THE STORM FRONT fell upon Darwin like a blanket thrown over a corpse.
Wind began to whip little daggers of water through the streets of the Maze, clearing what little foot traffic would be found at such an hour.
The fire at Selby Systems had grown significantly, engulfing the surrounding structures now. Sam couldn’t be sure how much damage had been done. All she could see when she glanced back was an orange glow reflecting off the purple bruise of rain cloud that roiled above the city.
She’d been through plenty of bad storms during her time in Darwin. Even two typhoons. This one, she thought, would rank near the top.
Perfect.
Occasionally she heard shouts behind her, echoing off the broken buildings and shuttered window frames. Jacobites, fanning out into the labyrinth. Had they found Skadz? Prumble? Impossible to know. She ran and ran, fighting the wind with every step, squinting when the blown rain lashed at her face.
The narrow alleys all looked the same. Gray concrete, armored doors, broken windows all boarded and barred. Exposed pipes and bundles of electrical wire snaked everywhere. Some of the cables, the few that still carried a current, sizzled under the barrage of droplets.
Three minutes away from the inferno and she was utterly and completely lost. The space elevator provided her only beacon for navigation. A single lonely climber was visible just below the cloud layer, like a lantern on the peak of some great mist-shrouded mountain. The vehicle hadn’t quite beaten the storm, and she could only imagine the turbulence it would face as it climbed up through those angry clouds. In years past, before all the upheaval, the cord would have been cleared well before a storm like this hit. A more experienced staff in Nightcliff would have known better.
Her foot caught on a loose bit of concrete and she went down, landing hard on her shoulder. The impact sent a jolt of pain that seemed to rocket straight to her brain. For a moment she lay there in the street, blinking away the flurry of water that sprayed into her eyes.
“Get up, Sam,” a voice said. It took her a second to realize it was her own.
She stood and walked on shaky legs to a small alcove. In any other storm it would have meant a welcome respite from the rain, but when the wind hissed through narrow streets like this there seemed to be no escape. Still, it was dark. Very dark. She leaned against a wet wall and rubbed her shoulder. A burst of lightning produced flickers of white-blue light across the city. Shadows danced and parried up and down the alley. Movement above caught her eye. A candle in a window, high above, grew and faded. There were others, too. Pulsing yellow squares like ships on a dark and turbulent ocean.
Footsteps caught her attention. Someone was jogging down the alley.
Sam took a chance and glanced out of the alcove. A distant flicker of lightning gave her a glimpse of a thin, lone Jacobite heading in her direction. She waited. Timing was everything. She waited as long as she thought she could and then stuck out her leg.
The thug jumped it, deftly.
Shit, she thought, and went at him with a fist. In the heat of the moment she’d forgotten about her throbbing right shoulder. The punch produced a stab of pain and forced her to ease off, leaving the thrown fist with no weight behind it.
It wouldn’t have mattered. The Jacobite—a woman, Sam now thought based on the curves glimpsed in another flash of lightning—dodged easily. She ducked and kicked out, her foot a smear of gray motion.
Sam leapt upward, the attack scraping her shin. At that instant the lightning hit a lull and the alley went almost pitch-black. Sam landed on something soft and her assailant yelped in pain. The limb—arm or leg, Sam had no idea—yanked out from under Sam’s foot. She reached for it, caught it, and twisted. Another cry followed by a vicious chop that took Samantha on the back of her neck.
The sting of it produced swimming stars in Sam’s vision. Somehow she’d managed to hold on to the Jacobite’s limb—an arm, she knew now. Sam turned and ducked, putting her enemy directly behind her. She gripped the woman’s forearm with both hands and pulled while at the same time thrusting herself upright.
Her attacker flipped over Sam’s shoulder. Lithe and light, easy to flight. Skadz had said that once when she’d thrown a scrawny subhuman the same way. In that instance Sam had let go, tossing the scowling sub over the side of a building. Here, now, she held on with both hands, pulling downward as the woman came back toward the ground. There was a double smack sound as her feet hit the wall of the alcove, then a whoosh of breath being forced from her lungs as her torso slammed into the ground.
Sam wasted no time. She knelt, held on with her right hand, and rained blows with her left. Four punches to the face were all it took to convert the thrashing, terrified opponent into a lifeless mass.
“Nice to fucking meet you, too,” Sam muttered as she searched the body. The white Jacobite robes were soaked through and clung to the skinny woman. In the dark Sam found it frustrating to try to move the ridiculous garment aside to look for pockets beneath. She gave up, patted the body instead, found nothing.
