The Austin Job (17 page)

He reached past Pilot and flicked a switch at the base of the fulcrum, sparking a blue floodlight to life. “We’ll go trolling.”

“Are you sure—”

“Shhh.” Oleg stood. He twisted the light until it shown fifty meters down the passage to the right, glinting off small pools of water and slow drips from the ceiling. A distinct hiss echoed toward them from the depths. “Go straight.”

As the two students began pumping the handcart more vigorously than they had before, Oleg opened a metal box welded to the platform and pulled out a flare. Cracking it on the side of the car, he chucked it into the middle of the junction before switching off their light. With a smirk he watched the shimmering red light disappear as they eased around a bend. “Turn left at next junction.” He closed his eyes, this time envisioning fire raining down over the city of Austin.

SEVENTEEN

None of This is Real

“Got any water left?”

Starr grabbed the canteen by its charred strap and carefully unscrewed the cap. Steam burst from the opening. He held it at arms length and sloshed its contents. “It’s hot, but it’s water.” He handed it to Lickter.

Gingerly the sheriff poured some down his throat and handed it back. He muffled a swear as Starr finished the warm water off. “The map?”

Starr tossed the canteen over his head. “Must have burned. I left it on the dash.”

“That figures. Got any idea where we might be?” Lickter slowed to round a bend. A darkened passage slipped past on the driver’s side—the third they’d passed.

Starr took what remained of the nicest suit jacket he’d ever owned and used it to cushion the hot metal of the bucket seat before crawling onto it. “Not the foggiest.” He studied the buttons and switches inside the hollowed-out dash. Freshly coated with soot, the paint had bubbled and cracked. “I wonder what else this thing does.”

“After that last one my curiosity’s been tempered a bit.” Lickter let up on the gas. “You see that?”

Starr wiped the inside of the glass with his sleeve. “A flare?” The two men looked at each other.

“I can’t think of one appealing reason Oleg would leave us a trail, can you?” Lickter asked.

“Think it’s a trick?” They chugged closer at a crawl, illuminating the scene with their headlights.

“It’s a junction. Tracks in every direction. What do you think?” Lickter stopped just short of the flare.

The same feeling as before swelled in Starr’s gut. The same feeling he’d felt as Oleg opened the restaurant door and stepped into the crowded street. The same feeling he’d felt when trapped underground with two thrashing stingers as thick as his thigh.
 

“Turn off the lights!” He gripped the machine gun handles in front of him.

“The lights?”

“Do it!” Starr shrieked. “Back up! Get us the hell—”

But before Lickter could flick the switch, a giant, armored arachnid thundered into the junction, slashing at the flare. An angry hissing filled the cramped subterranean space as the monster thrashed wildly in the bright beams. Its multiple sets of eyes—empty orbs, endless chasms into the monster’s mind—absorbed the light. “Good God!”

It reared, a dull blue sheen rippling across its segmented body. Venom dripped from its stinger as it stabbed its pincers into the floor of the tunnel. In a spasm of terror Starr squeezed the triggers, the right remaining lifeless as the left jumped to life. “Go! Go!” Lickter had already turned the key and flipped the handle for full reverse.

His shoulders shook as the gun rattled off seven bullets per second, splintering rock and showering the tunnel with sparks. Clutching the stone with its pincer, the scorpion contracted into the space between wall and ceiling and scurried forward with blinding speed as two more monsters crashed into the junction behind it. “Holy hell, boy! Shoot the damn things.”

Losing track of the first one, Starr kept the guns aimed at the junction. Gritting his teeth and pumping bullets into the same space, he tried to pulverized the very air—tried to slay every nightmare, every haunting failure, every broken dream he’d ever felt—until the tunnel clouded over with smoke and debris.

With a tortured rasping of armor on armor, the streetcar rocked violently. Tipping sideways, it grated against the rock wall showering sparks and dust. “It’s on the roof!” Like a tin can in a tiger’s mouth the car’s plating dented inward in several places. Suddenly a black claw jutted through the fan, mangling the blades and jamming the motor in a cacophony of screeching gears. Lightning fast, Lickter drew his .38 and rolled off all six rounds through the sundered ceiling.

