Flip (The Slip Trilogy Book 3) (9 page)

“No!” Benson yells, barreling forward and throwing himself toward his best guess as to where his brother is. At that exact moment, there’s a final
SLAM!
and the door flies open, light bursting into his eyes as he crashes into his brother. He knocks him hard against a wall as gunshots ring out. He feels a burning sensation in his calf even before he crumples to the ground on top of his brother, their situation bordering on hopeless.

There’s more gunfire, but it sounds further away, different to the deafening explosions in his ears he heard a moment ago. Howls fill the air, followed by the thud of falling bodies.

Harrison squirms under him, but Benson grips him tightly, determined to be his human shield. He can only hope that Janice is well hidden behind them and out of the line of fire. “Get the hell off of me,” Harrison demands, twisting suddenly and throwing Benson to the side, slamming him on his shoulder, which screams, joining the cacophony coming from his calf.

The gunshots continue to reverberate through the facility, but it’s distant, unthreatening.
When did distant gunfire become unthreatening?
Benson asks himself, while gritting his teeth to combat the pain in his leg and shoulder.

“It’ll be over soon,” a voice promises. Minda. Benson’s cheek pressed to the floor, he looks up to find her brown face peering in at them. “You all okay?”

“My boys saved me,” Janice says. “I’m supposed to save them, but they saved me.”

“What
was
that?” Harrison seethes, and for a moment Benson thinks he’s asking Minda about the gunfight. But no, he’s looking at Benson.

“What?” Benson says, massaging his shoulder gingerly. He attempts to sit up, but his leg feels numb.

“Um, you tackling me?” His brother looks like he wants to pick him up, tackle him back, and then do it again, over and over.

“I had to protect you,” Benson says matter-of-factly.

“Protect me? I don’t need your protection. That’s my job.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m—”

“Two minutes older,” Benson finishes. “That joke’s no longer funny. I want the real reason.”

Harrison’s eyes seem to tear into him, angry and fierce, but then he sighs and his expression softens. “Because I owe you,” he says.

Benson blinks, dumbfounded. They barely know each other and haven’t known each other long enough for either of them to pile up any sort of debt.

“Look, Bense. I owe you my life and I owe you time. You might not understand what I mean right now, and you might never understand, but it’s true. I got what you didn’t. I’ve felt safe my whole life, you haven’t. It’s your turn to feel safe. And if I have to be the one to take a bullet to give you that feeling, so be it.”

“This time it was my turn to take a bullet.”

“Wait. What?” Harrison says. “What do you mean, ‘take a bullet’?” Harrison’s eyes dance over his body, finally noticing the dark red patch seeping through his pant leg.

“I think I got shot,” Benson announces. “But I can’t really feel anything anymore. It’s just all tingly.”

“Botdammit,” Harrison growls, gingerly peeling the pant leg up to Benson’s knee. “This is exactly why you need to stay behind me.”

In the dim lighting, all Benson can see is a lot of blood. “Am I going to live?” he asks.

“Only if I don’t kill you for being an idiot,” Harrison says. “But yes, you’ll survive. You got lucky. It’s only a graze. We’ll wrap it up and you’ll be fine.”

Benson flashes a grin. “Good. I guess I still owe you that bullet then.”

