Resolution (73 page)

‘Ought to see those teachers,’ murmured Deirdre. ‘Get some hints on spelling.’

Then the woman raised one pudgy hand, pointed at the twins, jowls wobbling.

And screeched: ‘They’re here.
The aliens are here!’

There was a thin-chested man with lank hair and a brown bag in his hand, standing near the entrance. He was the one who stumbled out into the open, and yelled to the crowd:
‘In here! Aliens!’

The teachers rose from their table, then stopped helplessly as the first of the angry mob reached the doors and burst inside.

‘Shit,’ said Deirdre. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

They turned back into the mall.

Walk slowly,
subvocalized Kian.

Got it,
answered Dirk.

Had the place been more crowded, the tactic might have worked. But there was no crowd for them to blend into: this early on a weekday morning, the bright-lit space was mostly empty, soft muzak playing to a few older shoppers and lone parents with babies.

An old-fashioned glass bottle sailed over their heads. It burst into blue flame as it shattered on the floor.

‘Jesus Christ!’ said Deirdre. ‘An ethanol bomb.’

‘Run.’

But the crowd behind them was already metamorphosing into a mob. Up front, a second group was spilling into the main arcade from a different entrance, blocking their way.

‘Here.’

The twins ducked into the nearest store, dragging Deirdre with them.

‘Where the fuck,’ she muttered, ‘are those cops?’

Running along aisles that were a kaleidoscope of colour, ignoring the startled faces of shoppers,
feeling
the pursuers behind them, the twins and Deirdre ran to the store’s rear. Dirk’s eyes sparked as the doors clicked open and then they were through.

There was a store-room but as a hiding place it was a trap. They ran through, and Kian kicked open the fire-door. It banged back against the wall.

Then they were in the open, in the hot morning air. Angry voices shouted inside.

‘Round to the parking lot.’

Moving fast, Kian propelled Deirdre as Dirk tapped his infostrand, contacting Fiona’s Flying Cabs and hoping the airtaxi they had used was still free, ready to circle round and fetch them.

Cops still stood in the parking lot, but they had made no attempt to stop the insurgence of angry demonstrators. As the twins skidded round the corner with Deirdre, the police commander spun in place, startled.

‘Come on.’ One of the officers gestured to Deirdre. ‘Get away from them.’

From the demonstrators? Or from the twins?

Deirdre kept hold of Kian’s sleeve.

‘Protect us!’ she yelled.

Two of the officers started forward, but in that moment two things happened simultaneously: the commander held up his hand to stop his officers, and the first of the angry demonstrators came pelting around the corner. Stragglers in the parking lot, beer-bellied men who had not attempted to run into the mall, strode forward now with mob-courage and madness in their eyes.

‘Come on, xeno-lover.’ A big bald man grabbed Deirdre. ‘Better get you out of here.’

There was a kind of concern in his voice, and that just made it worse. Deirdre kicked out, connected with his shin, and his hands dropped away.

‘Kill the aliens!’

And then it went to hell.

The crowd rushed over them in a tidal wave of scratching and yelling and sheer body momentum. Kian snapped his fist and a man’s nose exploded in a gout of blood, then something struck the back of his head and he spun, arced back with his elbow, connected, and his attacker went down beneath the mob’s feet.

Dirk kicked once, protecting Deirdre, before a mass of flailing limbs closed in. Fingers clutched his clothes, and he roared as he tried to shake them off.

‘Lookout!’

The sound of glass shattering.

Someone stabbed a broken bottle at Dirk’s eye and he twisted at the last moment. Glass ripped his forehead and blood spattered. Deirdre yelled out.

Something dark came out of nowhere, shattered against Kian’s head and he went down on one knee.

‘No. Kian, no!’

Deirdre tried to push her way through but the bald man grabbed her.

Smell of ethanol.

A sparking sound.

Then flames enveloped Kian and the crowd fell back. Kian screamed.

And burned.

The crowd stood in silence, frozen by what they had done, as Kian writhed in flames on the ground. Dirk reacted first, pulling off his jacket and throwing it across his brother. Desperate, he rolled Kian along the ground, smoke pouring from his brother’s body with the roast-pork stench and Kian yelling in agony.

Deirdre screamed at the police commander - ‘Do something!’ - as she tugged her shirt off and dropped to help Dirk with Kian, beating the last of the flames out, rolling Kian onto his back.

Half of Kian’s face was a ruin of glistening black and reddened meat.

‘Oh, no. Oh, Jesus, no.’

Deirdre, on her knees, clutched Kian’s smoking clothes. Dirk slowly stood up, and looked at the silent gathering.

From the rear, someone muttered: ‘Kill the aliens,’ but no-one moved. Even the police officers remained still, shocked by the suddenness of the violence or their own inaction; while the commander’s face was like a clenched fist, as he attempted to process the way his day had just fallen apart.

‘You think we’re different?’

Dirk’s voice was cold and pitiless. Deirdre looked up at him.

‘You think’ - gesturing at Kian, who shuddered and gave an unearthly whimper - ‘you should be
afraid
of us?’

‘No.’ Deirdre, shaking, rose to her feet. ‘Dirk, don’t. Please don’t.’

The commander moved at last, pointing at Dirk.

‘Arrest him.’

‘But sir—’ One of the officers shook his head.

On the ground, Kian moaned.

Dirk took hold of Deirdre’s shoulders.

‘You think you can get away—’

Dirk spun Deirdre towards him, then clasped her head.

‘—with
this?’

He buried Deirdre’s face against his chest.

Golden fire rose inside his eyes.

‘No, Dirk…’

Something changed in the air and the nearest demonstrators tried to fall back, but their own comrades were in the way and then it was too late.

‘Dirk…’

Yellow incandescence ripped through the parking lot.

DIE!

Exploded.

The roar echoed in Dirk’s mind.

DIE, YOU BASTARDS.

And then it was over.

He released Deirdre, who stumbled back.

All around, stunned survivors lay on the tarmac, clutching at their ruined faces while their friends lay dead. Deirdre looked for the police commander.

Smoke rose from ruined eye sockets that would never see again.

<>

~ * ~

44