“Hello?”
“Who’s this?”
“Where’s Josh?”
“He’s a little fucking busy. We all are, believe it or not. Who’s this?”
“I’m Adrian Hell. Who are you? His fucking secretary?”
“Adrian? Holy shit! I’m Fisher. Julie Fisher.”
“Julie… you’re heading up Josh’s new D.E.A.D. unit, aren’t you?”
“For my sins, yeah.”
“How come you’re answering his phone?”
“He gave it to me. He’s had to duck out and sort some urgent shit.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of that right now. Well, look, I need your help. You got access to satellite feeds or something?”
“I do, as it happens. What d’you need?”
“I’m in Annapolis, Maryland. Two explosions have just brought the street to a standstill. I’ve got eyes on two pickup trucks full of assholes shooting at civilians and soldiers. No fucking idea why, but they’re in my way and I need to know how to get rid of them.”
“Jesus… sounds like a modern-day lynch mob to me. There have been reports coming in from all over about locals trying to take control of their districts. Cunningham has imposed martial law for our so-called protection in most major cities in the last six hours. Some of the smaller towns don’t like the idea. Gimme a sec.”
I look back at Oscar, whose eyes are rapidly flicking in every direction. “This shit is happening all over,” I explain. “Locals don’t like the army taking over.”
He frowns. “What’s their problem? Better our army than Korea’s, right?”
I shrug. “I don’t think logic is playing a very pivotal role right now.”
Julie’s voice sounds in my ear. “Still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I’ve pinged your cell signal and triangulated your exact location so I have eyes on you now. Where are you heading?”
“There’s a security firm just off the next left turn ahead of me. Josh has arranged a van full of goodies for me, but I can’t get there.”
“Yeah… you’ve got two pickups in front of you, plus I count… six men on the ground. The Jeeps are surrounded and the soldiers look like they’ve been disarmed and are being held at gunpoint. Not sure how you’re—”
Loud whipcracks of rapid gunfire sound out. The burst of death and noise start and stop before I even have chance to react.
“What the fuck was that?”
I hear a sigh on the phone. “Shit… Yeah… they’re not being held at gunpoint anymore.”
“Jesus. How many?”
“Soldiers?”
“No, assholes…”
“I’ve got eyes on fourteen.”
“Am I clear on all other sides?”
“To your left and behind, yeah. Nothing on your right, and once you’re past the mob, you should be fine getting to the van. What are you—?”
“Thanks Julie. I’m guessing the police aren’t rushing to help here… I’ll handle this.”
“What? You’re just gonna—”
“Look after Josh for me, would you? Just in case I don’t… y’know.”
She sighs again. “Yeah, of course. So, listen, are you the man he says you are? Can you really stop this?”
I stare blankly at the ground for a moment. “Yeah, I can.”
“Good. When you have, head over to California for some R and R — me and the boys wanna buy you a drink.”
I smile. “Sounds great. Give Jericho and Ray my best.”
I hang up and toss the phone. My immediate vicinity has fallen silent. I think most people have either managed to escape or have died. I glance back at Oscar. He’s holding an extraordinary-looking gun.
I’m a little excited…
“Oscar, what in God’s name is that?”
“This is the AX-19. It’s GlobaTech’s standard-issue assault rifle.”
“There’s nothing standard about that!”
The gun looks bulky but smooth, like it’s been shaped and forged from a single piece of metal. The scope looks more like a cylindrical computer, and there are two magazines clipped into the underside of the barrel at mirrored forty-five degree angles.
I take it from him and hold it, getting a feel for the weight.
“Man, this is nice!”
“Yeah, it is. Don’t tell Josh I’m selling his shit illegally, okay?”
I smile. “I’m pretty sure he’ll let you off.”
“Go get ’em. Get it out of your system. You know you want to…”
I glance over at the pickup trucks, roughly five hundred yards ahead of me. They’re not really doing anything now, they’re just… sitting there. The men are milling around aimlessly, sharing jokes — their laughter is drifting on the wind.
I look back at Oscar. “I really, really do. Wait here.”
I move left to the edge of the street and then stop for a moment on the sidewalk. Dust from the explosions has covered the buildings and has lined this side with a thick layer. I make my way along the side of the stationary traffic, keeping low and quiet. I find a gap that gives me a line of sight on the trucks and the rebels.
I drop to one knee and bring the rifle up, close one eye, and stare down the sight.
“Jesus…”
The view is… exquisite! There’s no other word for it. It’s a full-color, hi-def image with a small display down the right side showing distance and wind.
I move the rifle around, tracking each of the fourteen men so I can plan my assault. Normally, I wouldn’t actively seek out a fourteen-on-one gunfight — even I like at least a slim sporting chance. But these guys are amateur hour at best, and they’ve just killed soldiers, who, most likely, were just doing their job — innocent, in the grand scheme of things. And… they’re in my way, which means we have a problem.
Safety’s off. I flick the switch near the trigger with my thumb, moving to the single shot fire rate. The guys on the ground aren’t an issue. I reckon I’ve got four good shots before they figure out what’s happening and where I am. The driver of each truck is definitely going first, so they can’t back away quickly to regroup. If I can get a couple out of the back as well, that’s a bonus.
I take a couple of deep breaths to compose myself, slow the flow of adrenaline, and give me complete control over mind and body. Becoming the weapon I was born to be.
Here we go…
I fire three rounds in quick succession, accompanied by the slightest of movements in direction. The driver of the first pickup goes first, his head snapping away to the side as I remove half his skull with the first round. The guy standing in the back is next — he slams backward as the bullet catches him just below his ear in the fleshy part of the neck, behind the mandible. He never knew what hit him.
The third is aimed away to the right at the driver of the second truck. It blasts through the windshield and hits his chest. He falls forward on the wheel.
I spring to my feet, switching the rifle to fire three-round bursts, and take aim at the startled mob. I hold the rifle steady, as if it’s an extension of my body — it faces forward at all times, sees what my eyes see, turns when my body turns. I walk slowly back into the middle of the street and depress the trigger three times. Each burst finds a target.
The yelling starts and panic sets in. They try to regroup, but don’t really have a clue what’s happening. They’re running in circles trying to find a target. It’s like they’re moving in ways they’ve seen on TV, copying that as opposed to actually knowing what to do with their weapons.
Fucking amateurs. It’s a disgrace they were able to get the drop on those soldiers. They deserved better.
Four more bursts, four more targets down. Every man who wasn’t in a vehicle is now dead, lying sprawled on the ground with blood pooling around them. I count four left — both passengers in the cabs, and one more on the back of each truck.