Kestrel
I tensed as the door opened, waving at the silent kid to get down. I picked up the rifle and eased my way to the right, so as to have a clear field of fire if necessary. I felt my pulse quicken. There was silence for a few moments. Then-
"Byron!" Came the low hiss.
My heart leaped. "Pope!" I called back softly. In response, a gloved hand reached out, clicked the trapcatch, and then withdrew. Then Max stepped through the door. As usual, she looked unintentionally beautiful; her red hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her features were accented by the tension in her eyes. I hadn't expected her; the Ox and I had planned this as a two-man operation. For a moment, I let myself pretend that she had wanted to see me again. I moved back to the bench and sat down.
The Ox came through behind her, adjusting his glasses. He looked at the children, then swung his gaze on me. "And 112?" he said, raising his eyebrows. I pointed to where the girl huddled in the corner, muttering in her sleep. "Ah", he said, and then walked over and squatted in front of her.
Max, meanwhile walked to me. "You made it out safely," she said. It was a statement of fact. I nodded. She sighed and sat down on the bench next to me. "Eastbridge is lost. There's no word from Oak or the Harpy. The Butcher made it out, I'm sure-- we had radio contact with him for a few moments before he went into the subways-- but who knows what he'll do." I nodded again. She looked very, very tired. "How long have you been up?" I asked; then, before she answered, I handed her a bottle of water. "Get some sleep. The Ox wants to take a look at her-" here I gestured towards 112- "and we can't risk moving for another three hours anyway. I'll stay on guard." At that moment, the silent kid, who had been still up to then, walked over and handed me his notebook.
Showing posts with label Kestrel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kestrel. Show all posts
Friday, January 28, 2011
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Freegans part 27
Matt
As we ran, I kept my eyes and ears peeled. Suddenly I heard the sound of running footsteps behind us. Whoever it was was trying to be quiet, but they were still making noise.
"Hey Cara, do you-"
"I know, I can hear it too. Right. Ben, you, Lucy, and Matt take the left. Madiza and I will take the right. I'm not going to be captured a second time." She left no option for argument. We moved to our respective sides of the tunnel, and soon the owner of the footsteps came into view. It was a tall man.
He obviously wasn't one of the Junkmen, since he was about six feet tall, and dressed in black material. He had a beret cocked to the side of his head, and carried a big gun. "That's a plasma rifle," Madiza whispered. I barely heard the words. I'd heard that those were illegal, but obviously not. It was clear who this was: he was from the vice president's army, probably here to kill us. Or, failing that, to capture us. I didn't want to have either happen to any of us. So, when Cara gave a signal, we attacked.
I tackled his legs, knocking him to the ground. The others piled on top of him. However, he was shown to be a better fighter than we thought. He used several complicated judo moves, it seemed, knocking us every which way. "Don't let him point the gun at you!" yelled Madiza. She pulled out her tazer and fired at him, but he did something with the gun so it sort of absorbed the electricity.
"Wait!" he said above the commotion. "I'm not here to hurt you!"
"Like heck you're not!" snarled Cara.
"No, really! I'm a friend! I want to get you out of here!"
Cara raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Prove it."
At that instant, the man suddenly said, "Get down!" He lifted up the rifle. We ducked, just in time for him to blast the robot and Junkman sneaking up behind us into little tiny bits. We stared in shock at the smoldering mess.
"That proof enough for you?" he asked. After a second, I got up and said, "Works for me!"
As we ran, I kept my eyes and ears peeled. Suddenly I heard the sound of running footsteps behind us. Whoever it was was trying to be quiet, but they were still making noise.
"Hey Cara, do you-"
"I know, I can hear it too. Right. Ben, you, Lucy, and Matt take the left. Madiza and I will take the right. I'm not going to be captured a second time." She left no option for argument. We moved to our respective sides of the tunnel, and soon the owner of the footsteps came into view. It was a tall man.
He obviously wasn't one of the Junkmen, since he was about six feet tall, and dressed in black material. He had a beret cocked to the side of his head, and carried a big gun. "That's a plasma rifle," Madiza whispered. I barely heard the words. I'd heard that those were illegal, but obviously not. It was clear who this was: he was from the vice president's army, probably here to kill us. Or, failing that, to capture us. I didn't want to have either happen to any of us. So, when Cara gave a signal, we attacked.
I tackled his legs, knocking him to the ground. The others piled on top of him. However, he was shown to be a better fighter than we thought. He used several complicated judo moves, it seemed, knocking us every which way. "Don't let him point the gun at you!" yelled Madiza. She pulled out her tazer and fired at him, but he did something with the gun so it sort of absorbed the electricity.
"Wait!" he said above the commotion. "I'm not here to hurt you!"
"Like heck you're not!" snarled Cara.
"No, really! I'm a friend! I want to get you out of here!"
Cara raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Prove it."
At that instant, the man suddenly said, "Get down!" He lifted up the rifle. We ducked, just in time for him to blast the robot and Junkman sneaking up behind us into little tiny bits. We stared in shock at the smoldering mess.
"That proof enough for you?" he asked. After a second, I got up and said, "Works for me!"
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Freegans part 25
The Kestrel
Kestrel walked slowly down the tunnel, his senses alert. He had changed out of his uniform soon after getting away from the rest of the scouting party; it was now folded up in his backpack. His plasma rifle, toned to debilitation, hung from its shoulder strap by his arm; he was the best shot in his platoon, an irony that wasn't lost on him. He was dressed all in black, with his black beret still on (he rather liked how it looked on him). He was moving as swiftly as he could while still maintaining silence; it would be terrible either to be trapped by the Junkmen or be caught by his own patrol. Still, he needed to get to the children. He hadn't found any message from the Ox, who would have left some sign if he had found them. From the signs he had already seen, it seemed like the Junkmen were making a push in this area. Suddenly, he came upon what must have been a battle scene- broken robots, a junk tunnel, and no sign of anyone. Kestrel kicked himself inwardly for not preparing for that possibility. She was counting on him, and he should have foreseen the problem.
A few minutes later, he had followed the tunnel to the Junkmen transit camp. They had to be in there somewhere, probably already under the affect of the drugs the Junkmen used. He had to get them out of there. He slipped quietly around a corner and into one of the buildings.
Kestrel walked slowly down the tunnel, his senses alert. He had changed out of his uniform soon after getting away from the rest of the scouting party; it was now folded up in his backpack. His plasma rifle, toned to debilitation, hung from its shoulder strap by his arm; he was the best shot in his platoon, an irony that wasn't lost on him. He was dressed all in black, with his black beret still on (he rather liked how it looked on him). He was moving as swiftly as he could while still maintaining silence; it would be terrible either to be trapped by the Junkmen or be caught by his own patrol. Still, he needed to get to the children. He hadn't found any message from the Ox, who would have left some sign if he had found them. From the signs he had already seen, it seemed like the Junkmen were making a push in this area. Suddenly, he came upon what must have been a battle scene- broken robots, a junk tunnel, and no sign of anyone. Kestrel kicked himself inwardly for not preparing for that possibility. She was counting on him, and he should have foreseen the problem.
A few minutes later, he had followed the tunnel to the Junkmen transit camp. They had to be in there somewhere, probably already under the affect of the drugs the Junkmen used. He had to get them out of there. He slipped quietly around a corner and into one of the buildings.
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