Poison City (26 page)

Seriously. Rolling around in circles, his hands up in the air, then down to his chest, his wheel giving him a squeaky accompaniment. He sketches a wide circle, grinning at us as he wheels past.

‘The time is on us when all of us are timed.’

I look at Armitage. She shakes her head and shrugs.

A movement ahead of me catches my attention. The mural of Nomkhubulwane is moving. She’s leaning out of the painting, the top of half of her body becoming three dimensional. I step back. Armitage stays where she is. The little dude squeaks past us again.

‘When all are timed, the race must end.’

What. The actual. Fuck?

But if all that isn’t weird enough, Nomkhubulwane, now hovering above me like some massive hologram, smiles and says, ‘I have a message from my sister, Yemanja. The message is as follows: When you see the five rand coin, pick it up.’

That’s it. She fades back into the mural, becoming a painting once again.

Little dude squeaks past. ‘Pick it up. Pick it up.’

I glare at him, then turn to Armitage. ‘When the fuck did we start living in Twin Peaks?’

I turn away and start making my way back towards the gate. Armitage catches up and we walk across the purple bridge that arcs across Brook Street Market. It’s the biggest market in Warwick, currently filled with fae doing their grocery shopping.

The glow of cell-phone screens can be seen all over the place. I wonder what types of apps the fae use? How to be really annoying and cryptic? How best to confuse humans?

Although, to be fair on them, Nomkhubulwane isn’t actually fae. She’s a goddess – Tier One. And she
was
just passing on a message. From my fairy godmother.

I snort and shake my head.

We’re let out of the market by either an orc or an ogre. I’m not sure which. As soon as we step through the gates the hubbub behind us instantly stops, as if someone hit the mute button. I look back and see only empty stalls and deserted bridges.

‘Well,’ says Armitage, clapping her hands together. ‘Today has been a long day filled with what-the-fuck and I-don’t-know-what. I’m tired, I stink, and I’m going home to veg in front of the TV for the rest of the night. You? Wait – don’t tell me.’ Armitage puts a hand to her head as we cross the street, heading back to her car. ‘I’m picking up an image. I see . . . something murky in your future. Something disgusting. An evil odour and taste. It’s . . . it’s whisky.’

‘Har-de-har-har.’

We arrive back at the car. The street is deserted. No clubs or pubs down this end. Too far out. Light from shop windows spills out onto the sidewalk.

Something catches my eye. A glint of metal.

I look down and see a shiny coin next to my foot.

A five rand coin.

I frown at it.

‘Hey . . .’ I say. I hesitate, hearing the words in my head.

Pick it up. Pick it up.

I bend down.

And a spray of bullets shatters the window behind me, showering me with broken glass.

Automatic gunfire explodes around us. I dive behind the car. Armitage scrambles around from the driver’s side to join me. She already has her gun in her hand. I pull out my Glock.

The gunfire carries on. The shop displays in front of us are being shredded, bullets ripping through the buildings. Bottles of whisky and beer exploding in the liquor store. Clothing and pillows bursting into floating feathers and shredded material. The heavy
thunk-thunk
of bullets hitting the car, metal vibrating beneath my back.

‘You see anything?’ I shout.

Armitage shakes her head. She crawls slowly forward so she can peer around the front of the car. I head to the back.

The gunfire stops. I slowly put my head around the bumper. Muzzle flash from a building across the street. Upper storey window. I jerk back. Bullets skit across the ground where my hand was, thump into the bumper.

I put my hand around the car and fire off five or six shots in the general direction of the muzzle flash. Armitage is doing the same.

‘How many?’ I shout.

‘Multiple muzzle flashes. Five at least.’

Shit. We’re pinned down.

Another burst of gunfire aiming for the front of the car. Armitage and I hunker down and I’m praying a bullet doesn’t ricochet beneath and bounce into one of us.

‘So who the bloody hell are they?’ screams Armitage.

