Flip (The Slip Trilogy Book 3) (10 page)

A floating green screen appears toward the front of the car. Harrison remembers Chuck’s dad showing them something similar one time. All the Crow cars are equipped with radar too. He scans the image, immediately honing his vision in on the dots representing their vehicle and the two pursuing Crow cars, which are so close their blips are nearly touching. Above them, as expected, are three yellow dots, moving parallel to the pursuit.

“Hawks,” Benson says.

“Wait,” Minda instructs.

They hang on for two long minutes as their vehicle lurches right, then left, then right again. “What are we waiting for?” Harrison asks, but before the question is out, three other yellow dots appear on the radar, closing in on the Hawks.

“
That’s
what he can do,” Minda says, pointing at the roof as there’s a screaming roar from above, followed by a massive explosion that causes the sides of their car to shake. One of the yellow blips disappears. Two explosions later, all three Hawks are gone, vanquished from the radar as easily as flies being swatted.

“Holy bots,” Benson breathes.

“Like I said, we’re not doing nothing,” Minda says. “But we’re not safe yet.”

“Can’t you just use those Hawks to blow them up?” Simon asks. Harrison likes the sound of
that
idea.

“They’re too close,” Minda says. “Maybe if we can get some distance between us.”

Harrison knows that’s not likely. According to the radar, the Crow cars are sticking to their bumper, occasionally trying to get around them. They’ve stopped shooting, but probably only to conserve ammo. There’s no doubt they’ll continue the assault the moment they see an opening.

They take another screeching turn, but their pursuers don’t blink, falling in behind them. Harrison knows that every Crow in the city will have been alerted to the chase, which means they don’t have much time if they’re going to have a fool’s chance of escaping. Drastic action is required, and not by some computer program. Drastic
human
action. The skeleton of an insane plan begins to form in his mind.

Even as Harrison’s contemplating the odds of him dying in an excruciatingly painful manner, there’s a loud thump on the roof. Then another. All eyes go to the ceiling, even Janice’s.

“They’re on us,” Simon says.

“Who?” Benson frowns, puzzled.

“The Crows,” Minda says. “They’re wearing magnetic boots.”

Their slow, heavy footsteps across the roof prove her statement. “What are they up to?” Simon muses aloud.

As if in response to his question, a hole appears above them, allowing a sliver of white daylight to penetrate the cab’s gloom. A beam of bright blue light follows immediately after it. “Laser cutters!” Simon shouts.

The five of them scatter toward the edges of the interior, as far from the dangerous beam of energy cutting through their armor. The laser shears a line in the roof, makes a right angle, and then slices another line. “They’re coming in!” Harrison says, stepping forward to keep his body between the widening gap in the roof and his family. He feels Benson fighting against him, but he uses his superior strength to hold him off.
Not this time, bro
, he thinks.

“Let them come,” Simon growls. The third line is cut, and the fourth begins. When the beam returns to its original position, a heavy square of metal falls inside. Large black boots swing through the gap, but Simon’s ready for them. He grabs the legs and drives forward, grunting in pain as his injured abdomen slams into the Crow. Harrison watches as his frienemy pins the Crow to the side of the car, his forearm pressed heavily into his throat. The guy scratches and kicks out, but the blows might as well be a child’s against a man Simon’s size.

A gun appears from above, pointing blindly inside. “Look out!” Minda yells. Just as the barrel explodes with fire, Simon twists his opponent around, using him as a human shield, his body shuddering as each bullet enters his flesh.

Harrison lunges forward and grabs the gun, yanking hard. The weapon responds, still firing, but past him, falling toward his feet. There’s a hand attached to it, followed by an arm and then an entire black-garbed body: a Crow. As Harrison wrestles the gun from her, Benson grabs her legs and Minda secures her arms.

Drastic human action, Harrison remembers as the gun becomes his. Everyone else is distracted with the prisoner. Now is the time for his insane, but necessary, plan.

Before anyone can stop him, he grabs his hoverboard from where Janice dropped it during the attack, and with one swift motion, presses the door open button and leaps from the car.

H
arrison’s body reacts instantly, his hand activating the board and sliding it beneath his shoes, which clamp to the frame. His other hand clutches the weapon, which is far lighter than he expected for such a deadly instrument. He’s never fired a gun before, but there’s a first time for everything.

Like jumping from a moving aut-car.

Like rescuing his mother from the asylum.

