Grip (The Slip Trilogy Book 2) (14 page)

Simon starts to stride off to carry out the order, but stops when there’s a heavy boom, shaking the far wall. A crack forms in the wall next to the door, a thick gash in the center with thin and spidery arteries around the edges.

“The door wouldn’t budge so they’re going to blast through the walls,” Jarrod says evenly, not a shred of fear or emotion in his voice. He’s just stating a fact. No different than if he’d said there are forty-two states in the RUSA.

“Move!” Harrison says, and Simon takes off running. Harrison sprints to his brother and friends, whose sad expressions have been replaced with fear, as the walls continue to shake. “Go to Jarrod,” he commands, and he’s surprised when they listen to him. They join a throng of people already bottlenecking at the bathroom door, clambering into the sewers one by one. Next he grabs Janice, pulling her to her feet.

“Too tired,” she says. “Tired because of Luce.”

“I know, Mom,” Harrison says. “But you have to walk a little further.”

Her eyes shine. “I’ll do it for you,” she says solemnly.

“Make sure she gets inside,” Harrison tells Destiny. She nods.

As Harrison scans the room, watching as the people split into four groups, each clustering around one of the four corner bathrooms, there’s another massive blast and the crack widens, its edges crumbling and falling away. He watches the dark slash intently, searching for any sign of their enemies. Something flashes in the dark.

He squints. There it is again.

Something pokes through the crack.

He’s a second too late, as there’s a flash and a crack, and he yells “Down!” But the shot has already been fired. One of the guards falls instantly, dropping her gun when her feet betray her. A headshot. Viciously effective.

Everyone else drops flat on the ground, and for a few moments the evacuation ceases. Harrison’s heart slams around in his chest. There are no other shots. The sniper could be waiting for someone to stick their head up…but no. That doesn’t feel right to Harrison. Killing them off one by one would take forever. The single shot was meant to scare them, to freeze them into inaction. No, their attackers are buying time so they can—

BOOM!

The final blast is so loud and powerful that it feels like it’s inside Harrison’s head. Jagged chunks of stone fly from the wall as it collapses inward. Harrison covers his head against the rock shower, feeling pricks of pain and then a heavy, bone-numbing shock against his forearm as a large stone slams into him.

It feels like his arm is broken, but he knows there’s not a moment to lose. There’s nothing separating their enemies from them, and it won’t be long before—

A chorus of shots rings out, punctuated by another explosion, this one different than the previous three. Red smoke pours from the center of the room, immediately stinging Harrison’s eyes, which he jams shut.

He rolls blindly to the side, trying to block out the screams and the gunfire, refusing to breathe in the smoke-filled air. It isn’t until he slams into something that his eyes fly open and he scrambles to his feet. He sucks in a quick breath before the smoke reaches him again, filling the room from top to bottom and side to side. Some type of gas meant to knock them out, or maybe even kill them. Bodies are already littering the floor. People are staggering around the room, zombie-like, falling one by one as their bodies fail them. And he can’t even open his mouth to warn them to stop breathing, or he’d end up just like them.

There’s nothing he can do for any of them. He needs to find his family and make sure they made it into the sewers.

Tucking his mouth and nose into the collar of his shirt, he runs for the bathroom, where the crowd has thinned out, either because they made it into the escape route or because they’re dead or dying or knocked out. Quickly, he scans the bodies, looking for familiar faces. They’re all strangers to him. Blank-faced strangers who he’ll never get the chance to meet. Possible friends he’ll never get to make.

He runs for the door, pausing to take one final look into the murky smoke-filled space. He freezes, his blood running cold.

A torn strip of cloth wrapped over her face, Destiny is dragging a body. Shadows appear in the haze as their enemies, likely wearing gasmasks, move into the room. Laser-like beams of white light sweep the area, trying to locate living targets for their guns. Harrison gauges the distance. The body is too heavy for Destiny. She won’t make it. No way.

Taking a deep breath inside his shirt, Harrison charges back into the room. Destiny flinches when he appears beside her, but then motions downward to the body she’s dragging.