Who indeed? This didn’t have the smell of magic about it.

‘We can’t stay here forever, Tau.’

No. We can’t. I scan the street, then fire a couple of shots at a shop about ten doors down, shattering the glass in the door. Hopefully our friends across the road don’t notice.

‘Cover me,’ I say.

Her eyes widen. ‘What—’

But I’m already moving, running from cover. She swears and fires frantically over the hood of the car as I dive through the empty window of the liquor store we’d parked next to. I land in a lake of whisky and brandy, slide forward until I hit into a shelf, knocking the remaining bottles over.

I catch one. Glenfiddich. It’ll do. I yank the cork out and take a mouthful.

Then I’m moving, heading towards the back of the shop. Past the till, into the office at the back. There’s a locked door here. I kick it open and step into a dark alley. Crates of bottles waiting for recycling are piled against the wall. I peer around them, scanning the darkness.

Nothing.

I run to the right, counting ten shops before stopping before a metal door. This one has a huge padlock on it. I shoot it off, pull the door open. Step inside and make my way through a dingy office and into the shop.

Which just happens to be a sex shop. I head to the glass door I shot out, crouch down next to multi-coloured dildos and peer outside. Armitage is still firing off occasional volleys. I keep my eyes on the building across the street as she does so.

There are flashes from the second and third storey. Nothing from the first floor. I check the location of each attacker, then wait for a lull in the gunfire, assuming our attackers are using the time to reload.

I sprint across the street, expecting to feel bullets ripping me to shreds as I do so. I make it. Smack into the glass door of a second-hand furniture shop.

I slide along the wall until I’m standing beneath the windows that hide our attackers. I try the door. Unlocked. Push it open. Slowly. Waiting for gunfire.

Nothing. I duck my head around then jerk it back, just in case someone is waiting for me to appear. Again, nothing. An empty corridor, light from the street revealing graffiti-covered walls, stairs leading up, and an old bicycle leaning against the wall. The place looks like a disused apartment building.

I duck inside, gun swivelling, taking in all points of attack. I move to the stairs. They’re concrete, no chance of creaking. I slide up the wall, gun pointed above me. I can hear more gunfire, Armitage with another distraction. Not sure how much ammo she has, though.

It’s dark in here. No lights. I get to the second landing, peer into the corridor. Movement. I pull my head back as someone comes out of one of the rooms facing the street, heading in my direction.

I push my gun into my pants and pull out my knife. Wait for him to approach.

He turns into the stairs. I’m face to face with night vision goggles and a mouth stretched in an ‘Oh!’ of surprise. I jam the knife into his throat, silencing him before he can make a sound.

He drops. I catch him, ease him down, wait to see if anyone has been alerted.

Nothing. I pull his night-vision goggles off, strap them onto my own head. My vision turns green and black, my surroundings lighting up like a video game. I pull the dead perp down the stairs out of the way, then hurry back up to the corridor.

It’s hard to tell which of the rooms hold the shooters. I peer into the closest. Empty. Four more rooms on this floor. I check the next. This one is occupied. Another figure in black tactical gear, standing to the side of the window as he shoots what looks like a SIG MPX semi-automatic rifle at Armitage. I’m jealous. Not the shooting at Armitage part. I mean about the gun.

I want to take him down quietly too, but as I step into the deserted room he spins around and places his back against the wall as a few of Armitage’s bullets punch holes in the ceiling.

He stares at me in surprise and I yank out my Glock and shoot him in the chest. Bullet-proof vest. Fuck. I raise the gun and shoot out the night-vision goggles. His head jerks back and he slumps against the wall, drops into a sitting position.

Shit. I wonder if his mates heard? Realised it was a different type of gunfire.

I get my answer a second later when the wall to my right starts exploding, bullet holes ripping through the plaster at ankle height.

