Equinox (17 page)

“Now!” she said and angled into the gap.

She wasn’t sure if Dalton had followed her or not, but she didn’t have time to check as the brakes of the transport behind screamed. She was too close. Her bike’s screen went black and the auto collision kicked in, ripping the control from her and swerving the bike into the next lane. Goddamn it! Rosie switched it off.

“Careful!” Dalton shouted, but all her attention was focused on the traffic. The ripping whine of wheels and thunder of thermal engines surrounded her. The other vehicles on the road were a blur of shimmering metal. She lay even lower over the handlebars, swaying with the bike as she gunned the motor. The speed bars spiked to 240 kilometres an hour and she swerved across the next two lanes, scraping between a six-wheeled private car and a group of five bikes.

Her heart was pounding, adrenaline making everything clear-cut and diamond-edged. She glimpsed a pale face staring at her through the window of the car as she passed it. It was as if she could see the girl’s pores. One lane to go. It was an easy swerve into it. High walls rose up on the city side of the outer lane, blocking her view of all but the taller buildings. She cruised along behind a line of transports and Dalton came up beside her.

“Helijet.” His voice burst through her com again.

“Where is it?”

“Look up.” It was a black silhouette against the sky, high up above them now. “Exit’s ahead.”

The outer lane was congested and they were locked in between transports in front and a line of solar cars behind. A huge sign in the air ahead of them announced the exit to the West Rim in five hundred metres. Rosie and Dalton rode closer together as the traffic merged into three exit lanes and they flowed off the Artery in a river of engines and wheels, slowing down as they joined the main road that ran through the Rim.

The western side of the Rim, like the east side where Rosie lived, was home to those who had just enough credit to escape the MalX-infected river areas. It was also the home of the gangs and, as they cruised down the wide boulevard, the signs of them were everywhere. Logos rendered in holo revolved above the more affluent-looking buildings and lines of the combat-style bikes the gangs favoured were parked in front.

The sidewalks were crowded with vendors and customers, and solar bike messengers weaved in and out of the mass. The stink of the Rim’s bio oil generators was so strong it infiltrated Rosie’s helmet, a mixture of rancid cooking oil and frying meat. It made her nauseous.

“Next right.” She turned down a side street, almost running over a pedestrian who decided to cross in front of her at the last moment. The bike’s brakes gushed air and the man screamed obscenities at her back, but she kept going. It was a bad idea to stop here. The Game Pit was south of the Artery, towards the river. The roads became narrower and dimmer, the sunlight blocked by the high-rises, and they seemed to have lost the jet.

They turned down another even narrower street that was deserted apart from a man carrying a gun the size of a small child. He watched them ride past with the disinterested stare of someone contemplating if it was worth his time killing them for their bikes.

“How far?” Dalton’s voice had a hard edge. He was riding one-handed, the other resting on his thigh in grasping distance of the gun under his jacket.

“A few blocks,” she replied. “Don’t let anyone see the gun,” she added quietly.

“Don’t worry about me.”

She angled left out of the creepy street, glad to leave it. A few minutes more and the Game Pit was in sight. Still dirty, still almost hidden behind a jutting wall, it looked the same as ever. They parked their bikes up against the wall. It was very quiet and the door was firmly closed. There were also four round metal discs, like hatches, set in the front wall that hadn’t been there before. Rosie pulled off her helmet and glanced at Dalton. He was just as uneasy as her.

“Let’s–” She didn’t get to finish as the black helijet suddenly swooped over the high-rises.

“This is the Senate guard. Stay where you are.” A voice boomed from the jet, bouncing off the walls. Three cables snaked down and figures dressed in black began descending to the street.

Rosie dropped her helmet and ran for the door. Dalton reached it first, but before he could open it, it was flung wide and they almost collided with a huge black man carrying a rocket launcher.

“Down!” he shouted. Rosie and Dalton dropped as a stream of blue shot from it with the sound of thunder. The pulse grenade hit the jet’s shield with enough concussive force to shake the ground. Shouts to take cover came from the men who’d dropped from the jet and Rosie scrambled to her knees and crawled to the open door. A stream of bullets peppered the wall above her head. Dust and plaster shards spat down and she heard Dalton swearing. The man from the Pit fired another burst of energy, then he grabbed her by the waistband and threw her through the doorway. She cannoned into the stair rail head first. Dalton leaped in after, followed by the man with the gun, who slammed the steel door shut behind him and bolted it. The thud of pressure bullets hitting the outside rang against the metal.