Like going toe to toe with a psychotic cyborg.

It seems his life has been full of firsts lately.

Using minor pressure from his well-practiced heels, he gets control of the board. He winces as cold sleet pelts his face, but manages to take a sharp right to get moving in the correct direction. What he didn’t realize is that the momentum of his leap from the car placed him in the direct center of the opposing lane.

The aut-car is on him in less than a second, it’s automatic accident-preventing brakes engaging, the tires skidding across the pavement, the passengers staring at Harrison in a mix of fear and awe as he cuts left, the edge of the board grinding against the hood, sliding up the windshield like a ramp, and propelling him up and over the next aut-car, which is also desperately trying to stop its forward progress.

Holy freaking son of a—

Harrison veers right to avoid another vehicle, finding himself back in the right lane, in pursuit of the two Crow cars. He leans forward, increasing his speed, crouching to draft off the wind resistance provided by the much larger vehicles, the icy snow swirling overhead. He watches as another Crow clambers from the roof of his car wearing magnet boots, his arms out to steady himself against the gusting wind.

Unlike the first two, the third appears to be empty-handed, but still moves forward with jerky steps. Holding the gun, the temptation to shoot is strong, but Harrison knows he’s too far away. Having no experience, he’ll miss badly, and then the Crow will be aware of his presence.

Instead, he eases forward faster, gaining with each passing second. As the Crow continues to fight forward against the wind, Harrison pulls overtop the first aut-car. A surprised Crow stares up at him through a hatch, and Harrison instinctively pulls the trigger, firing inside. The gun bucks in his hand far more than he expected it to. He loses his grip and it falls from his grasp, clattering to the pavement and running away behind him. Although the urge is there, he knows he doesn’t have time to go back for it.

Beneath him, the hatch is empty, any remaining Crows ducking back inside at the first sign of his riotous gunfire. The Crow with the magnet boots has stopped and turned upon hearing the commotion. His eyes widen when he sees Harrison, but he twists back around, quickening his steps, leaping dangerously onto the lead aut-car, relying on the powerful magnets in his boots to stick the landing.

That’s when Harrison realizes the guy’s not empty-handed after all. He’s carrying something small, black, and egg-shaped. A grenade!

Without thinking, he leans forward, his entire body battered by the wind and sleet, but not caring, not caring, not caring because his family is in that car and the Crow is biting down on the grenade and ripping out the pin with his teeth and winding up, taking aim—

—and Harrison imagines the hoverball shooting for the corner, on target, almost impossibly out of reach—

—
almost
—which is Harrison’s new favorite word, and—

—he leaps, his arm outstretched, his fingers reaching, reaching, snatching the grenade from the Crow, bashing into him hard enough to dislodge his boots from the vehicle, watching as he falls away, smashing violently onto the street where he’s run over by his very own aut-car.

Benson’s head pops up like a gopher and he beckons Harrison back inside, his expression pleading, his mouth twisted in a slash of fear. But Harrison knows he can’t, not now, not when the adrenaline is pumping and the rage burning and while he’s holding a live grenade in his hand.

In his mind, the crowd roars as he spins and lobs the incendiary into the hatch of one of the pursuing cars.

A frozen moment passes, and for the first time in a long time Harrison sees the world with exquisite clarity, as if his senses are heightened. He sees the unique beauty of each snowflake, sees each speckle of sunlight dancing on the metal of the Crow cars, sees every drop of spilled blood pouring from the dead Crow receding into the distance. And then…

BOOM!

The impact is violent and immediate, fire spewing from the Crow car as it’s split in half, ragged chunks of metal spinning off in chaotic directions, colliding with the other Crow car, which swerves wildly to the side, ripping into the side of a passing aut-car, running up its hood, and flipping end over end. It lands on its roof in a raucous roar of metal on pavement. Harrison is thrown forward, chased by an explosion of energy that hurtles him into the waiting arms of his brother, who groans from the impact even as he drags him inside. His board momentarily gets stuck in the small opening, but is then manhandled through by Simon’s strong arms.

“You’re insane,” Simon says to Harrison.

