Rise of Order

Part 4

The minibus lifted onto two wheels, the momentum slamming me against the window. Grunts and screams erupted as others were tossed from their seats onto the floor. Another volley of cannon fire burst from above, the ground trembling from the impacts. My ears stung. The shots were close.

"That's the safe house," Wingate yelled. "The garage door is open. Drive onto the sidewalk if you have to. We just need to reach it and get to the tunnels."

"They'll kill us if we move!" one of his men protested.

"They're trying to scare us. They won't fire on this bus." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, too.

The wheels spun again. More burning odor. We lurched forward, the engine wheezing. We traveled another twenty feet before the v-copter's guns rang out again. This time it was a shorter burst: targeted fire. A hollow explosion followed, like a balloon pop amplified a thousand times. My heart jumped. The tires, I realized. Metal scraped against concrete as the bus dragged itself forward, struggling for traction.

"In there," Wingate urged. "Get as far inside as you can, out of their firing angle."

Somehow, the bus managed to turn. There was another hard bump. I tasted blood in my mouth as my teeth slammed together. The bus gave a final lurch, then stopped.

The bag was ripped from my head and my bonds were cut three-quarters of the way through with the precise slice of a blade. They'd snap easily whenever I chose. Wingate's eyes stared into mine for a fleeting instant. There was apology, urgency, and a plea for help swirling in a sea of dark emerald. I couldn't see the rest of his face behind the bandana, but I knew it well enough: square whiskered jaw, crooked nose, sharply angled brows. When I was growing up, he'd reminded me of a cowboy from an ancient sim.

Wingate's attention shifted elsewhere. "Get the hoods off them all. We need to move. Get to the bolt holes."

There was a chaotic press of bodies. Wilma's eyes were bloodshot and wide as she hurried off the bus. The rest were herded after her. Only Nia struggled, slipping out of her captor's grasp; her eyes flicked to the gun at his waist, but her hands were bound. Another of Wingate's ruffians grabbed Nia's arm and yanked her toward the exit. She bit him, as quick as a snake. He howled, striking her across the face with a tight fist. Nia crashed over the seat in front of her, blood oozing from her mouth. Suddenly, I wanted to fight, although I wasn't sure against whom. My hands formed fists, but I shook my head to banish the sensation. The rogue policeman grabbed Nia by the neck. She winced as he pushed her forward. I got off the bus ahead of them.

We were inside a derelict warehouse. There was little else there except four walls, us, and several piles of building debris. There had once been a second floor, but it had collapsed, revealing the building's crumbling ceiling some thirty feet above our heads. The place stank like a clogged sewer.

Red Bandana hovered at the garage door we'd just passed through, peering carefully into the street. "The police cruiser is toast. Benny and Giff, too." He shook his head as he turned his gaze upward. "Bastards are dropping ropes. They're coming down! Frakkin' commandos or something. There are Georgia National Guard markings on that thing—those are the governor's men."

Wingate pointed toward an alcove at the back of the building. "The old bathrooms—lift the floor boards. Each one has a tunnel."

"You don't think they'll find us down there?" screamed another of the men. "We're done. You screwed this one up, Winny."

"There are explosive charges in the tunnels—we'll close the way behind us. They won't have digging equipment. And they won't know which exit we took or where those tunnels lead."