Harrison shakes his head, but doesn’t respond, pulling him into a quick and unexpected hug.

~~~

The Lab is in shambles. Propped up by his brother, Benson hobbles past smashed workstations and instruments, allowing Harrison to help him step over motionless bodies. Most of them are garbed in Crow’s uniforms, although the few dead or injured “scientists” stand out in their stark white coats, which are stained with blood.

They can’t linger, as surely city law enforcement will already be sending in reinforcements as news travels of the failed inspection.

“We’re just going to leave?” Harrison asks Minda, who hasn’t left Benson’s side.

“There’s a contingency plan.” Of course there is. If there’s one thing Benson’s learned about the Indian woman he first met when she was posing as a Lifer operative, it’s that she doesn’t leave anything to chance.

“Care to elaborate?” Harrison practically carries Benson over a pile of dead enemies blocking their path.

“No, but you’ll find out soon enough,” she says.

“You know, I’m getting tired of being left in the dark,” Harrison says.

“Relax,” Benson says, tired of the argument. “We’re alive.”

“Yeah, and I want it to stay that way.” Harrison’s eyes flick to the floor. “Mom, can you grab my board?”

“Ooh,” Janice murmurs as she scoops up Harrison’s hoverboard with both arms, the long wide plank looking comically unwieldy as she balances it awkwardly.

“Planning on going for a joyride?” Minda asks.

“I like to have my own contingency plan.”

Benson ignores his brother, noticing Minda tapping furiously on a holo-screen as they hustle into an empty lifter. Other lifters are already full, their doors closing to transport the survivors to street level. “What is it?” he asks her.

“Just arranging transport. I didn’t want to move you guys, but it seems we have no choice now.”

“You think?” Harrison says.

As the lifter doors close, Benson cranes his neck to look over Minda’s shoulder. A familiar chat forum is open, already in progress. He remembers it from when the same secret group of rebels helped them find Boris Decker.

JoseCuervo: Don’t leave the key. Not for one second.

ShirleyTemple: That’s the plan. We got lucky. This could’ve been disastrous.

Benson remembers that ShirleyTemple is Minda’s screen name, and he takes a small measure of comfort from the fact that she’ll be staying with Janice for whatever comes next. He plans to do the same, regardless of the gunshot wound in his leg.

BloodyMary: Don’t worry. Follow the planned escape route. Which safe house are you planning on relocating to?

ShirleyTemple: I don’t want to specify over the holo-network.

SamAdams: Are you suggesting today’s attack wasn’t random?

The lifter eases to a stop and the doors open. With Janice and Harrison flanking him, Benson’s unable to see Minda’s response as they’re hustled into a waiting aut-car, one of many in a line, all of them high-end private vehicles.

Simon’s the last one in, squashing himself next to Harrison, who gives him a disgusted look. “Sweat much?”

“Like only a man can, pretty boy. Heard your brother saved your sorry ass.”

“You heard wrong.”

“Seems he’s got the bullet hole to prove it.”

Harrison shuts up, not even bothering to correct him on the fact that there’s no hole, just a graze. Benson suspects there’s no difference between the two in his brother’s eyes. If not for the blazing pain in Benson’s leg, he might laugh. As it is, he tucks his head firmly between his knees as the car screeches forward, guided by Minda, who instructs it while continuing the conversation on her holo.

“Fast,” Janice comments. She’s right—Benson can feel their speed in his bones. In his stomach, too, which feels like it’s dropping rapidly to his feet. As he guessed, these are no ordinary aut-cars, apparently unbound by standard speed limits.

“You okay?” Simon asks him. Benson feels the big man’s hand on his shoulder, and he can imagine that means his sweaty armpit is just about in Harrison’s face.

Benson eases himself up and opens his eyes, dying with laughter on the inside when he sees Harrison’s expression. But then his stomach lurches again and he says, “Nauseous.”

“Don’t barf on me,” Harrison says. Apparently he’s still angry about Benson’s actions earlier.

Benson stares straight ahead, watching the city whiz past and trying to control his roiling stomach.

Minda says, “Now,” and while she stares impassively forward, there’s a thunderous
BOOM!
like a thousand fireworks going off simultaneously. Or like a bomb exploding.

The street shakes beneath their vehicle, which says, “Unexpected turbulence. Please ensure seatbelts are fastened.”

“Holy botballs,” Harrison says, craning his neck to look behind them. Benson, momentarily forgetting the precarious nature of the contents of his stomach, twists around to see what’s going on. His eyes widen at the sight.

An enormous building is on fire, sending tendrils of black smoke into the atmosphere. Chunks of stone and other construction materials are crumbling away from the building, falling to the street below.

“You blew up the Lab,” Benson whispers.

“Yes,” Minda agrees. “We did.”

A
head of them, Benson watches as the other vehicles in their convoy turn down different side streets. He knows the city well from his days as a Picker, and he immediately tries to figure out where they all might be going, but quickly shakes his head. “Doesn’t make sense,” he murmurs.

“That’s the point,” Minda says. One arm is slung casually over her knee, which, funnily enough, is an almost exact mimic of Harrison’s current posture. Her other arm is raised to the roof, gripping a handle. “These vehicles are smarter than the average aut-car. Not only are their interfaces linked autonomously, but they have certain other defense mechanisms.”

“Like what?” Harrison asks. “Machine guns and missiles?” The edge of his upper lip quirks up.

“Precisely,” Minda says, rummaging through a first aid kit under her seat. She comes up with a bottle of antiseptic and some bandages.

His smirk vanishes. “Seriously?”

“Would I joke about something like that?”

Benson doesn’t think so, and apparently neither does Harrison, because he doesn’t question it further. Minda gets to work on his leg, ripping away his pants to reveal torn flesh and gobs of blood. “Doesn’t look like the bullet went in,” she opines.