“I’m getting there,” Harrison says, sighing deeply as the aut-car rockets them forward to safety.

~~~

Article from the Saint Louis Times:

Breaking News: Lifers Strike Again

In the biggest explosion yet, an entire building was decimated in downtown Saint Louis in what officials are saying was another act of terrorism by the Lifers. According to Crow Chief Charles Boggs, “Although the Lifers haven’t claimed responsibility, the attack is consistent with their past actions. This isn’t an act of terrorism so much as an act of war.”

Following the bombing, the president’s office issued an immediate statement: “Due to the extreme nature of the situation, martial law has been instituted for Saint Louis. To the citizens of our great nation’s capital city, please return to your homes and review the emergency laws that have been approved by Congress and sent to your holo-screens. These laws, as well as a city-wide lockdown, will be in effect until further notice, violations of which will result in severe criminal penalties.

“While these days appear dark, we will persevere. We will defeat these terrorists who call themselves patriots. We will bring them to justice and restore order. Until a new permanent head of the Department of Population Control can be appointed, Charles Boggs will serve as the chief of both law-enforcement departments.”

Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now.
NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.

Comments:

SamSneed18: I had to fight through a mob to get back to my home. My wife and kid are scared. Hell, I’m scared. I support whatever the government has to do to get rid of those terrorists and get things back to normal. Boggs is level-headed and smart. I trust him.

WayneT101: I’m moving to China.

Lifer3001: Comment removed and disciplinary action taken.

“B
oggs as Head of Pop Con? Seriously? Damn those lunatic politicians.” Although the Lifer leader’s words are full of anger, his tone never rises to a shout. To Geoffrey, for some reason, the low, growling way that he speaks is scarier than shouting. Jarrod is in control. He’s focused.

And he listens to what Geoffrey has to say. “What do you think?” he asks him now.

“Sir?” Geoffrey says.

“Is Boggs the right man for the job?”

Geoffrey thinks about it for a minute. “Is there a right person for the job?” Geoffrey asks.

He’s not trying to be funny, but Jarrod laughs. “Good point. But Boggs is most definitely the worst possible appointment they could make.”

Geoffrey remembers what he knows about Chief Crow Charles Boggs from the hours and hours they used to spend watching the holo-news. He and Chuck and Gonzo and Rod and…

…Benson and Luce.

He shakes off the thought before it can swarm into his brain. Charles Boggs is notorious for the Aloisius Culpepper beating two years ago. For three weeks straight it was all the reporters were talking about. Culpepper had been an upstanding citizen, an ex-Mayor of Saint Louis, the model for obedience to the Population Control Decree, his two legal children blossoming into future politicians themselves. He was beaten to death on the street by three Crows, one of whom was Charles Boggs. According to Boggs and the other two Crows, Culpepper was suspected of aiding and abetting his cousin, a known black market doctor purportedly responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of unauthorized births. UnBees. When they questioned him, he pulled what they thought was a weapon, and so they defended themselves with lethal force. It turns out the so-called weapon was a portable umbrella; it was starting to rain.

After a speedy trial, Boggs and the other two Crows were found not guilty.

“What are you going to do?” Geoffrey asks the man he’s starting to think of as a father figure.

Jarrod’s eyes find his, and he’s surprised at the way they twinkle mirthfully. “Nothing,” he says. When Geoffrey frowns, he explains. “I just mean we’re not changing anything. Pop Con leaders come and go, but we will stay the course. We can’t forget that our mission is right and true. The world is counting on us to fix it.”

Geoffrey smiles. He likes when Jarrod talks about fixing things. He knows it can include him if he wants it to. Jarrod said so, as long as Geoffrey is willing to help him. At first he wondered what he could possibly offer a man with so many resources at his fingertips, a man who seems to scare the President of the RUSA. Then he realized he has a lot to offer. He knows the streets of Saint Louis. He’s young and small and not particularly intimidating. His sister used to tell him he was smart and talented, too, and although he always got hot in the face and embarrassed when she’d say it in front of the other guys, he always knew it was true.

“So my mission is still in three days?” Geoffrey asks, a ball of fear and eagerness growing in his gut.

Jarrod nods. “If you want it to be.”

“I can do it,” Geoffrey says. “I want to do it.”

“But you don’t have to,” Jarrod says. “No one is forcing you.”

“I know,” Geoffrey says.
Don’t I?
he wonders immediately after saying it. The way the great man beside him speaks of revolution and truth and rightness feels like a soundtrack to his sister’s death. The thought makes him angry. It makes him feel like there’s only one choice for him, and it involves the destruction of Pop Con, regardless of who is at its helm. He hates them all. So even if Jarrod says he has a choice, he knows he doesn’t. He has to do this.

“Before you make up your mind, I have something to show you,” Jarrod says.

“Okay,” Geoffrey says, turning his attention to a holo-screen on the wall that blazes to life.

“One of our Hawks managed to capture this video of someone else, like you, who took on a very important mission.”

“A suicide mission,” Geoffrey whispers.

Jarrod pats his hand. “We prefer to call them Victory Missions.”

Victory Missions.
Geoffrey likes the sound of that.

The video starts with a zoomed out shot of Saint Louis. Geoffrey immediately recognizes it as one of the production plants on the edge of the city. He and Luce had worked that area before, Picking hundreds of pockets but only taking what they needed from the LifeCards before destroying them. He hated that they never took more. He hated that everyone else always seemed to have more than them.

The camera moves closer, zeroing in on a bird’s-eye view of a man entering through a gate of one of the factories. He goes through a standard scanning device, and is waved onwards. The Hawk follows his progress until he reaches a door, which he opens, disappearing from view.

