Collision: Book Four in the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Page 19

  With a sigh and a shrug, he started towards the locker room to change into his patrol uniform.

  * * *

  It only took John five minutes to finish getting ready. Boots, nanoweave pants and jacket with the CCCP insignia, gloves, his duty belt with his battered 1911, spare pistol magazines, and a CCCP comm device for backup completed the picture. The nanoweave was lighter and less bulky than the old vests the CCCP had used; a “gift” from Bella, from a shipment that had fallen off of a truck at one point. He had expected to find Sera in the garage, but no luck. Thea, pale and quiet as ever, was busy cleaning her shotgun. “Away from Pavel’s soaps,” was the reason she gave for doing it in the garage. When asked about Sera, Thea explained that the “angel”—a term she used without a trace of irony or sarcasm—didn’t like being indoors all that much anymore, and was waiting outside. The pale little Russian regarded John strangely while they talked; kind of like a cat, just studying him and watching to see what he would do.

  John shrugged it off. He had enough to deal with without the expectations everyone seemed to have for him and Sera; there was a goddamned war on, wasn’t there? Picking a Ural with a sidecar that he knew was in good repair—he’d spent three grease and oil-soaked days making sure of that—John pulled out of the garage and into the thick and humid Atlanta air. There at the end of the sidewalk near the entrance of the HQ was Sera.

  She wasn’t wearing CCCP gear, and she wasn’t wearing nanoweave. Instead, she sported a thin little tunic of some sort over tights, both in red. It didn’t look very…protective. She was also wearing the earpiece and tiny throat-mic he recognized as being Overwatch Mark One gear. She was very hard to read, quite literally. Her face tended to remain in a state of mask-like inexpressiveness. But she did look surprised to see him, and blinked in what appeared to be confusion. “John Murdock,” she said, carefully. “Is there a reason you are here?” She hadn’t bolted immediately; an improvement.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re partnered up for the day; on your patrol route, as per the duty roster.” He waited a beat, then held up a hand. “Are y’alright with that, Sera?”

  Her face remained without expression. “It is my duty to obey orders unless they violate…ethics,” she said.

  Kept your cool, but what was that right under the surface, huh?

  “That isn’t what I asked, ma’am. If you’re not alright with this, I can take it up with the Commissar.” He grinned lop-sidedly. “I’m pretty sure that she’s gunnin’ for me anyways, so it’s no skin off of my teeth.”

  “Nose,” Sera corrected. “What I want has no bearing. If the Commissar assigns me, it is my duty to obey. But…” She pointed at the sidecar. “…I cannot be in that…thing.”

  “How come?” John glanced at the sidecar sidelong. “Sure, the seat is a little on the lumpy side, but apart from that she ain’t that bad.”

  Now the woman finally had some expression. Annoyance. “And what do you suggest I do with my wings? They do not come off.” As if to emphasize that, she spread them and pulled them back in again with a little irritated flip. They were a lot bigger than he had thought; they easily spanned twenty feet, fully extended.

  “Y’got a point there; never really had to deal with wings before, aside from that limey outta ECHO. Alright, stay here a second.” John revved the engine, pulling around to take the bike back into the garage. When he came back, the sidecar had been detached. “We’ll have to call the wagon if we nab anyone, but that’s nothin’ new. So, you fly an’ I’ll ride. Sound good?”

  Her answer was to take a running leap into the air, wings beating so hard that the air thundered, and debris and paper flew everywhere. “Try and keep up,” came the reply from the sky.

  John grinned, throwing on a helmet quickly. “The gal has some style, I’ll give her that.” He pulled in the clutch, put the motorcycle into first gear, let out the clutch and gave it some throttle. After he was moving, he kicked it up a notch a couple of times just to keep up with Sera. She sure as hell can move, too. He opened an Overwatch comm link to her; using it was slowly becoming second-nature, although it still sometimes freaked him out that what used to be a full headset and camera was somehow all parked inside his head. Technology marches on. This comm line was overlayed with the CCCP net, so HQ could hear and also respond; they were also patched in on the little mage’s network, for security and redundancy. “This is your route, so I’m following your lead on this one. We’re outside of my usual hood.”