Ten minutes later Sam ran straight into a dead-end alley. Wind whistled along the buildings that lined the narrow lane until the last little boxed-in corner, where it then vaulted upward in a swirling vortex of debris.
She cursed the blocked path and turned back, only to spy two Jacobites entering the alley. They were just shadows in the dark city street, and she knew she would be, too, so she flattened herself against a wall between two thick pipes and hoped they hadn’t seen her.
When they were two meters from her position she coiled. There’d been no time, nor anywhere near enough light, to assess them for size or weapons. So she’d take the closest one first, perhaps shove him into the other and send them both sprawling. If only the crumbling brick wall across from her had an alcove of its own, with Kelly tucked within. She’d worked so well with the nimble woman on Gateway during that week of constant cat-and-mouse. It had never been Sam’s style before then, until Kelly had shown her just how effective it could be.
“I wonder where you are now,” Sam whispered. “I wonder … shit.” She hadn’t wondered one critical thing until this moment, as the two patrollers drew near. What will happen to Kelly once Grillo hears of my actions tonight? Does he still believe she’s important to me? Is he still skeptical of her loyalty?
Sam cursed herself for having considered none of this before the evening’s events. She should have found some way to send her friend a warning. Be ready to run, or something like that. Anything. Instead she’d warned Vaughn, and only marginally, so she could get him in bed again.
The crack of two gunshots cascaded down the alley. Prumble, or Skadz? Likely. She hoped they were the ones doing the shooting. The two Jacobites halted at the noise. Sam half-expected to hear their bodies topple to the asphalt, but sounds were weird in the Maze, their distance all but impossible to estimate. A street vendor’s call could seem a block away only to be a kilometer distant, channeled through the alleys in just the right combination. Neither of the Jacobites fell. Instead they both turned and ran, shouting cries of alarm and rally. They probably had as much idea as she did where the shots originated, but all that mattered was that they’d left. Sam ducked out of the dead-end alley and moved on, thankful she didn’t have to leave any more bodies in her wake.
When the high fortress wall of Nightcliff finally came into view, she felt better. Tired, hungry, dead thirsty, and aching from half a dozen places, but still better. She knew where she was, and the café wasn’t far. On top of that, the storm had passed, leaving in its wake ten million balconies and windowsills dripping water onto the surfaces below. That sound would go on for a long time, she knew, but at least the wind had died.
When Clarke’s finally came into view, the lights were off. This didn’t surprise her, given the predawn hour. Sam took one last glance behind herself, saw no one, and strode forward into the small square in front of the storefront.
“Wouldn’t do that,” a voice said. Just a whisper. Prumble.
She turned, couldn’t see anyone, and stepped back into the shadows anyway. “Where—”
“Here.”
A movement in a nearby doorway. Sam jogged across the street and slipped into the dark space. “Are you okay?” she asked. She couldn’t see him but felt the girth of his belly press against her own in the tiny alcove.
“They’re inside, waiting.”
The words alone were bad enough, but when their full meaning hit her Sam felt a cold despair, like a dead bolt clicking into place. Not only were the Jacobites one step ahead, they knew where to fucking go. She thought they’d been careful. Perhaps they had and someone talked. She shuddered at that idea and buried it deep. “How do you know?”
He jerked his chin upward. “Second-story window on the left.”
Sam looked. It was hard to see in the darkness, but on a small sill that extended out from below the window was a white bucket. This was not unusual in Darwin, where it rained almost constantly for half the year and external sources of water had all failed. Sam glanced farther up the side of the building, and nearly every window and balcony had similar containers out now that the winds had died down.
“Renuka’s signal to me that the café is not safe,” Prumble explained.
“Where’s Skadz?”
The big man shrugged. “Aboard still, I hope. If he’s in there we have a big problem.”
“Another big problem, you mean.”
“Quite. Problems seem to be breeding like rabbits this evening, don’t they?” His last word ended strangely, as if he’d just stepped on a thorn.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Bit of a scratch. Took a knife to the gut. Relax, it’s not deep and I have ample padding.”
She slipped a hand into his coat and prodded until her fingers found a wet, sticky spot. He grunted when she put pressure there.
“We need to stitch you up.”
“That’s the least of your worries. Soon the sun will rise, and I don’t exactly blend in, Sam.”
“Nor do I. We need to get off the streets.”
“Not without Skadz,” he said.
Sam grinned at that. She’d been on the verge of saying the same thing.
A minute later, Skadz found them.
She heard him first. Rapid footfalls on the tortured streets, echoing off the vertical man-made canyon walls. He raced into the square in front of Clarke’s as if he intended to burst through the door. Sam was about to call out to him when Prumble’s finger curled around her arm.