“He looks so confident,” Geoffrey says. “Wasn’t he scared?”

“I’m sure he was,” Jarrod says, which isn’t the answer Geoffrey expected. He thought he’d say the man was brave, a patriot—just like he would need to be.

“Really?”

“Of course,” Jarrod says. “I would’ve been scared. We’re all human, right?” Geoffrey nods uncertainly. “Keep watching.”

He turns his attention back to the shot of the facility, which is eerily quiet, only the guards waiting at the gate. “Where are the other employees?” he asks.

“Our guy went to work very early that day to minimize innocent casualties.”

“Oh,” Geoffrey says. He feels lucky to be learning from someone so smart and good.

A few minutes later, Geoffrey is getting bored at staring at the same picture of a silent factory. “When—” His question is cut off as the screen blazes to life, the explosion surreal in its magnitude, vibrant orange and red tongues of fire licking at the remaining debris, massive puffs of smoke being coughed into the sky.

“It was a weapons and munitions factory. They were the primary supplier for Pop Con’s Hunter program. They were as much responsible for the deaths of innocents as those who actually pulled the triggers they’d produced.”

Nearby, the guards lie motionless on the ground. Geoffrey stares at the image, his mouth open wide with awe. “Are they—”

“Dead,” Jarrod says.

“And the guy…”

“He did his duty.”

“Why couldn’t he place the bomb and then exit?” Geoffrey’s been wondering this for a while, but was too scared to ask. The more time he spends with Jarrod, the more he feels at ease.

“Too suspicious,” Jarrod says. “And too risky. A lot can go wrong with remote-detonated incendiaries.” Geoffrey nods as if he fully understands, even if he doesn’t. He likes the way Jarrod treats him like an adult.

Silence falls for a while, each of them watching the structure burn.

“Geoffrey…” Jarrod says.

Geoffrey looks at him, setting his jaw to prevent it from shaking. He knows what’s coming next. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

He doesn’t give himself a chance to think about it, answering immediately. “Yes. For my sister.”

Jarrod nods. “She would’ve been proud. I’ll be proud.”

Blinking furiously, Geoffrey manages to fight off the tears. He turns away, thanking the Lifer leader for his time. He exits into the halls of the facility that they’re using as their base of operations.

A shadow falls over him and he almost bumps into someone. “Whoa, little buddy,” Check says, grabbing his arm. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where’ve you been?”

“Here and there,” Geoffrey says mysteriously. “Some of the other Lifer kids had some board games out.”

“Oh yeah?” Check says. “What games?”

The question is innocent enough, but it sends a spike of fear through Geoffrey. Is Check just making conversation or does he suspect something? “You know, the usual,” Geoffrey says, willing his cheeks not to go red.

“Cool. Want to hang with me and the boys for a while? We’ve been training all morning, but we’re off duty now.”

“Sure,” Geoffrey says, falling into step beside Check. “What are you training for?”

“A super-secret mission,” Check says, winking one of his narrow eyes at him. After being treated like an adult by Jarrod, the gesture makes him angry.

“Fine. Don’t tell me,” Geoffrey says, crossing his arms over his chest. And he won’t tell Check about
his
mission. The real mission. The big mission.

Check stops and puts a hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Geoffrey refuses to look at him. “I’m fine.”

“You know, you can tell me anything,” he says. “You can trust me.”

“I know that,” Geoffrey says, which is exactly why he can’t tell him about what he’s planning with Jarrod. There’s no doubt in his mind that Check would try to stop him. “But I’m fine.” He pushes as much fervor into his voice as possible. “Really.”

“Good,” Check says. “You’re a tough kid. Tougher than I was when I was your age.”

Although he doesn’t want to, Geoffrey feels a touch of warmth in his chest at the compliment, accepting it begrudgingly. It’s true. He is tough. He’s a survivor. He’s the master of his own destiny, as Jarrod told him. “Then you should be able to tell me about your super-secret mission,” he says, emphasizing the ‘super-secret’ part.

Check laughs. “I guess you’ve trapped me. Look, I can’t tell you everything because it really is confidential, but I can say that something big is coming down the track.”

Geoffrey knows exactly what’s coming, but he didn’t realize Check knew too. “What’s coming?”

“Just…a major blow to Pop Con. That’s all I can tell you.”

“And you’re involved?” Geoffrey says, unable to keep his voice from rising. If Check’s involved, he could screw everything up, stopping him from completing his mission at the last minute.

“Not exactly,” Check says, and Geoffrey allows himself to breathe again. “We’re more of the cleanup crew. A whole lot of us will have to go in afterwards to restore order and make sure things get going in the right direction again.”

Fix things
, Geoffrey remembers Jarrod telling him. That’s the point of all of this. They’re going to rebuild the country the right way. The way that Luce and he and the others always dreamed about. The way it should’ve been rebuilt the first time. Although Geoffrey feels sad that he won’t be there to see it happen, he knows his role is the most important of all.

He won’t fail Jarrod. He won’t fail his sister.

The thought pulls a smile to his lips as they enter the makeshift recreational room where other Lifers are playing cards, telling jokes, and watching the holos pinned to the walls. Rod greets them at the door. “
Hola
, Geoff.
Como e’sta?
”

“
Moi bien, gracias
,” he answers. “Where’s Gonzo?”

Rod smirks. “Who knows? Chasing skirts, I guess. Or maybe he got lost.”

“Sounds about right,” Check says, and they all have a good laugh at the expense of their ever-hopeless friend.

For a single shard-like moment, Geoffrey almost feels like they’re back in their old hideout after a long day of Picking, shooting the breeze, and he’ll look up…and there will be Luce with her serious expression and the death stare that tells him he’d better take off his shoes before he comes all the way into the room.

When he looks up, the moment shatters like broken glass.

All because of the enemy.

All because of Pop Con.

They stole his happy moments.

He wishes the mission was today, but he knows they have to wait for the night when Pop Con will least expect the attack. The moment their enemy feels safe and secure, they’ll strike like a cobra.

