable face at that. Thick black hair and heavy
square jaw. Even from this distance, the intense concentration and
air of menace were stark. Not a comfortable enemy to have. Mas felt
her finger reflexively drawn to the rifle trigger.

Kaptu was doing something similar, crouching
low on his skis and leaning back while aiming his pistol straight
up. With a cold shiver, Mas realised what he was doing and flicked
her rifle onto rapid fire. Her wild spray of ordinance zipped
noisily around the snowcapped forest and did nothing to prevent
Kaptu’s one shot at Zelda.

The Wedge Tailed eagle dropped limply from
the sky. Mas watched it fall. She fired her gun dry at Kaptu. Kaptu
kept on skiing.

*

The San Francisco Tower’s bellboy rushed
enthusiastically to the limousine’s rear door. Although he didn’t
recognise the flag on the bonnet, all that mattered was that this
was a diplomat’s and that diplomats were generally good tippers. He
got the feeling sometimes that they didn’t really understand the
true value of things. He had once been given a day’s salary by a
Middle Eastern diplomat merely for opening a door. The man who got
out of the limousine on this occasion, however, didn’t even look at
him.

‘I don’t have any bags,’ the man muttered in
some kind of Scandinavian accent. He was tall, the bellboy barely
reaching his chest. He strode up into the hotel with large strides,
buttoning up his elegant grey suit and glancing at his gold watch.
He walked to the receptionist stationed at a desk of black
enamel.

‘I am Betz, the Swiss Ambassador, to see
Renaissance of the Hurt World.’