It’s Minda, her brown-skinned face flat and expressionless, like she’s sleeping.

“I have to save her,” Destiny says, her voice muffled through her shirt.

“I’ll help you,” Harrison says back, because they both owe Minda their lives.

Together, they lift her body, various weapons and tools clinking along her belt. Huddled side by side, they run for the door, hoping the thin beams of light won’t find them. When they reach the bathroom, Harrison plunges inside and lowers Minda into the hole, where thick, meaty hands are waiting. It’s Simon. “I’ll take her,” he says.

Harrison hands her over and watches as Simon passes her to someone else. “Blow the entrance once you’re through,” Simon says. He hands Harrison a grenade.

Accepting the cold metal device, Harrison looks back, ready to help Destiny down next. But she’s already slipping back into the room, bending over to start dragging another body, this one a stranger, built like a tank.

“Destiny, no!” Harrison hisses. But she doesn’t listen to him, just keeps on tugging at a body nearly twice her size. Leaving the grenade on the edge of the hole, he dashes out on tiptoes, his eyes stinging, adrenaline coursing through him as a beam of light closes in on her. The second before the light finds its target, he tackles her, knocking her to the floor.

She struggles against him. “Let go of me,” she hisses. “It’s my fault. I have to save as many as I can.”

Watching a beam of light scorch overhead, Harrison speaks directly into her ear. “I’m not leaving you. If you don’t come with me, I’ll be killed, too.”

All the fight goes out of her as she stares angrily at him. She’s willing to sacrifice herself, but not him. “On my count,” he says. A beam cuts in from the side. “One.” Passes over them. “Two.” Moves on, seeking another victim. “Three,” he whispers, dragging her to her feet. As before, they run huddled together, silently easing the door closed behind them.

Harrison makes sure she’s into the sewers and crawling forward before he snatches the grenade from where he left it and descends into the pit.

With knees and elbows, he struggles forward through the muck, trying to breathe only from his mouth because of the stench of human waste. He stops after he’s gone about ten meters, feeling filthy. Using his teeth, he pulls the grenade’s pin. Sidearm, he chucks it back down the tunnel, relishing the series of clinks it makes before coming to rest somewhere near the hole.

Ignoring the scrape of rock against his skin, he crawls forward as fast as he can. One meter, two meters, three…

BOOM!

