Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats (9 page)

The black bear dropped back onto all fours,
its attention returning to Kaptu. It charged at him, snake monkey
blood dripping off its claws. It was such a massive target, there
was no chance of missing. Kaptu felt enough sympathy for the
wretched creature, however, that he chanced the time it took to
draw his tranquilizer gun and fire a dart into its gaping mouth. He
dived away across the, firing a second shot into its chest. The
drug he had administered contained a synthetic paralyzing agent
that travelled to the brain along the central nervous system just
as quickly as the pain that accompanied it. It sent the bear
tumbling into unconsciousness with a loud thump against the
carriage wall. Kaptu meanwhile slid headfirst along a section of
floor with a severed human hand pressed against his cheek. He
realized he was sliding on the slime of human remains. There were
more body parts at the wall, including an open hand, which seemed
to be reaching out to cushion his impact. Kaptu’s face contorted
with disgust as the blood and guts covered him. He began pulling
himself out of it, only for a giant snake monkey to come crashing
down on his chest. Kaptu rued having lost track of where his guns,
watching the snake monkey release a ferocious cry as it scouted
where to sink its teeth upon him.

The brakes of the train came screeching on,
flinging the snake monkey into the wall. Kaptu lunged to the Death
Queen and ripped the snake monkey to pieces.

Kaptu settled into a kneeling firing
position, his ears attuned to the footsteps outside the train.

‘Kaptu Z, are you there?’ bellowed out a male
voice. Kaptu was surprised it was not Al Jaqaintas, for he had
supposed the CIA agent had taken the wrong turn on their
prearranged meeting spot. At least, the voice sounded friendlier
than any of the Meltman’s thugs.

‘I don’t really need to ask,’ the voice
continued. ‘The hole in the roof gives it away. Whether or not
you’re still alive with all those furry friends of yours is another
question. But let’s do this quick. Asylum City is one of my least
favourite places to execute an extraction and doing it out of the
Meltman Express only makes it more so.’

There were no holes in the wall large enough
for Kaptu to see who was doing the talking, but he could tell it
was someone holding a gun, someone having a good time. He got up
slid open the carriage door. The man standing before him was tall
and strong and had jet black hair. He was wearing a brown military
uniform without any identifying insignias. His gun was large and
heavy. ‘Kaptu Z, I am McRaven. He pointed at the magno-chopper
landing on the track further ahead. ‘That’s for you.’

Kaptu felt a pang of anger. ‘You’ve got me in
the middle of something.’

‘I can see. But I’m not a bounty hunter, I
only get paid if you’re alive, not if you’re dead. As entertaining
as it was looking at you running amok on this train, I didn’t get
the impression you had long to live. So, here I am.’

Kaptu leaned out of the doorway to see the
wisps of smoke emanating from the bullet holes in the train engine.
The Meltman wouldn’t be happy. And he would certainly be on his way
there. He turned to McRaven. ‘Alright, I’ll come along. But one of
my furry friends is coming too. And he’s big.’

‘You’re not bringing one of those dirty,
diseased monkeys on my chopper.’

‘It’s a bear. It’s been tranquilized nice and
quiet.’

McRaven frowned. ‘So, that’s what this is
about? I had guessed you were here to liberate one of those
debtors.’

‘We’ll do that too. It’s only fair
considering they’ve formed a large part of the bear’s diet.’

‘That’s Asylum City for you. Nothing is right
about this place. Fortunately for you, it’s the reason I brought
the whole team.’ He raised a clenched fist and six soldiers came
running out of the chopper. ‘I must be crazy for agreeing to this.
I suppose it is the novelty of seeing the United Nations jumping
all over a train. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.’ The
soldiers arrived before him and he ordered three to get the bear
and the other three to get the debtors’ cages open. The soldiers on
bear detail rushed into the carriage. ‘It’s not going to wake up,
is it?’ McRaven murmured.

‘Not just yet,’ murmured Kaptu.

‘And what do you intend to do with it before
it does?’

‘The President of the World Society for
Animals is waiting down the road.’

‘Waiting in the CIA’s so called stealth
machine? Well, forget that. Life gets longer when you’re not in bed
with the CIA.’

‘I hope you’ve got a big back yard then.’

