Francis concentrated his Power and jerked the meat cleaver from the cook’s hand. It stuck hard into the ceiling. “Exit?” The frightened cook pointed to the left. “Thanks.” Francis could see the OCI men heading his way through a porthole in the door. He ran for it, but on the way noticed several big bottles of olive oil on a shelf. He focused his Power and hurled the bottles hard against the floor. The jugs exploded into a slick mess. Francis made it to the back door just as the OCI came into the kitchen, slipping and crashing. Suckers.
He found himself in the second alley of the night. The door closed behind him, and luckily it was metal. Francis threw a bunch of Power against the frame. It was a strain, but he twisted the metal until it creaked and bent. They wouldn’t be following him out that way.
Francis paused to catch his breath. Pershing had taught him how to keep a cool head in situations like this. How many of them were there? Which way would they be coming from? They’d be watching the streets. They’d have cars and radios. He had to give them the slip somehow. He had to maximize his advantages. There.
There was a sliding fire escape ladder leading to the apartments above. It was well out of reach… for those poor saps that weren’t born Movers. Francis reached out with his Power, grasped the bottom rung and pulled hard. It came sliding down. He quickly scrambled up the ladder as the OCI began beating on the kitchen door. The metal rungs were rusty and cold, and he was panting by the time he made it to the second story landing. He could almost hear Faye’s voice chiding him. Too much drinking and not enough healthy exercise.
He tried to use his Power to yank up the ladder behind him, but nothing happened. Nullifier! “Shit.” He pulled up the ladder by hand and then hit the stairs as fast as he could. He needed to get out of sight fast.
The OCI in the kitchen started shooting holes in the door trying to break the lock. It wouldn’t work, but it told him these guys were not messing around. A bullet ricocheted off the wall below and made a terrible whine as it zinged off into the night.
The building was eight stories tall. He’d never make it over the top before the OCI got to the alley. Luckily the apartment window on the fourth floor was open a tiny crack. He pushed it up, climbed through and fell onto the carpet just as headlights illuminated the alley below. He risked a peek over the edge to see several men with guns fanning out across the alley, kicking over trash cans and poking through the dumpsters. One looked up, but Francis pulled back in what he hoped was the nick of time. There were all sorts of clotheslines leading from this fire escape to the building on the other side of the alley. With any luck the fed would just think the movement he saw was some of the lines swaying in the breeze.
He was in a plain bedroom. The lights were out, nobody was inside, and the door was closed. The sound of a radio could be heard coming from the other side of the wall. He breathed and listened to the crashing and shouting below. They wouldn’t give up that easy. They’d canvas the neighborhood. Normally his Power would make a real mess of his enemies in a fight, but if they found him, that damnable nullifier would give them the advantage. He pulled out the notepad, craned it enough so that he could see the pencil lines from the reflected light, and tried to figure it out. He was fairly decent at drawing spells. He could make this work…
The doorknob turned. Francis hurried and crawled behind the bed. He tried to duck down as low as possible, but it wasn’t a very tall bed. The door opened and a hand reached for the light switch. Francis reached out with his Power to pop the light bulb, but forgot that it wasn’t going to work. The light came on. Shit.
“What’s going on down there?” It was a girl’s voice. Footsteps on the carpet. Francis had to shut her up and fast. She went to the window and looked down at the OCI. She was young, probably his age, but short and built thick like a fire hydrant. Francis prepared to grab her. He’d have to cover her mouth so she couldn’t scream, and then try to calm her down. “Who left this open?” and then she looked over and saw Francis coming her way.
Like a good New Yorker, she did two things without even thinking about it. First, she screamed, and second, she kicked him right between the legs. Francis cried out and stumbled to the side as the girl kept on screaming. He fell over the edge of the bed and hit the floor.
“Up there!” one of the OCI shouted.
That really hurt. He just wanted to puke and die, maybe even in that order, but he got up and lurched for the door. The girl hit him with a vase and threw a shoe after him, all while screaming for help. Francis made it through the living room, found the door, and spilled out into the hall.
