Corroded Cells, page 19
part #2 of Cyberpunk Saga Series
“Give me the shit one, eh?” she joked, nodding toward Twelve’s weapon holstered at Moss’s side.
He smirked. “I earned this one.”
“I’ll bet you did,” she said with an approving smile.
It was odd to Moss that they were engaging this way. He knew they could catch up after they were free from the city, but he had so many questions, so much he wanted to discuss with her.
They made their way back toward the tower. He had been so lost—he hadn’t realized how sprawling this area was, and it would take time to get back.
“They told me they killed Burn?” she stated as a question. Her once strong body was not able to keep a good pace with Moss.
He slowed. “They did.”
Sandra snorted. “Bastard go down fighting?”
Through the hardness, there was an unmistakable misery in her question.
“What do you think?” Moss asked in an attempt to buoy her spirits.
“Heard through the grapevine that you gave it to them good,” she said, not wanting to dwell on her dead lover.
“We did. Dad’s program worked,” Moss explained. They were getting closer to the tower, and Moss wanted to check in with the others but couldn’t divide his attention. “Lost the program in the explosion, though.”
She looked on him then with an expression that told him she knew something more than he did. “Oh,” she said.
“What?” Moss asked. He was tired of feeling as if he was always playing catch-up with anything relating to his family.
“We have a lot to discuss, but now ain’t the time,” she told him, raising her weapon and firing before Moss even saw the guard. Her aim had been precise, and the bolt hit the guard in the neck before he even knew it was fired.
“Whoa,” Moss uttered.
“You’ll get there,” she assured him with a pat on the back.
“What don’t I know?” Moss asked, not yet willing to let the issue drop.
Sandra gave a slight shrug. “Listen, kid, your dad was a good and noble man, but he was short-sighted. Your mom and I made some alterations, so there is more to that program than you know.”
For the second time since seeing her, he was surprised when he felt he shouldn’t be. It only left him with more questions. He was not able to ask as they heard gunshots emanating from the direction of the tower.
“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Sandra commanded. Moss didn’t question the order and ran toward the sound, pulling his weapon free.
Status report? Moss commanded, but as he thought it, he heard more gunfire popping off around the city. He couldn’t tell if it had just begun or if he hadn’t noticed because he was too focused on his grandmother.
Got weapons and we are moving on the depot, Judy said.
Gibbs came through just as Judy finished. We were mid-walk-out, but the guards are mobilizing now.
How you looking, Moss? Ynna asked.
Got her, heading to the tower now, Moss thought.
Get here quick Moss. Stan is up against it, Patchwork said.
His robotic legs carried Moss quickly toward the tower, and he saw two guards with their backs to him taking shots at the tower. More were making their way up the stairs with One behind, her weapon drawn and ready for action.
Two shots made short work of the guards and Moss hopped over them with ease, moving toward the tower. The guards on the stairs noticed the commotion and turned toward Moss, spraying the area with bullets and bolts. He leaped between two cages as the world around him erupted into sparks, explosions, and hissing metal. Dirt and smoke filled his lungs as he tried to get his bearings, crawling back around so he could peek out when the guards reloaded.
But One was no fool. She had brought well-trained men with her who would pop off shots with enough frequency to keep him suppressed. He crawled around to try and flank them. He worried for a moment that his grandmother would come down the street and be picked off, but he knew she was smarter than that. He crawled left around one of the cages.
The prisoner housed by where Moss was crawling stuck her head out of the shack, attracting the attention of the guards. They fired warning shots into the tin structure, and she retreated quickly. Moss moved around the cage, using the shack as cover. As he crept around, he saw Stan standing in the door with his weapon drawn. Moss made a bird call the way Stan had shown him, and the chain-link erupted over his head. Working hard to keep his eyes open amidst the gunfire, Moss watched as Stan bound through the door, using his one arm to fire down the stairs. One of the guards fell backward, knocking into the other. The second guard was hit from a shot which came from the street. He slumped, too, and the area was silent.
Stan looked down the street. “Sandra!” he called out, a massive smile on his face.
“Stanley,” she called back, but Moss was already up and running.
“Stan!” he called out as One leaped up from the railing behind him, the weapon raised in an instant. Stan turned as she, Sandra and Moss all fired their weapons at once.
One was rocketed back against the railing as Stan’s chest burst open with blood. The linen shirt did nothing to protect him from the bullet. His eyes went wide as he fell to his knees, clutching at the wound. Dark crimson seeped through his fingers, and he coughed, blood pouring from his mouth.
“Stanley,” Sandra cried again as she rushed over to him.
Moss was at his side in a moment as well, and Patchwork emerged from the office. Patch looked down at the blood through swollen eyes and vomited.
“Good to see you, Sandra,” Stan sputtered.
They knelt by his side.
“You’ve come so far. I’m proud of what you’ve done, young man,” Sandra soothed. It was obvious that she had comforted the dying before as she took his hand in hers. Misery coated her face.
“Thanks, coach,” Stan murmured, his eyes rolling around, unable to focus. “Moss?”
“I’m right here, Stan,” Moss said, unable to contain his emotions.