‘That gets taken up with my magno-chopper,
but I’ve got a better idea, anyway. Our next stop is a world
renowned veterinarian clinic in Switzerland. If the likes of me is
getting paid to take the likes of you there, I am sure a man-eating
bear would be within the clinic’s range of experience.’

The cage doors began to hum open and the
decrepit prisoners climbed shakily down onto the tracks, their eyes
flicking madly around them, riven with fear of the Spider Monkeys.
McRaven looked them over, wanting to shout out some reassurance and
perhaps even receive some gratitude for their freedom. Their
pitiful condition, however, compelled his eyes away. The soldiers
on bear detail emerged from the train. With the giant creature on
their shoulders, their legs were every bit as shaky the prisoners
on the tracks. McRaven and Kaptu moved in to help.

‘We came into Asylum City airspace on the
pretext of a humanitarian flight,’ said McRaven. ‘And I’d say
getting this bear away from its residents has actually lived up to
that. Taking you away will probably qualify too.’

7 The rats

Las Gabos, Mexico was one of the sunniest
places in the world and the crew of the Zopez were beginning to
cheer up after the disappointment of having to pass by Acapulco
without being granted shore leave. The late Captain Tay would
absolutely have dropped in for a visit, and it would not have ended
until all his money had been exhausted on wine, gambling and women.
In Acapulco, the whole process would not have taken no more than a
day or two. Mas, on the other hand, had not betrayed a whiff of
temptation as Acapulco drew excruciatingly near. Titov wondered if
that was the difference between them: Captain Tay had always been
serious until he fell apart, whereas Mas was just plain serious.
The morale of the crew, nonetheless, was upbeat. It might have been
more than the sunny weather or the proximity of their destination:
perhaps it was the promise in Mas’s hard exterior of something they
had never really experienced under Captain Tay: to come out of a
job ahead.

‘The wharf dead ahead,’ ordered Mas to
Captain Titov, peering with binoculars out from the bridge. The
binoculars told her it was three miles away; she took some time to
study the seemingly deserted factory complex beyond the wharf. She
noted, however, that the razor wire surrounding it still seemed
well maintained and in perfect condition.

Captain Titov had a pair of binoculars of her
own and was joining Mas in the inspection. ‘Who are we meeting?’
she murmured. ‘It looks abandoned to me.’

Mas left the bridge without replying. She
moved across the deck to the aft and looked out with her naked eye.
The factory complex consisted of two large corrugated iron
buildings and three towering silos numbered in weathered red paint.
Rust was streaked across almost every surface. Nonetheless, to Mas
there was a more telling indication even than the quality of the
razor wire that the site was in active service: the crane upon the
wharf was shiny new - no rust at all. If it was a super crane, as
Mas suspected, it would have the capacity to lift the entire Zopez
out of the water, cargo and all. Mas decided against trying to make
radio contact with the complex. The puttering engines would be
announcement enough of their arrival. Mas admitted to herself that
she wasn’t sure who in fact would come to receive them. She was
confident the organisation Jalanti Jones represented was rich and
powerful, for it had met every payment she had requested without
fuss or noise, and it had provided every piece of equipment she had
asked for, including technology whose very existence she had only
heard rumours of.

The solitary figure of a woman emerged,
striding along the wharf. The woman was short, and she was
shielding her eyes from the sun as she peered out at the Zopez. It
took a moment for Mas to recognise Jalanti. She studied her
countenance intently through the binoculars, not that there was
much to see beyond blue lipstick and a stern gaze.

‘She looks like a pissed off school teacher,’
said Titov, joining Mas at the railing.

‘All I see is money.’

‘We’re working for her?’

‘She’s the face of who we’re working
for.’

‘So, you don’t much know who we’re working
for then?’

‘If things go bad, I might take the time to
find out. But don’t let that look on her face fool you. Things are
going good.’

Jalanti reached the end of the wharf and
folded her arms as she continued to glare their way.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Titov.

‘Stay on the boat while I have a word with
her.’

‘Alright. I just hope your eagle has your
back.’ Titov started back for the bridge.

Mas leapt up onto the wharf and left the crew
preoccupied with securing the mooring ropes.

‘What do you think of her?’ queried Mas,
walking over to Jalanti as she gave the vessel a hard looking over.
‘Rarely in maritime history has so much been paid for so
little.’