“Are you okay?” Dalton helped her up.

Dizzy, head aching, she dabbed at blood trickling from a cut above her eye.

“Rosie!”

She knew that voice. Pip was staring at her, halfway up the short flight of stairs that led to the Pit’s main bar. He looked furious. She didn’t have time to be surprised. The man with the gun shoved her and Dalton towards Pip.

“Your goddamn girl brought the Senate to my door,” he shouted.

“They’re not Senate.” Pip caught her as she stumbled into him. Her nose cracked painfully against his shoulder but she barely had time to find her feet before another spurt of fire hit the Pit door.

“Move,” Dalton shouted. Pip half-carried her down the stairs while the man with the gun leaped over the low balustrade. The door buckled under the assault, but held.

In a brief glance Rosie saw the Pit had changed since she’d last been here. The grungy old game pods were still there, but gang colours now hung over the bar, the gold and purple emblem of the Principality. They practically owned the Banks.

Half-a-dozen hard-looking men and women were pulling out weapons and the man with the gun was shouting out for backup and reaching over the bar to pull out another long-handled gun. Five more men came running from a back hallway, all carrying huge guns, Principality emblems tattooed on their bare arms. Pip, Rosie and Dalton were forced to retreat among the tables as they ran past.

“Come on!” Pip pushed her towards the bar.

“What are you doing here?” Rosie said as the men began shooting through the hatches.

“How do you know they’re not Senate?” Dalton shouted over the top of the gunfire.

“Didn’t you see their weapons?” Pip grabbed Rosie’s hand and pulled her down behind the wide bar.

“We didn’t exactly have time.”

“Helios issue.” Pip peered over the top of the bar. “They’re just using the Senate name for cover. Oh, and by the way–” He flicked open Rosie’s jacket to expose the gun holster. “Where did you get that?”

“Don’t.” Her insides lurched and she pulled her jacket closed.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Touchy.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dalton said.

“Curtis, right? Good to see you too.” Pip didn’t look fazed. “Sharia called me. Who do you think she gets her info from?”

“Where is she?” Rosie said.

“She never showed.” He frowned then, looking more closely at her, or more particularly at her neck. “What happened? What are those marks?” He reached forwards as if to touch them but she caught his fingers before he could.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it now.” She pushed his hand back and flicked her hair over her collar to hide the marks.

He gazed at her as if he was going to pursue it, but only said, “How the hell did Helios find you, anyway?”

Rosie exchanged a worried glance with Dalton. “I–” Gunfire thudded against the building and they all flinched.

“It doesn’t matter.” Pip glanced over the bar again. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Do you know another way out?” she said.

He grinned. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Follow me.” He grabbed her hand and ran towards a back hallway.

He led them to a small dusty room filled with broken furniture and computer parts. From behind them came gunshots and there was a heavy pounding that sounded like someone trying to batter down the back door at the end of the hall.

“There’s a hatch somewhere in the floor,” Pip said. He pushed aside bits of broken table, flinging them against the wall. Dalton joined him and Rosie scanned the floor. There was a thin sheet of metal to the right of the door.

“Pip!” She grabbed at the edge of it, scraping the skin off her fingers, and dragged it aside. Underneath was a neat square cut in the floor. She ran her fingers over it, looking for some kind of mechanism.

“On the side.” Pip fell to his knees beside her and pressed a faint indent. There was a scraping sound, then the square dropped a few centimetres and slid away with a hydraulic hiss to reveal a metal ladder.

“I’ll go first,” Dalton said.

It was pitch-black in the hole and Rosie’s heart was racing as she watched Dalton descending. He was only a few steps down when a massive boom shook the building. The floor shuddered and a pile of stacked furniture crashed over. But worse was the sound of something hard and metallic skidding along the floor of the hall. The back door.