Like a bucket of water over hot coals, the scorpion hissed and sizzled. Releasing its grip, it clung again to the roof of the tunnel, but kept pace with the streetcar. “Starr!”

Jerking to, he realized the gun had stopped firing, the ammo exhausted. From the shroud of dust and smoke in front of them one of the scorpions emerged, still intact, a leg from its fallen comrade dragging from its mouth. “Time to start trying those other buttons!” Starr studied the dash, searching wildly for clues. He wasn’t even sure which button he’d hit before.

The streetcar tipped, threatening to buck off its rails. Lickter had it at full reverse, flying blind back the way they’d come. Slamming into them from the side, the monster whipped its stinger across the windshield, etching it deeply. Thin ringlets of smoke rose where the venom cooked the carbon soot, fusing with the glass. In front of them the wounded scorpion gained ground, swinging the superfluous leg in its pincer like a club.

Good God, none of this is real
. With a jolt the second scorpion reached them, slamming the harvested appendage down on the cowcatcher welded to the front bumper. The impact lifted the back of the car, causing the rear wheels to slip. Slashing with its pincers it shattered the right headlight, rendering the car a gimpy Cyclops. “Now or never, boy!” Lickter barked.

A pair of switches protected by trigger guards caught Starr’s eye. Without further thought he flipped the guards and hit both at once. Instantly a low humming rose in pitch and intensity until panels on both sides of the windshield sprang outward, ejecting monstrous chainsaws—conveyor belts brimming with jagged teeth and squealing from years of neglect. The first scorpion barked, reeling and slamming its stinger against the small window that shielded Lickter from instant paralysis.

Extending outward, the metal teeth tangled the creature’s foreleg and ripped its belly downward. Buckling inward, the two halves of the monster slammed against the side of the car. Finally the dead husk tumbled into the shadows as they continued in reverse at full speed.

Crazed, the remaining scorpion slammed the dead limb into the windshield, a hairline crack spreading slowly across Starr’s field of view. Again and again the scorpion brought the armored pincer across the glass, cracks increasing in size and number.

Pushing everything out of his mind, Starr focused again on the dash.
One more miracle
. At the very bottom a similar trigger guard and switch remained untouched. With a flick the streetcar bounced. Sparks flew upward from their front end as the cowcatcher flipped forward and dragged against the ground.
Great.

As Starr prepared to mash his hand down on every button at once, more gnarled racket burst from beneath his feet. One last boring machine, a disk for cutting at ground level, emerged from the hollow behind the cowcatcher. Hissing, the scorpion jammed the lifeless limb into the teeth. A foam of green blood and black sinew exploded onto the windshield.

“Brakes!” Starr screamed. This time the two men were on the same page. Lickter flipped the reverse handle at the same time he put his full weight into the brake. Nothing to grab, Starr tumbled from his seat, glancing off the pole behind him. Simultaneously a gargling hiss erupted as the crunch of armor slammed into the boring wheel. The streetcar rocked onto its back bumper, the front colliding with the top of the tunnel.

After temporarily grinding to a halt, the metal teeth freed themselves. With a grinding like eggshells in a blender, the tunnel burst into froth and foam and armored shrapnel. Finally the front of the car slammed back down, and all was still save the twitching stinger, leaking the last of its venom across the cracked windshield.