“A graze,” Harrison says. “Benson’s just making a big deal out of nothing. Baby.”

“While saving your life,” Benson says, gritting his teeth as Minda pours the antiseptic directly into the wound.

“I was already ducking.”

“Keep telling your ego that and it might not shrink.”

At that, Simon lets out a hardy laugh. “Benson’s my new best friend,” he says. Harrison glares at him.

Minda follows up the cleaning by wrapping the bandage around his leg in tight coils. “Got to stop the bleeding,” she says. But Benson’s not thinking about his injury, which is no more than a dull throb in his calf. He’s still stuck on what she said about the other aut-cars.

“So the other cars are taking various routes to the same place?” Benson asks, still trying to understand the strategy.

Minda finishes up with his leg and says, “Hang on.” The car veers sharply to the left. Once they’re out of the turn, she says, “Not exactly. There are multiple safe houses set up in the event that the Lab is compromised.”

“Does compromised mean ‘blown up’?” Harrison says.

The ghost of a smile plays on her lips. “In this case, yes. The key to the whole escape is randomness. These aut-cars were pre-programmed to go to a specific safe house; however, they were also instructed to lineup randomly in the event of an emergency. None of us know which car is going to which safe house.”

“Wait one bot-lickin’ minute,” Harrison says, leaning forward. “You did all this in case there’s a traitor in our midst, didn’t you?”

For a tense moment, the question seems to hang in the air, but then it falls with a resounding “Yes” from Minda’s lips. “There’s always that possibility. We’ve got our spies within various government and state organizations, and we can only assume they’d attempt to do the same to us.”

“Great,” Harrison says. “There’s not really any such thing as a ‘safe’ house, is there?”

“Watch your tone, pretty boy,” Simon says, finally chiming in. “They’re doing their best.”

“Not good enough,” Harrison says. “Can’t you use truth serum and polygraphs before accepting new members?”

“Yes,” Minda says. “And we do. But the best spies are trained to pass those sorts of tricks. Look, I think we’re okay, but there are no guarantees in our world.”

The car jerks right and Benson clutches the seat to avoid sliding off. This is a particularly rough ride. It’s not normal. Typically aut-cars are programmed for the smoothest ride possible, using sensors and cameras to moderate traffic, make perfectly arcing turns, and avoid jerky stops. This vehicle almost seems to be purposely roughening the journey. “Is someone following us?” he asks, coming to the only conclusion that makes any sense. In response to his question, all heads in the car swing around to look behind them, finding only an empty stretch of wet pavement. Everyone except Janice, that is. She’s mesmerized by the blinking lights on the aut-car control panel. She’s hugging Harrison’s hoverboard, peeking around it.

“No,” Minda says, surprising him. “But good guess. This car has technology that will help it lose a tail from another aut-car.”

Benson nods. “It turns quickly and sharply to confound the programming of another aut-car.”

“Exactly. Their system won’t allow them to make such a sharp turn.”

“That’s nothing,” Harrison says. “I’ve ridden in Crow cars before.”

Benson, Minda, and Simon stare at him, eyebrows raised. “Why am I not surprised?” Simon says.

“Ha ha. As a passenger, not a prisoner,” Harrison says. “My best friend was—is—son of Charles Boggs. He used to pick us up from hoverboard practice.”

“You mean the kid that screwed you over and got you tortured and nearly killed?” Simon asks, although it’s a question he clearly already knows the answer to.

“Thanks for the reminder,” Harrison says. “But yeah, him. Anyway, Boggs used to always let us override the aut-cars programming. For fun. He said in the old days the police chases used to reach insane speeds, typically ending in violent crashes. Now the Crows have the advantage.”

“Not with us,” Minda says. “We’ve got a whole lot more tricks up our sleeves.”

Benson’s processing the information, sorting through it, trying to poke holes in the logic. One question seems more important than any others. “Was the raid on the Lab a random inspection?”

Harrison’s eyes meet his and his brother offers him a nod of approval. For some reason it makes him feel proud.

Minda closes her eyes, as if lost in thought. When she opens them, she says, “Tensions are high because of the riots. The government is more suspicious than ever. According to a source of mine—”

“BloodyMary,” Benson blurts out, interrupting.

“How did you…”

“I’m observant,” Benson explains.

“Yes. One of the key members of the consortium warned me that ‘random’ government inspections might increase.”

“And you did nothing?” Harrison says, his fists curling into tight knots. “We were almost killed back there.”

“It wasn’t my decision alone,” Minda says. “We were split down the middle. But yes, I voted to stay in the Lab. In my opinion, moving the key—I mean, all of you—was the riskier option.”

“And yet here we are,” Harrison says. Despite the heat in his tone, his fists unfurl.

“Do random inspections normally have so much…firepower?” Benson asks.

Minda shakes her head. “No. I must admit, that was unusual. Usually it would just be a couple of bean counters checking that laboratory safety protocols are being followed. They’d have a Crow or two with them, but not an entire squad. But again, tensions are a lot higher than normal.”

Simon grunts. “Clearly they’re actively looking for rebels. But that doesn’t mean they knew we were there. If they did, they’d have had ten times more Crows with them. Hunters too.”

“True,” Benson agrees. “Still, something doesn’t seem random about the whole mess.”

While the rest of the passengers chew on that thought, a red light begins blinking from the main consol.

“Damn,” Minda spits.

“What does that mean?” Harrison says.

“Pretty,” Janice says, reaching around the hoverboard to try to touch the light.

“It means we’ve got company,” Minda says, swiveling around to face the back.

Two black aut-cars with blue lights flashing race forward, closing the gap. They ride in tandem, barely able to fit in the wide lane, avoiding traffic moving in the opposite direction down the two-way street.

Crows.