  “I shall restrain my speed,” came the reply. He couldn’t tell if it was meant sarcastically or not. “The streets are less than salubrious.”

  A few seconds later, he got his answer. It was not meant sarcastically. The road…well, this part of Atlanta, being poorer, didn’t see the upkeep that the more well-off areas did. With that being the case, a good portion of the damage from the initial Invasion had yet to be meaningfully dealt with. There just weren’t enough people, not enough money to handle it. Reminds me of Detroit before the Invasion. He had to slow down to negotiate the many blockages in the road, from debris, burnt out cars, trash, and other assorted obstacles. He could see why Sera had been assigned this area to patrol. It must be a lot easier from the air.

  “Unit Pyat, this is HQ. You have call to respond to.” It was Gamayun, back at the comm station. Doesn’t that woman ever sleep? She’s almost as bad as Vickie ’bout that.

  “Thank you Comrade Gamayun,” Sera’s voice said from the Overwatch mic in his ear. “Location please.”

  “Residents report multiple gunshots followed by shouting and screaming, coming from former Piggly Wiggly store.”

  “Thank you, Comrade. We are on the way.” John’s HUD lit up with a map, with his location and the store, and the fastest route plotted. The “angel” changed course abruptly and arrowed off; she was obviously taking the shortest route there, which was out of the question for him. Time to play Frogger with debris and the crazies who still drive in this part of town. It took John an extra few minutes, with some hair-raising close calls, but he finally arrived at the location of the disturbance. There were a few residents milling around across the street, some of them pointing and talking with each other. The grocery store was completely trashed. Several of the windows were broken, with only some of them boarded up. Graffiti covered everything, and there was a large pile of rubbish and debris blocking the main entrance. It looked off, for some reason; not quite out of place, but new, somehow. John drank in all of these details in the few seconds it took for him to bring the Ural to a shuddering stop.

  He got there just in time to see Sera land, barely touching down before she started burning herself an entrance through the debris, and darting inside. Without waiting for him. “Shit!” John killed the bike’s engine and dismounted, drawing his handgun and running after her. He ducked through the still smoking doorway that Sera had created, still running, then came to a skidding stop several yards inside of the store. The shelves were bare, with only the occasional ruined and empty package dotting them. More trash and broken glass. And Sera, marching determinedly down one of the aisles.

  “Sera, dammit!” John hissed out in a harsh whisper, knowing she could hear him through her Overwatch rig. She was wreathed in fire, somehow, which was going to make her a big, fat, literally flaming target. “The hell are you doing? Tryin’ t’get yerself killed?”

  She started, and tossed a glance over her shoulder at him. She looked completely taken off guard by what he’d just said. And was there just a tinge of guilt there as well? Jesus, she really might be trying to buy a farm, get herself killed. John softened a little, moving closer to her.

  “Listen, if we’re going to help anyone, we gotta be smart ’bout it. If we go in half-cocked and alone, might be that someone has to come save our asses. So, we do this together. Cool?” He flashed a smile at her, making sure that there was no edge in his words. After leading men in war, he’d learned that there were times to be a hard ass, and times when you needed to show some co
mpassion. It wasn’t hard to tell which this was.

  “I would not wish to bring anyone else into danger,” she said, a little too carefully. Then she winced a little, her brows furrowing. “There may be some toxin in the air, John Murdock.”

  John had noticed a fairly bad headache coming on quickly; it felt like someone was slowly driving a spike outward from the middle of his head. “Damnit, I think you’re right. Whatever it is, we’re already exposed. Let’s make this quick.” He looked down at Sera’s body, still covered in flame. “I’ll take lead; I’m wearin’ armor, after all.”