“You keep it up, make this worth it,” Stan asked, blinking rapidly, his shirt soaked through.
Moss felt his face contort as he promised, “I will.”
“And tell,” Stan said, his mouth so coated in blood, he was nearly unable to speak. “Tell Judy I love them. Make sure they’re okay. They’ll need you now.”
“I will,” Moss promised through the tears.
“We both will,” Sandra added.
Stan smiled at them. “Thanks, guys.” His breathing was becoming shallow. “Promise you’ll think of me when you get that pizza,” he said with a wide, crazed grin.
Moss put a hand on the massive man’s neck and pressed their heads together. “Every time.”
The breaths came slower until they ceased.
“Stan!” Moss wailed, and Patchwork collapsed, gripping the railing for support.
“Cocksucker!” Sandra shouted, turning her attention to One.
The warden was pressed against the railing beyond Patchwork, breathing heavily. She was wounded, but her antiquated armor had done well to dampen the shots. Sandra stalked over to the woman and gripped her armor at the neck.
“Corporate scum,” Sandra hissed in the woman’s face.
“Please,” One forced. “I don’t want to die.”
The woman had been so tough when Moss had met her, and now she seemed pathetic and weak.
“Oh, you’ll die. You’ll all fucking die for what you do to the citizens of this world,” she snarled. She punched One hard in the nose. Her body may have been weakened from years of confinement, but she was no less tough.
She struck the woman again and again, cracking her nose and popping her eyes. Blood cascaded around, and it struck Moss that, in that moment, his grandmother reminded him of Stan.
One was thoroughly dead when Sandra finally stood.
“We can’t tell Judy, not yet,” Sandra panted, blood dripping from her hand. Her eyes were hard and determined.
“They’ll know when we get there,” Moss reminded her.
“We will deal with it then,” Sandra said and shook the blood from her fist. Seeing her at that moment, Moss thought about when bikers had jumped him upon arriving in BA City. He had been a different person then, a skinny, scared kid. But with his back against the wall, he had shot a biker instinctively. He had never understood where the strength to do that had come from, but seeing his grandmother now, he understood he had some of her buried deep within him.
Moss looked at Patchwork, who was clearly in shock. The kid had sliced through a Carcer guard with a sword before, but it was obvious that watching his friend die had shaken him terribly. Moss walked over and put his hands on the young man’s shoulders.
“You gonna be alright?” he asked.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe?” he stuttered.
“Holy shit, you Jo’s boy? You’re a spitting image,” Sandra said.
“Y—Yes, ma’am, I am,” he said, looking at her with a hint of recognition.
Sandra snorted. “I’m Sandra, if you didn’t remember. Bit shocked your old mom let you run with this lot.”
Patchwork flashed a weak smile. “She’s not thrilled about it.”
Sandra chuckled. “I’m sure she ain’t.”
“You good to go?” Moss asked, though he wasn’t sure of the answer to that himself. With everything that had happened in the last few minutes and Stan’s body not yet cold at his feet, he almost didn’t have the will to go on. He could not even imagine how Judy would react.
At that moment, he wished he had killed Grimy.
“I still have to get the doors open,” Patchwork said, returning Moss to the here and now. “Just the main gates I mean, not the depots.”
“Right,” Moss said, “can you do it remotely?”
“It’ll take longer, but you know I can do it,” Patch said with his usual confidence.
“Then let’s ride,” Sandra said, and they all turned to run toward the vast prison city and the sounds of gunfire and chaos.
Chapter 22
Smoke filled their lungs as Moss, Patchwork, and Sandra ran toward the center of the city. The prisoners had set fire to structures and ash and embers pirouetted through the air. People screamed as guards tried to push their way around in full riot gear. Others threw rocks and shot at the drones which buzzed overhead, sending them fluttering around like possessed hummingbirds.
“We have to get through them,” Sandra said, pointing to a mass of bodies which blocked the street toward the depot.
A young man near the back was screaming obscenities and holding an old revolver over his head. Many of the prisoners were now armed though few seemed interested in using them on the guards with their superior firepower. Moss snatched the pistol from the young man who turned and looked on him with rage.
Moss was thankful he had the foresight to bring clothes to wear over his armor so that he could blend in with the crowd, but the man was about to speak when Moss fired into the air. The sound sent people cowering, and they were able to push through toward the depot.
Three guards were blocking the narrow space between the buildings forming a shield wall with Gibbs at their back. Moss smiled; his friend was exactly where he needed to be. He had been worried that in the confusion, it might have been difficult, but he had done it.
Now, Gibbs, Moss told him, and he watched as Gibbs loosened his weapon and fired into the backs of the guards one after the other. They were too confused to react, and they fell in quick succession, only stunned, but down.
At seeing a guard help in their plight, the crowd erupted into a cheer and surged forward. Moss, Patch, and Sandra were pushed forward in the direction of the buildings which contained their rides to freedom.
The parking plaza was already filled with prisoners who had broken through from other directions. They were pushing over vans and trucks, climbing on top and cheering wildly. Gibbs was being patted on the back by prisoners as he pulled a loose shirt over his armor. In the mayhem, they didn’t want him to be confused for a proper guard and be killed.