Clever bastard. Thinks I’ll drop to the floor to avoid the gunfire. The line of bullets cuts towards me and I make a leap for the window, landing on the dead perp and hopping onto the windowsill just as the bullets reach me. The dead guy jerks and rocks as the bullets thud into him. He slides over onto his face.

I reach down and grab the guy’s SIG, brace myself against the window frame, and return fire, swinging the rifle around in random patterns until I hear someone cry out.

I hop back onto the floor. Three down. How many more to go? Two? But they were one floor up, I think.

I grab the dead guy’s spare magazines from his combat vest, eject the clip in the SIG and ram the full one home. I check the landing outside. No one waiting for me. Out and heading towards the stairs.

I put my foot on the first step and someone comes hurrying down towards me. He doesn’t shoot, so he must reckon I’m one of them. I’m hoping he’ll try to pass me so I can grab him, but he realises the truth a couple of feet away and launches himself straight at me.

We sail back off the stairs and I land on my back. He scrabbles for my face, attempting to yank the goggles away. I try to hit him, but he’s kneeling on my right arm. The gun is in my left hand but it’s too long for me to get it pointed at him. I drop it, punch the guy in the head. Once. Twice. His teeth are bared in fury as he finally gets my goggles off and goes for my eyes.

His thumbs press in. I scream in pain, try to push him back. But he’s too big. Too heavy.

I can’t get to my knife or my wand either. I don’t have any other weapons so I straighten my hand and ram it as hard as I can into his throat.

He rolls off me, clutching at his throat. Gasping for air. I scramble to my feet, pick up the SIG, point it at him. No need. His face is turning blue. I can see a depression in his throat where I hit him. Must have collapsed his larynx. His eyes are wide and bulging. The sounds he’s making are terrible, pained heaving gasps that gradually trail off to nothing.

Running footsteps above me. Fuck. Nowhere to go but down.

I put my foot on the first step then realise someone’s coming up from the bottom floor. Where the fuck had he been hiding? I fire off a burst, then head back to the room where I killed the second guy. Bullets punch into the doorframe, showering me with splinters. I dive through the door, skid across the boards, then scramble up and bolt for the window.

I fire behind me, keeping them out the room. Lean over the ledge. Second floor. Fifteen-foot drop onto the roof of a car.

More gunfire behind me, cutting straight through the wall to either side of the doorway. I hunker down, return fire, spraying bullets across the room.

Nothing else for it.

I climb onto the ledge, hesitate, and glance over my shoulder. The two remaining attackers choose that moment to enter the room, guns firing.

I jump. Hit the car roof with a jolt that sends my knees hard into my chest. Tuck and roll off the car and onto the ground just as bullets pepper the vehicle. Armitage spots me and fires towards the window. The attackers jerk back, disappear from view. I give them a couple of seconds, then sprint to the car.

Armitage is pulling herself into the driver’s side. I yank the back door open and throw myself in as she fumbles with the keys.

I poke my head up to look through the rear window. The two attackers run out of the building, straight into the street. They raise their rifles.

I grab my wand. Take a deep breath and focus, drawing in the power around me, pulling in the electricity from the shops and street lights. The wand vibrates, thrumming with energy. Little arcs of electricity crawl across my hand.

I wait till all the lights around us wink out, plunging the street into darkness. Then I hold the wand up and, resisting the urge to shout out ‘Lumos’, I release the power.

Intense white light bursts into life, like a hundred flares exploding at once. Harsh, monochrome shadows slam into the street. I wince against the glare, grinning as the two remaining attackers scream in pain, their night-vision goggles multiplying the light and hopefully burning out their retinas.

They struggle to pull the goggles off. I try to see their faces as they do so, but only catch a brief glimpse of one of them as they dive behind cars. He’s in his late forties. Thin. A heavily lined face.

Armitage finally gets the car started. She pulls off, tyres screeching on the asphalt, and speeds off down the street. There’s steam billowing out from under the hood. The car isn’t going to last much longer, but as long as it gets us away from here I don’t much care.