  She merely nodded. But at least she wasn’t charging ahead anymore. John took point, walking quickly but carefully with his 1911 out front. He scanned everywhere, looking for anything else that seemed out of place in this trash heap. The report they had received from Gamayun said that there had been screaming and gunshots; there certainly wasn’t any screaming now. It took less than a minute for the two of them to clear the main floor; John motioned with his left hand for the back. That would be offices, restrooms, break room, stockroom and walk-in cooler and freezer. Plenty of places to hide. He figured that the offices would be the first place to check; if anyone was looking for a safe or some cash, they’d probably start there. The stockroom was next; food could be hard to find for some folks in the poorest parts of the city, and John had seen a lot of otherwise normal and good people turn ugly when they were hungry. It didn’t look as if there was likely to be anything here to scavenge, but people got irrational when they were desperate.

  There were two ways to clear a building; fast and loud, or slow and quiet. John was trying to split the difference between the two, staying as stealthy as possible when he was moving through the area while entering rooms dynamically and with calculated violence. The offices all were empty; no computers or other office equipment, just empty metal desks and filthy, graffiti-spattered walls. Looked like whoever had last been in here had done his best to wreck what little had been left; the entire place smelled rancid. John didn’t want to think too hard about what they’d used as “paint” for some of the scrawled messages.

  “Time for the storeroom,” he whispered. Sera just nodded. John’s headache had been getting worse the closer to the back they had gotten. They needed to hurry, now; whoever was in here was probably doing worse than they were, if it was some sort of toxin. The pain was starting to get between him and the ability to think. John and Sera were both outside of the door to the storeroom. With a final shared nod, John reared back, then kicked in the door. They both rushed through the opening, John in the lead, and stopped dead before they had gone more than a few steps inside.

  There were two people, both obviously dead, lying on the floor. They were bound hand and foot, and had been shot in the legs, and then the back of the head. Before either he or Sera had time to react to that, two dozen men dressed in nearly identical tactical outfits simultaneously sprang from cover. Blacksnake? The mercs looked just as startled as John and Sera did, but it didn’t last.

  “Target is not alone! Capture the target, ice the other one!”

  A volley of gunfire erupted from what seemed like everywhere. John answered in kind; he dropped at least three mercs that he could be sure of, maybe two more with his 1911. He had to spin and duck behind a metal rack while he reloaded after that; the gunfire was constant and deafening. Sera took a more direct approach, charging at her target, flaring her fire crucible hot to blind him, then striking with the butt of her spear, to disable rather than kill. The problem was…she was on fire. And as she left her target writhing on the floor, she left him fully engulfed. Non-lethal doesn’t work all that great for her…

  One of the mercs was armed with what looked like a net launcher. Sera’s head snapped over in his direction as he raised the launcher, aimed, and fired. In what looked like one smooth motion, she transferred the spear to her left hand, generated what appeared to be a sword made of fire in her right hand, and brought it down in an arc directly in front of her, bisecting the launched net and leaving the two pieces smoldering on the ground. John had already emptied another magazine from his handgun; this time he only took out two mercs. They were using cover more effectively, now.

  Time for us to find some cover of our own; we’re too exposed here. “Sera, fall back! We’ve gotta get some help for this bunch!” John holstered his 1911, then focused for a half second. Fire coalesced in his hands, building into an orb. With a grunt, he threw it as hard as he could at the center of the room; it exploded brilliantly, splashing flame against everything—shelving and mercs, for the most part and some on the ceiling—within twenty yards. That oughta give them something to think about. Sera retreated—reluctantly it seemed to him—to his side. As they hurriedly backed out of the room, a huge chunk of ice exploded against the wall above John’s head. What the everlovin’ hell? No time to ponder it. He keyed his comm, transmitting on the Overwatch line and back to CCCP HQ. “This is Murdock, we’re in a jam on our call. Lots of Blacksnake, we need backup to contain the area. Right now.” John vaguely heard the affirmative come over the comm, but he was busy.