~~~

Not good
, Harrison thinks wryly. Most of the time he loves being right, but not now. Despite everything Minda’s told him about the advanced aut-car they’re riding in, he knows they’re no match for two Crow cars. With their manual overrides, the law enforcement vehicles will be able to match them on speed and handling. No problem.

As if to prove his inner thoughts, one of the sleek black vehicles accelerates, pressing in beside them, far too close to be considered a safe maneuver.

“Full evasive action,” Minda instructs their own car, her voice surprisingly calm and composed. As critical of her as he was earlier, Harrison knows he’d rather have her on his side.

Neither party can see each other, their windows tinted and dark, but that doesn’t stop the Crow car from swinging wildly to its left, bashing into them.

The force is so jarring that Harrison spills into the space between the seats. Benson and Minda have the same problem, twisting together in a jumble. Janice managed to stay out of it by clutching the red flashing light. Simon, using his weight to his advantage, remained anchored in place by leaning in the direction of the collision.

Automatically, their vehicle responds by steering back into the Crow car. The shriek of metal scraping metal fills the air, even as the other Crow car rams them from behind. In a weird way, the blow helps them, allowing them to burst ahead of their pursuers.

Harrison clambers into his seat, shoving his face to the rear glass. The Crow cars repeatedly try to pull even with their vehicle, but, true to form, their car responds, shifting from side to side, blocking their pursuers’ progress. A couple of times the Crows attempt to use the opposing traffic lane, but oncoming vehicles block their path.

Apparently, their lack of success pisses them off, because their next move is to open a hatch in the roof. A long black nozzle extends from the gap, aiming in their direction. “Down!” Harrison shouts, pushing Benson back to the floor at the exact moment Minda shouts, “Armor!”

Gunfire erupts from the weapon, a handful of bullets bursting through the window, which explodes in a maelstrom of safety glass, collapsing inwards. Harrison’s back is pelted with chunks, almost like hail, as he throws his body on top of his brother’s. The wind that rushes through the damaged space is full of whining bullets, which glance off of the vehicle’s interior.

The wind stops. The bullets stop flying overhead.
Clinks
and
clanks
resound from the rear. Slowly, cautiously, Harrison peers behind them. The window is covered by a sheet of metal. It’s riddled with spots, bulging inward, dented by the bullets that continue to bounce off of it. The side and front windows have also been armored, blocking all natural light. The interior is now lit by dim security panels that have come to life along the floor and ceiling, casting an eerie glow across the passengers.

Harrison takes stock of the others, who are in various states of disarray, either on the floor or clinging to the seats. “Everyone okay?”

Murmurs of assent pop up one by one. “The tires,” Benson says, his eyes wide.

“Armored,” Minda says. “We’re virtually indestructible now.”

“Not if they flip us,” Harrison points out. Another barrage of bullets clank off of the rear armor.

“They’ll try,” Minda says. “We have to trust that our technology is better than theirs.”

Harrison scoffs. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing, hoping this magical vehicle manages to destroy both Crow cars and escapes to safety. They’ll have Hawks locked on us by now. There’s no escape.”

“We’re not doing nothing,” Minda says, whipping out her holo-screen. She begins tapping a message:

The key is compromised.

“Is that all you care about—the key?” Harrison says.

“She’s all that matters,” Minda says, her tone void of compassion.

“Yeah, but only so she can carry out your ‘mission’. Not because my mother is a person. A human being. You think my father would’ve wanted this?”

Minda grabs him by his collar so firmly and so suddenly that he’s thrown back against the seat. “Your father planned
everything
,” she growls. “If the key isn’t turned, then none of this matters anyway. Your brother will never be safe. You will never be safe. This world will continue down its path of destruction.”

She pushes off of him as a message appears in midair:

SamAdams: What can I do?

Minda says, “Switch to voice mode.”

“Voice mode confirmed,”
her holo-screen says.

“We need help with the Hawks. Can you get rid of them?” As she speaks each word, they appear in midair, projected from her holo.

BloodyMary: He’ll blow his cover if he does that.

“No choice,” Minda says. “We’re way past that if you want the key to survive this.”

BloodyMary: Let your vehicle do its job. We have to trust in the plan.

SamAdams: Sorry BloodyMary, I agree with ShirleyTemple. We have to take out the Hawks or there’s no chance of the key making it to safety.

JoseCuervo: I agree. Do what you have to do.

BloodyMary has signed off.

“What can he possibly do?” Harrison wonders aloud.

“More than we can,” Minda says. “Vehicle—bring up radar view.”