Starr sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head. He felt dizzy from both the blow and the accumulating diesel fumes. “I swear, I’m never eating crawdads again.”

~~~

A large schematic covered the entirety of Oleg’s work space. Studying the locations of the city’s moonlight towers, he checked them methodically with a grease pencil until all but a few were accounted for. He set the pencil down and rolled his head slowly, popping his neck several times. With eyes closed, he drank liberally from his flask of purified water.
Almost there.

He imagined what his daughter might look like today. How tall was she, how beautiful? Had she kept her blond hair? Did she wear it long like her mother?
All of this is for you
.

The bronze horn in the wall behind him shifted. The echo of scuffling feet descended from his academic office, growing louder until he spoke without turning. “Report.” When no one responded, he spun to take in a sight that both surprised and titillated him. “Miss Lickter, pleasure to see you.”

Daisy grunted, releasing a string of muffled expletives through the gag shoved in her mouth. He shifted his gaze to Oleander, who stood a step in front and to the side of Daisy and the two male students restraining her. “Although, I am disappointed Oleander has invited three sets of eyes into personal laboratory.”

Oleander lost her smug look, suddenly apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t, it’s just that I couldn’t leave her up—”

“No matter.” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “What is done is done,
да
?” She clapped her jaw shut and nodded, fear dripping from her eyes. “Now, back to Miss Lickter. How is it you have strayed from father’s watchful eye?” More muffled curses.

Oleander inched forward. “We ran across her in the lobby while exiting the building. She took a shot at me,” she paused, looked across at the two guys who chose to ignore her. “So we thought we should bring her along, just in case.”

“In case what, my dear?” Oleg kept his eyes riveted on Daisy’s.

“In case… in case the others get too close.”

Oleg moved to within a foot of Daisy’s face. “But dear Oleander,” he breathed out slowly. “I want them to get too close.” Finally he broke his stare and panned across to clutch his former number one with the same glassy expression. “You forget lesson of scorpion already. I want them to put nose up to flame and taste death before it comes.” Oleander’s shoulders drooped as she sank into herself.

“But this is good improvisation.” He put a finger beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I have perfect plan. Come.” He snapped his fingers at the mute muscle standing like statues behind Daisy. “Strap her down.”

Loose and fight ready, Oleg crossed the cramped cavern to the far wall. Violently shoving benches out of his way, he cleared a space in front of an examination table tilted almost vertically. Encasing both sides of the table, two radial arms bristled with an array of various gauged needles.

He nodded toward the contraption, and the muscle thrust Daisy against it, strapping her down. “Now go.” Gratefully they retreated. Oleander started to follow them out. “Not you, dear.”

She flushed. “But shouldn’t we be getting ready for—”

“There is time. But first,” he worked a foot pump, drawing three separate liquids toward a single reservoir. “Last trial produce mixed results. Poor Brutus.” He shook his head, watching Oleander’s eyes grow. She glanced back and forth between the struggling Daisy and the calm Oleg. The contrast panicked her more. “Is fitting,
да
? That Brutus betray me. He gave map to sheriff.”

Having filled half the glass orb with the swirling mixture of liquids, he stopped pumping and put his arm around her. “But not my Oleander.” Flinching at his touch, she shook her head. Frightened and brittle, she forgot all spoken language.

Momentarily he ignored her, turning his attention to Daisy instead. “Miss Lickter,” she ceased her struggle against the restraints as he engaged her with his piercing gaze and dripping voice. “You see laboratory before you. I did not build laboratory. I did not carve space from rock. But I fill it with life. I give it function. I work here to forget past.”

His voice rose, his English losing its polish as sweat began to bead on his cheeks and drip from the tips of his mustache. “Without family, without wife, without daughter, without name, I invent and I teach miserable American youth. Pathetic, wasteful, they treat education like filth.” He jabbed the air with his finger, lecturing her. “Then they come. Just like Russia, they come. They threaten me. They spit on Oleg Rodchenko,” spittle and froth were ejecting from his mouth as his speech escalated to rant.

“They treat
me
like filth. Stupid Russian, they say behind back—weak, desperate. They pull strings, watch Oleg dance.
Нет
! I pull strings.” He clutched Oleander and yanked her to his side, grabbing her by both shoulders and positioning her next to the rack while continuing to address Daisy. “I invent machines for greedy, stupid Americans to kill each other. I spit on American money. So many mindless sheep!”

He stamped his foot, clutching at the air, veins pulsing through his temples and filling his ears with the throbbing sounds of the womb. He lowered his voice, slowed his breathing. “I invent machines to get family back.” He glanced at the needles, now dripping with solution, and smiled.

Daisy struggled, doubling her efforts, thrusting at the gag in her mouth with her tongue. He rested his hand on the table’s arm. Leaning forward, he prepared to engage it and its dozen deadly needles, each filled with liquid fire and seeking human enzymes as the final catalyst. He whispered into her ear, “But I kill to get Oleg Rodchenko back.” Smiling, he closed his eyes just before sinking the needles into flesh, and with several thrusts of his foot he pumped the fluid home.