~~~

Gonzo made a promise, one he intends to keep.

Benson asked for some time. Just a day. Gonzo thinks he can give at least that much, maybe more. It’s not necessarily that he doesn’t believe in what the Lifers are doing—because he does—it’s that he trusts Benson implicitly. And it’s just a day. Twenty-four hours. One-thousand-four-hundred-and-forty minutes. No big deal. If Benson isn’t able to follow through, the Lifers can still carry out their big mission to take down the Pop Con building.

Of course, the weapons room is locked. Jarrod trusts his followers, but not enough to give them unrestricted access to explosives and automatic weapons. Locks are no problem for Gonzo, but they take time to trick, so instead he Picked the key from the pocket of the lead weapons tech when he “accidentally” bumped into him in the hall. The guy was clueless. He was more worried he’d injured Gonzo, who faked a bad fall even as he slipped his hand into his pocket. Just like the old days. Like taking candy from a bot.

Now Gonzo—after glancing up and down the hallway a few times—takes that same key and twists it in the lock. The door clicks open and he pushes into a fevered darkness, easing the door closed behind him and relocking it. He flicks on a small flashlight and gets to work.

The gobs of gunk in his pockets are ABC gum. Ever since their meeting with Benson, he’s been chewing as much gum as he can get his hands on. Luckily, gum is one of the many small pleasures afforded to the rebels by the Lifer leader. Chew a cube thoroughly, shove it in a bag in his pocket. Repeat. After a few days of nonstop chewing, he thinks his teeth might fall out before he’s twenty, but he’s now got enough raw material to
gum
up the Lifer weapons. As he grabs the first gun from the rack on the wall, he laughs internally at his own groan-worthy joke.