Skadz ran past the café and kept going. He had the bulky duffel bag that contained Prumble’s environment suit slung over his shoulder.
Another set of footsteps grew. Four people, maybe five, giving chase.
Before Samantha could even think what to do, Prumble moved. His speed was remarkable given his girth, his wounded belly. He ran into the square toward the abandoned wreck of a food cart. Every useful part had been yanked off the thing, leaving just a skeleton behind. A rat skittered from beneath it as the big man approached.
Prumble lowered his shoulder at the last second and propelled the metal and plastic carcass into the path of the oncoming Jacobites. His timing had a poetry to it. The first thug into the square yelped in surprise and smashed into the thing, toppling it.
Three others followed into the pileup, unable to slow themselves on the wet asphalt. An object clattered across the square and slid to a stop near Sam. She knew the sound of a pistol being dropped and went for it.
Prumble was on the newcomers in an instant. He lifted one into the air and tossed him into a nearby concrete wall. The others were scrambling to their feet. One ran. The other went at Prumble’s midsection, as if he had some hope of knocking the giant man over. Instead he stopped as if he’d rushed into Nightcliff’s fortress wall. Prumble grunted, his wounded belly no doubt on fire.
Sam hefted the gun, flipping the cold metal around in her hand to get the grip right. It was a small thing, an antique police-issue type, she guessed. Glock, maybe. She just hoped it was loaded and not a showpiece.
Skadz emerged from her left, coming back after no doubt hearing the crash of the food cart. Prumble was tangled up with two Jacobites, his body preventing Samantha from getting a clear shot. She was about to whistle for Skadz’s attention when the door to the café flew open.
Sam hesitated long enough to see the flash of a gun barrel and the hint of a Jacobite robe behind it. She fired without sighting, letting the sparks that erupted from the side of the building refine her aim as she continued to pull the trigger. The first Jacobite out the door smartly dove to the ground. The one behind him froze, fell, and toppled in a heap. There were shadows of more behind that one, but they retreated as Sam’s clip ran empty.
The one on the ground rolled to the side and took aim. She ducked back into the alcove just in time as the machine gun barked thunder. A short burst, professional. The ones inside the building were trained, then. Elite. She wondered with dismay if they’d been there since before or after the explosion at Selby Systems.
Another burst of fire slapped into the far side of the alcove, suppression fire. Between bursts she heard footsteps. The gunman was moving toward her.
Then he cried out. Surprise more than pain. She heard bodies tumbling and chanced a look around the corner. Skadz had tackled the man.
Sam rushed forward, tossing the empty pistol aside. She reached them as both men got back to their feet. The gunman was readying to shoot Skadz when she drove her foot into his groin from behind. She kicked so hard that he lifted a few centimeters off the ground, yelping like a dog. The effort made her slip on the still-wet ground and she toppled back, cracking her skull against the ground.
Skadz must have followed her kick with one of his own because the Jacobite thug was pushed backward, off his feet, toward her. She raised her arms and caught him as he landed on her; she clasped her hands around his neck and rolled to get on top of him.
More gunfire. Sam winced at the sound, expecting the worst. Then she realized it was Skadz. He’d managed to yank the machine gun away as he’d kicked the man she now held. Skadz concentrated his fire on the open doorway of the café. As for Prumble … she had no idea. No such thing as a fight without chaos and confusion, she thought as she choked the life out of the enemy under her.
The man squirmed. He got an arm free and clawed at her eyes, muddy fingers clouding her vision. She tightened her hands and let the anger pour into that hold. He gagged, gurgled. Something in his neck gave in and crushed under her grip with a sound that made her stomach lurch, but still she clamped down.
A hand was tugging at her shirt from behind. “Let’s bounce!” Skadz shouted. He fired again and the rifle finally clicked, empty. “Now!”
Sam released her hands and surged to her feet. She blinked but it was useless. Frantically she swept her arm across her face but it only made the situation worse. Skadz was pulling her and she didn’t bother to argue the direction. In four steps they were in an alley again and running as best they could. She could hear footsteps in front, heavy. Prumble, good.
“This way,” the big man said. Skadz shifted direction and Sam allowed him to guide her as she tried to wipe her face clean with her shirt. There were shouts coming from behind them, but they sounded distant already.
A door opened somewhere ahead. Sam tried to look but the world still resembled a bad watercolor left out in the rain. Skadz didn’t slow, though; he went in. There were steps going down, and the smell of sewage.
Sam asked no questions for the next half hour. She just ran, between the bulky confidence that was Prumble and the lithe paranoia that was Skadz. They were outlaws now. No doubt about that.
They’d gone underground and Samantha wondered if they’d ever come back up.