“You did it,” Moss said to him. “Great work.”
Gibbs beamed. “Bought us just enough time. We were nearly coming to blows when the word came that the guests were rioting.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Moss said, and he truly was.
Gibbs smiled with pride but nodded to the chaos around them and said, “We’ve still got a ways to go.”
“Patch, how’s it coming?” Moss asked the young man, one of his enhanced eyes black with work.
“Doing my best,” Patchwork said, slightly defensively. “Working on getting open depot six. It was the biggest one, and I figure it’s got the best ride.”
“Good thinking,” Moss told him, looking around for the largest building in the area.
Spotting it, he thought, Let’s meet at depot six.
Copy, Ynna transmitted. They heard a gunshot from down a street which Moss took to be Ynna indicating their location.
They pushed through the rioters and formed a ring around Patchwork who knelt next to the massive metal door, his second eye going black.
“The wardens are getting geared up with digital plate armor and will probably be on us soon,” Gibbs told them. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“It always does,” Moss observed, his weapon aimed up one street. Several streets converged on this location, but Moss figured they would be coming from the direction of the barracks.
“Burn taught you well,” Sandra noted with a smile.
“They all have,” Moss said, feeling the need to pay homage to Stan and the others.
His grandmother nodded.
Many prisoners began rushing down the street, away from the barracks, fleeing in terror and hollering for help.
“Let them come,” Gibbs said, grim determination in his voice.
Hurry, Moss told the others.
Nearly to you, Ynna said.
It was taking longer to get from weapon storage to the depot than they had calculated, and Moss was worried they were about to be surrounded and killed before they could make their escape.
The place fell silent as the fleeing prisoners cowered behind those few with weapons or the parked vehicles. All eyes were pointed down the street, awaiting the wardens.
The silence persisted a moment longer before several metallic plunks echoed through the air. Gas canisters flew from the street down into the assembled masses. Moss and Gibbs fumbled to get their masks out from under the linen pants they wore to conceal their armor. Sandra ripped the sleeves from her shirt, wrapping one over Patchwork’s nose and mouth before doing her own. Her natural eyes would be stinging before too long, and Moss tried to offer her his mask.
She shook her head. “Ain’t my first time.”
Moss nodded and pulled the mask over his face, knowing that she would be able to handle the gas better than he.
The drones which had scattered returned, raining rubber shots into the crowd, the screams beginning anew. Moss knew the wardens well enough to know that they would show them no such kindness as to use non-lethal ammunition. The three fired into the sky, knocking out some of the drones.
Moss watched as two augmented prisoners braved the gas and began working on the drones, presumably to turn them into weapons against the wardens.
Lights pierced the clouds as the wardens appeared from the street. Fully encased in electronic armor, the metal-plated people appeared more as drudges than humans. Tall, and moving with robotic efficiency, they strode into the open space.
“Cease and desist!” one of the wardens demanded through a loudspeaker set into the shoulder of the machine.
Moss knew they didn’t have time and fired a burst of shots toward the wardens. He had aimed for the joints, and some of the shots found paydirt, causing one of the arms of the leader to swing out wildly. He listened as the arm-mounted machine guns of the wardens began to spin to life.
“Got it,” Patchwork said, and the ground shook as the massive doors behind them began to open.
The space around them erupted as the wardens began to fire in their direction, shredding the vehicles between them.
As soon as there was enough space to squeeze through, they ducked into the garage, Moss, and Sandra firing back in the direction of the wardens.
“The shoulder again!” Gibbs cried out as he clutched a bullet hole.
The doors ground to a stop. “I’m holding the program until we can get out of here,” Patch told them. His eyes went black again, and several drones turned their fire on the wardens. The rubber bullets did nothing but confuse them and force them to take their aim skyward. The Carcer officers shot their own drones out of the air, sending heaps of metal careening to the ground.
From behind a van, the two prisoners peeked out with their rewired drones and fired more shots at the wardens. More confusion ensued as they had to divide their fire. Mr. Greene had been right that wardens would not work as a unified force, and they all seemed to be firing in different directions with no solid plan of attack.
A rocket whistled through the air, blasting two of the wardens into pieces. The prisoners roared with delight as Judy reloaded, rushing toward the depot with Anders, Ynna and Mr. Greene at their back. They peppered the wardens with machine gun fire as they moved between the parked vehicles, sliding along the sides for cover.
“Oh,” Gibbs said, and Moss turned to look at his friend who was gazing into the garage with astonishment. Moss followed his eyes, the beam of light from the cracked door illuminating a huge military-style dropship.
“Wow,” Patchwork said, seeming to notice it for the first time as well.
Gibbs smiled through the pain. “That’ll do, pig.”
Moss turned back to see Judy fire another rocket, which missed the wardens and blasted against a building, sending dust and debris into the dissipating gas. The ground tremored as the building collapsed and knocked the weakened Patchwork to the ground. Judy was out of shots and into the garage, covered in dust, with the others right behind.
Ynna seemed to register their numbers before Judy. “Fuck,” she shouted as Patchwork began closing the doors.