He feels a rush of heat and hears the patter of rocks falling, and then all goes silent and cold once more. He’s sealed the entrance to the sewer.

~~~

Article from the Saint Louis Times:

Refuge Destroyed!

The secret Slip sanctuary known in rumor mills as Refuge, has not only been confirmed by Pop Con as a real place, but been destroyed. The announcement came in the early morning hours just days after the appointment of new Pop Con chief, Corrigan Mars.

Refuge was allegedly created by the terrorist organization known as the Lifers, and was discovered beneath an operating junkyard south of Saint Louis. Although details are still forthcoming, a source close to the investigation said that the sting was planned weeks earlier by Corrigan Mars, before being fired by corrupt Pop Con Head, Michael Kelly. As soon as Mars was reinstated and promoted, he made the operation his number one priority, leading to the successful completion of the mission late last night.

According to an eye-witness, the Lifers and the unauthorized beings they harbor used a plethora of illegal weapons such as laser rifles, nerve gas, and grenades. These sorts of weapons are typically reserved only for the use of government organizations such as the Department of Population Control.

Although we won’t have exact numbers until investigators sift through the wreckage, cataloguing and scanning the deceased, dozens of illegals are believed to have been terminated during the mission, including a number of Lifer criminals. In a formal statement to the press, Mars said, “While the number of illegals found hiding at Refuge may come as a shock to many lawful citizens of the RUSA, they can rest easy knowing that the new Pop Con regime has set a higher standard for population control. In the coming months, as the central Population Control office, we will dedicate ourselves to coordinating the national effort to eradicate illegals from coast to coast, improving the resource surplus available to law-abiding citizens.” When asked whether the Saint Louis Slip was counted amongst the dead, the Pop Con boss had no comment.

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:

SandyCastle: When I first read this article, I thought it was some sort of a joke. There aren’t supposed to be that many Slips, right? Is the system broken?

KourtneyL: Corrigan Mars is sometimes on the message boards. Maybe he has an answer?

GeorgeGeorge: I live south of Saint Louis and now I’m afraid to leave the house. Every time I see a shadow I think it might be a Slip hiding, ready to rob me, to steal the little food that I have. If there’s one Refuge, there could be many.

Queenie8: At least they’re finally DOING something. Michael Kelly must’ve been hiding all sorts of problems. I expect to see more news like this in the coming months as Mars cleans up shop. He’s got my confidence, that’s for sure.

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D
omino Destovan’s rage is only just beginning to subside. He can still remember the looks of fear on his men’s faces as he slammed his fist again and again against the door. Although it was far too thick and strong for him to punch through, he was impressed with the way his titanium alloy knuckles left depressions in the iron.

Now that the gas has been filtered from the hidden bunker, Dom is able to walk freely without a mask. He doesn’t bother to step over the bodies, enjoying the crunch of their bones under his heavy trod.

Although the forensic investigators will provide the official results by the end of the day, he checks every blank face, searching for the one.

There’s something wrong with each body he finds. Too young. Too old. Too black. Too hairy. The blond-haired, blue-eyed teenager that haunts his nightmares isn’t here. Then he sees her.

The girl. Lucy Harris. Her lips are slightly parted, as if she was trying to say something as she died. Whispering something to the Saint Louis Slip perhaps? Lying on her back, she looks as if she was laid out that way purposely, as if her friends might’ve been standing around her, mourning her death.

Good
, Domino thinks. Let them mourn. Let them be distraught. It will only make them weaker. Easier to find and kill.

Although each sewer entrance was destroyed by some kind of incendiary, it’s presumed that the survivors managed to escape, crawling on their bellies like worms. While he’s disappointed he didn’t get Benson Kelly, he’s confident he will eventually. And when he does…

A smile bends his lips.

They didn’t get the Slip they’d been tracking either. The girl with a talent for hoverskating. They found her tracker, filed in some cabinet in the medical portion of the facility known as Refuge. It’d been cut out of her and discarded like some innocent sliver of shrapnel. Stupid criminals. Their mistake was his gain.

Their next one will allow him and his men to finish the job.

His radio crackles. “Domino,” Corrigan Mars says.

He licks his lips, narrowing his eyes. He hates that he doesn’t call him the Destroyer anymore, like he used to. His boss is more of a pain in his side than ever. After all, he’s the one who stopped Dom from continuing to punch the iron door. The electric shock had screamed through his body and brought him to his knees. Four of his men had to carry him away from the door so they could set the explosives in the wall. It was
his
call to make, not Mars’s. Mars wasn’t even on site.

“Yessir,” he says, forcing respect into his voice.

“Update?”

Mars had radioed him ten minutes earlier, asking the same question. “It appears Benson Kelly got away…sir,” he says. Mars sighs loudly, but the Destroyer doesn’t even care anymore. He’ll catch the Slip when he catches him.

“That’s unacceptable,” Mars says.

“Like when you had him trapped at Pop Con headquarters?” Dom says. He knows backtalk is a bad idea, but he can’t help himself. He’s not the only one who failed to catch the Saint Louis Slip when he had the chance.

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” Mars growls.

“What are you going to do, shock the insubordination out of me?” Dom says. He can already feel a tingle of electricity running through his chest, as if the Pop Con leader has the tip of his finger on the button, depressing it slightly.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Mars says. “I created you, and I own you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

The Destroyer remains silent, stewing.

“That’s better,” Mars says. “Now return to base. We have to figure out what to do next.”

“Yessir,” Dom says, clicking the radio off and making himself a promise.

When he’s done with Benson Kelly he’ll come for Corrigan Mars.