That was rather embarrassing. He’d fought a dojo full of Imperial Iron Guards once, and now he’d just been bested by a swift kick from a portly girl. The hall stretched in both directions. He limped toward the elevator. No, they’d expect that. “Stairs,” he gasped. Now is not a good time for stairs.
He found the stairwell and clambered down a floor. The girl had been barefoot but he felt like she’d been wearing steel-toed boots. There was a noise below as the door to the stairwell banged open. It was too late. Francis turned and went up, or as Buckminster Fuller had suggested, out from the center of gravity. Damned Cogs.
Francis could hear the heavy footfalls below. He yanked open the fifth floor door as loudly as possible and then tried to move quietly toward the sixth, hopefully they’d veer off to check that. He had to think fast. He could either hide, run, or fight. His magic wasn’t working, but he had a. 45 auto and two mags inside his coat. However there were at least eight of them, maybe more. If he hid, they’d find him eventually. That left running. The buildings in this part of town were packed right on top of each other. Maybe if he made it to the roof he could jump to the next one. It was his best bet, so Francis ignored the pain and kept on running.
He was sweating profusely by the time he got to the roof. Luckily, the door was unlocked. There was a pigeon coop, some antennas, and a dried-out roof garden. Francis ran over to the edge. Too far. A Brute couldn’t have leapt to the next building. Francis scrambled to the other side, but it was even worse over there. There was only a twelve-foot gap between walls, but he hadn’t realized that he’d climbed up the shortest building on the block. Francis found one spot where there was a fire escape on the opposite building. It was far, but using his downward momentum he could… what? Rip his arms off on impact? He wasn’t Jake Sullivan.
Francis pulled the Colt. 45 from his shoulder holster and thumbed off the safety. He was going to have to fight his way back to the street. He’d probably get plugged in the process. He should’ve gotten one of those vitality spells bound to him when Heinrich had, but he’d been too scared. It was one thing to risk your life on the fly, it was another thing to do it by going under a slow knife and hoping to come back out of a magical coma. If he lived through this, though, he promised himself that he’d get one for sure.
He checked his Power. Still nothing. Whoever had a Dymaxion had to be in the building below. If he had his magic, he could easily blast past these bozos… Francis pulled out the notepad and studied the design as he moved over and hid behind the pigeon coop. Fuller’s spell was his only hope.
Trying to burn the lines into his memory, Francis almost didn’t even hear the deep rustle of wings over the cooing of the pigeons. He looked up just as a black shape passed overhead. What now? The shape landed softly on the other side of the coop.
“Come on out, Francis. It’s over.”
It was Crow.
Whisper had said he was some sort of demon, which meant without his magic he wouldn’t have a chance, and if Crow was using a Greater Summoned, he was toast no matter what. Francis took one last desperate look at Fuller’s design. He might have it memorized enough to produce it later, but he didn’t have time to draw it now and he couldn’t let it fall into Crow’s hands. Tearing the little page out, he stuffed it in his mouth and chewed. He almost choked on the dry paper but he managed to swallow it.
Crow’s footsteps could be heard coming around the pigeon coop. His presence was scaring the hell out of the birds. “I thought about killing you. You have no idea how tempting it is to just toss you off this building and say that you got scared and jumped.”
Francis circled, keeping the little structure between them. He got glimpses of Crow’s black coat through the wire. “Who said I’m scared?”
“Guilt then. Maybe a rich kid got in over his head in an Active plot and was afraid of doing hard time. I don’t know. Whatever plays better in the press. You’re scared though, Francis. I can smell your fear. Your sweet little girlfriend was braver than you are. Pert little thing, that. When this is over, maybe I’ll keep her for myself. Show her what a real man can do.”
“You’re no man.” Francis took two steps back from the coop, raised his gun and fired repeatedly. The flashes obscured his vision, but as Crow moved to the side, Francis tracked him and kept on shooting. He knew that he’d hit Crow several times. Pistol empty, Francis took another magazine from the pouch on the off side of his shoulder holster. Feathers were floating in the air. He got the mag into the well just as two massive hands landed on his shoulders.