‘But is it really the Kudos underneath?’
murmured Jalanti.

‘That’s right.’

‘Then it is worth what we are paying. And
don’t forget that money will include reverting it back to its
former self. No matter how bad that might be.’

‘The crew will go straight to work with
Captain Titov to supervise. By the time they are done, the Kudos
will live again. It will be a piece of junk, but it will be
back.’

Jalanti’s razor sharp eyes turned on Mas.
‘Clearly not everything in the operation is running so smoothly, so
let’s talk.’ She led the way off the wharf and into Silo 2. Within
the vast expanse of darkness there was an office space complete
with desk, cabinets, a hospitality corner and reading lamps. ‘Would
you like a drink?’ Jalanti asked, visibly relaxing once she had
closed the door on the outside world.

‘No, thanks,’ said Mas. ‘My poor sea legs
have me queasy enough as it is.’

Jalanti took from the bar fridge in the
hospitality-corner a premade iced strawberry gin. She sipped it
zestfully and shook out her hair. She smirked ruefully at Mas.
‘You’re quite comfortable in the sky though, aren’t you?’

‘Am I?’

‘Comfortable enough to be blowing up
magno-choppers. Why did you do that exactly?’

‘Stamford Transaction Facilitators had
sampled me. As a guarantee that no moves would be made on Gustav
Fall after I had gotten the Stockholm Compound.’

‘You couldn’t make that guarantee?’

‘I certainly can’t make it on your behalf.’
Mas peered around the silo. ‘I get the impression this is a large
operation, probably involving the kind of people that do not like
leaving behind loose ends. Gustav Fall obviously sensed it too or
else he wouldn’t have enlisted the services of transaction
facilitators.’

Jalanti leaned against the cabinets, enjoying
the cool of the glass in her hands. ‘Are you worried too?’

‘I have my own guarantee. My drone is
hovering above with a nuclear-armed missile that will be launched
if there are any anomalies in my vital signs. My grave will be ten
miles across and shared by many. You, of course, will be
welcome.’

Jalanti squirmed with the thought. ‘Let’s
hope you don’t have any pre-existing health conditions.’

‘I appreciate the concern.’

‘I have some developments to inform you of.
The signature dog that has marked you survived the magno-chopper
crash.’

Mas stiffened. ‘Is that so?’

‘Too bad you did not use your nuclear warhead
at that moment.’

‘Where is the dog now?’

‘I’m not sure I’d care to tell you. Now that
our operation is so far progressed, there can be no distraction.
There is no way the authorities can track you down to here. After
our objectives are met, I will point you in the dog’s
direction.’

‘Who are they?’

‘The dog’s name is Blast.’

‘I know that. We were introduced. Does
Stamford TF still retain possession of it or has it been
acquisitioned?’

Jalanti sighed. ‘Don’t worry, it’s no one
serious like the FBI.’

‘Which means I can go take care of them nice
and quick. Unless you are underestimating them, in which case it is
much better I take them out right now before any real damage is
done. There’s time for it. The crew will be busy restoring the
Zopez back into the Kudos and the scientists have their rodents to
prepare. That will give me at least a week to take care of this
situation.’

Jalanti shrugged non-committedly.

‘So, who are they?’ Mas queried.

‘Have you heard of the Hurt World
Agency?’

‘Aren’t they United Nations peace
keepers?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Well, I suppose everyone wants peace just so
long as it’s on their own terms.’

Jalanti finished off her strawberry gin and
left the glass on the cabinets. ‘Allow me to show you what peace
looks like on my terms.’

She took Mas out of the Silo 2 and across a
sandy compound to Silo 1. She explained on the way that the complex
had been built at the height of the Great Food Crisis fifty years
earlier. A hub for the shipment of grain across Central and South
America. A dark time when the world was at its closest to fighting
a nuclear war over bread. Mas listened with only scant interest,
preoccupied with the thought of that signature dog in the hands of
the authorities. It didn’t matter if it was FBI or any other
acronym. Anyone with a propensity for travel could use the
signature dog to track her down - and most likely through the most
troublesome route: the past all the way to the present. Try as she
might, she had not managed to separate them enough for her
satisfaction, at least not yet.