“Give me your gun.” Pip flicked open her jacket and snatched it from her holster before she could react, then pushed her down. “Go!” He stood guard as she braced her feet on the ladder’s sides and slid down. The skin on her palms burned and rough edges ripped cuts in her fingers. After about three metres she hit the ground, splashing into a puddle. She moved out of the way fast as Pip came sliding down after her, pulling the hatch shut behind him.

It was completely dark. Rosie felt the familiar suffocating fear leap up in her breast and she instinctively shrank backwards, bumping into Pip’s chest. Suddenly, a flat white light came on.

“Always carry a torch,” Dalton said.

“I know someone else who should,” Pip said near Rosie’s ear.

Her stomach flipped, but she ignored him. “Which way?”

The tunnel ran off for about twenty metres both in front and behind them, ending at junctions.

Pip shook his head. “I just knew this was here, not how to navigate it.”

Dalton’s face was bathed in a soft green light as he activated a nav system on his wrist. “The river’s that direction.” He pointed right.

“Good as any.” Pip took off.

Rosie had no idea what else this tunnel had been used for, but the stench was a cross between sewerage and decaying rodents, and some kind of greenish sludge was oozing from between the crete wall slabs.

They ran as quietly as they could, straining to hear any sounds of pursuit. Their footsteps sounded way too loud, echoing in the damp tunnel.

“Wait.” Dalton stopped. “Listen.”

They stood close together, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. Then they heard it: a faint splashing sound, like boots hitting a puddle. More than one pair. A beam of blue light hit the corner they’d just come around.

“Trackers,” Pip whispered.

They fled as fast as they could, the light from the torch bouncing off the walls as they ran. There was no point in trying to be quiet; it was so dark the operatives would have seen their torchlight the moment they got in the tunnel. A second later a voice shouted, “Stop or we fire.”

Dalton snapped off his torch. Darkness swallowed them. Fear and adrenaline pumped through Rosie. Dalton was just in front, Pip behind. All of them panting. Water splashed up her legs, wetting her to the knees. Where did the tunnel end?

“Halt!” The shout came from behind again, much closer. There was the escalating hum of a pulse weapon and a white light filled the tunnel. The roof above their heads exploded, raining chips of crete down on them. They all ducked, gagging from the fall of dust. Pip fired a shot behind him without aiming. More crete scattered as his shot hit the wall, but in the brief flash of light Rosie had seen the tunnel end up ahead at a short ladder.

“Exit,” she said as they reached it. But it was going to take time to climb it. Rosie had an idea. “Pip, fire at the roof.”

“Brilliant, the dust.” Pip spun around and fired in short bursts at the roof between them and the fast-approaching operatives.

Crete shards and dust exploded in all directions. It was shockingly loud and Rosie’s hands shook as she grabbed for the ladder. Dalton copied Pip, the pulse energy releasing into the rock in boom after boom. Rosie had no idea what the grunts were doing; she couldn’t see anything but a cloud of dust. Shards of crete flew all around her, pelting her face and hands, drawing blood as she grabbed at the rungs, hauling herself up. Dalton was right behind her, climbing one-handed, still firing.

“Pip!” Rosie shouted. Where was he?

Heart pounding and her ears full of gunfire, Rosie climbed swiftly, the boys close behind her. Four rungs from the top, rock exploded near her hip. Dalton cried out and slipped, almost falling on Pip. Rosie reached the top, heaved the cover off, and dragged herself out of the hole and into the street.

“Gun,” she shouted at Dalton, holding a hand out. He slapped it into her hand and she lay flat on her stomach and fired blindly into the tunnel as he hauled himself out. Pip was shoving him up from behind. Then all of them were out and Pip grabbed the manhole cover and heaved it over the exit.

“You all right?” Rosie looked worriedly at Dalton. One side of his jacket was ripped and blood was spattered on the fabric.

“I’m okay. It’s just a scratch.”

“Come on.” Pip led the way out to the street. They were somewhere in the Western Rim, in the residential sector. Box-shaped twenty-storey buildings rose up on either side of them. The sounds of music and arguments drifted down. Random groups of people lurked, but none of them paid them much attention.

“Which way to the river?” Rosie asked Dalton.