  He winced as icicle shards pelted his head and shoulders. “What the hell was that?” Everything was happening very quickly. John had to consciously steady himself as he and Sera continued their retreat into the store.

  They didn’t have time to investigate any further; even with the fire, the Blacksnake mercs were starting to advance. John noticed that one was way ahead of the others; the second merc that had been armed with a net launcher. John swung around to the side of the doorframe, hiding himself against it. He waited a few heartbeats until he saw the muzzle of the net launcher come around the corner. Latching onto it with both hands, John pulled the merc in close, bumping their chests together. The man’s eyes went wide behind the balaclava he was wearing. Before John could do anything, Sera was on the hired gun, clubbing him on the back of his head with her spear. Dazed, the merc went limp in John’s arms; igniting both hands, he set the merc ablaze, then spun around into the entrance to the storeroom.

  “Catch, assholes!” Shoving as hard as he could with his augmented strength, he sent the fire-engulfed merc flying through the air directly at a clump of the oncoming Blacksnake. He didn’t wait around to see what happened next; there was still a lot of gunfire, too much gunfire, coming his and Sera’s way. He dashed back into cover, reaching out and grabbing Sera’s arm and pulling her in with him. She was still exposing herself a lot more than he liked. They were hunkered down behind an open-top floor freezer; it wasn’t the best cover, but it was something. “We need to keep this from spilling out into the street, if we can. We already know that these scumbags’ll blast innocents.” He reloaded his 1911; he had only three mags left.

  “I shall not allow them to pass.” The look on her face was stern and unyielding.

  John smirked. “Let’s earn our paychecks, then.”

  She lost the stern look. “We get paid?” she asked, bewildered for a moment.

  John couldn’t help it; he laughed. “If’n the Commissar had ’er way, she’d have us payin’, what with the ‘way tovarischii overeat!’”

  The Blacksnake had started to filter out of the storeroom; they were a little more cautious, now, and were spreading out into the store proper. How many of them were there? Had they been crammed into every bit of cover in the storeroom? I’m already tired of these assholes coming after me, and I don’ even remember the first time they tried. John sprang from cover; he lit up three mercs with his pistol. Since they were wearing body armor, he was aiming primarily for their heads or at their pelvises; a cracked pelvis, not to mention whatever might be bleeding in that area, would stop damn near anyone. It was brutal, but effective; all three went down, two of them screaming. Return fire snapped and hissed all around him; he expended the last rounds in his gun while ducking down an aisle and running.

  “Moving!” he barked.

  There was another merc there; it looked like they were trying to flank arou
nd already. Reacting, John jabbed the hot barrel of the 1911 into the merc’s right eye, and followed it by kicking the man’s knee backwards, breaking and hyperextending it. The merc went down screaming, clutching his ruined eye. He’s out of the fight. John caught a glimpse of his partner as he was racing down the aisle; she was still wreathed in flame, looking for another target.

  Sera fought like a wildcat; now that there was a bit more room, she darted around like a deadly dragonfly, using the spear like a staff. She still wasn’t going for the kill, though, at least not deliberately. And that was a problem, because unless she accidentally set her victims on fire, they were going to get up eventually. These guys weren’t paid to quit, after all. As she dashed back to John, he grabbed her elbow.

  “Sera, these guys are playin’ for keeps. If we don’t stop ’em here, they’re going to make it outside an’ we’ll have to deal with more dead civvies. Okay?” His tone was even, even slightly apologetic. But he had to get this point across. It hurt to tell her like that, but, goddamnit, it had to be done. Didn’t it?

  She looked stricken. Then her face changed. “Is this an order?” she asked.

  John shook his head. Never easy with this one. “No, it’s not. Your call; if you can take ’em down an’ leave ’em breathin’, do it. But keepin’ yourself breathin’, an’ keepin’ everyone out there breathin’ is more important than these bastards.”