“Uh… Look out,” I cried. The bag lady was moving, turning toward me to reveal a crack down her face, the break radiating from a large dimple where my bullet had hit. “She’s got armor on,” I warned Nikki. “Get out of here.”
Nikki retreated down the hall and around the corner. I pumped four more bullets at the bag lady then decided to camp out behind the couch again as a swarm of hot needles chewed the air where I had been, then plowed into the wall behind me.
In theory an old antique Beretta 92 pistol holds a lot of ammunition. Fifteen rounds in the magazine; and I kept a sixteenth in the chamber. And even the new body armor can’t take multiple hits very well from the tungsten bullets I had loaded into the firearm. But the chances of hitting the exact same spot twice are small. The three or four times needed are almost impossible to achieve, even at such close range.
Especially since the old bat wouldn’t quit blasting away with her rifle.
But the pistol was the only thing I had so I decided to make the best of it and hope for a lucky shot.
Things had quieted down and I figured she was ready to make another charge. But she had another tactic; suddenly the room was again filled with the ocean. She had turned on the 3V.
Great. I peeked out from behind the couch and squinted through the water that a small school of rainbow-colored fish was swimming through. The bag lady was nowhere to be seen.
I ducked back and rolled toward where I knew the outer wall was, continuing in that direction until it stopped my movement. Even though it looked like a limitless expanse behind me, it wasn’t. Only a 3D projection. So now I new that the bag lady wasn’t behind me.
Okay, I thought. Now, where is she?
A shark darted to my left. Beyond it was a large octopus. There. Her ragged yellow dress stuck out from behind a boulder.
I fired three times through the boulder and then rolled behind a large, pink fan coral. Just before I got there, I saw the bag lady fall, hold her head a moment and then straighten up. I might not be stopping her but she’d have a whale of a headache, I thought, firing another three shots.
I made a dash for where I hoped the couch was. A rain of needles followed me and licked through the heel of my right shoe. Finding the couch by feel, I dropped behind it, safe for a moment. After taking a deep breath, I peered around the now invisible couch and fired two more rounds at the bag lady who was standing in plain sight on the ocean floor. She stumbled as both bullets hit her. I took careful aim and placed two more hits on her face and saw a bit of her mask break away.
I held my breath and watched as she again fell. Then she struggled to get up again.
She was one tough old battle-ax.
I crouched out of her sight and realized the slide on my Beretta was locked open. Empty. I’m sure glad I have a box of shells out in the van, I thought grimly.
I peeked around the couch again. The bag lady was slowly rising to her feet once again.
Escape out the door? Maybe. But where was it? I looked in the direction where I knew it must be, but could see only endless ocean with a small saucer sub in the distance. I turned back and—
There she was standing over me, the muzzle of her smoking weapon trained right over my chest.
I froze.
Her broken plastic ballistic mask fell away as she tugged at it to reveal a leathery, wrinkled face with a number of red welts and a cut where my bullets had hit her mask. She didn’t look at all happy. Her rifle moved up from my heart to my face in her rock-steady hands.
At least it will be quick, I thought. She suddenly got a funny, twitchy grin and her whole face contorted into a wicked smile.
I waited for a swarm of needles to rip off my face.
Instead, her head rolled off her shoulders. Her decapitated body stood for a moment, spurting blood, then crumpled. It didn’t look like she was having any fun at all.
“What the… ?” I muttered.
The ocean faded out and I was again in the living room with a grinning, scared head at my feet. I stepped back as the old lady’s blood soaked into the thick carpeting.
“Sorry I took so long,” Nikki said, trying not to look at the body.
She stood in the hallway with a power laser whose beam had been deadly if invisible. ” It took a while to find where Craig had stored this. And I didn’t want to cut too low and… Hit you by mistake.”
She put the laser down on the couch and was crying again, back in my arms. And I was ready to add a few sobs of my own.
Ten minutes later, Nikki was cried out and I was at a loss as to what to do next. Run? Looked like I’d have to; bag ladies don’t just go berserk for the fun of it. Not with all that garbage down there on the street. This gal had been working for whoever was after me and I was betting there were others to take up where she’d left off.
Nikki? Undoubtedly she was in great danger, too, thanks to me.
I led Nikki into the kitchen. “Look, I’ve really messed up. I should never have come here.
Now I’ve managed to get you into the middle of things. These—people—whoever they are, knew I was coming, or were waiting for me… They play for keeps. You’re going to have to lie low for a while. Or something… Hell.” I didn’t even know what to say.
“What’s going on, Phil?”
Good question. I explained what had happened during the last few days, talking as fast as I could because I knew we didn’t have much time.
Chapter 3
It all started when Hampton Weisenbender stomped into the sunlit lab. When Hampton comes into a room, it’s kind of like having a normal person walk out. I could almost feel clouds crossing over the face of the sun as he spoke, “What in the world are you doing in here this early?”
This was a new twist because normally Hampton is after me for being late—he thinks I get paid by the hour rather than for thoughts and ideas. Putting me down for being in the lab early was one of the few times he’s ever engaged in creative thinking.
“I’ve been here since last night. Never went home. We’ve made a fantastic breakthrough with—”
“Forget it. We gave the pink slips to your crew on their way out last night. That explains why yours wasn’t picket up last night. So here’s yours.”
“Wait a minute, sir. There’s something you need to know. Last night I—”
“Forget it, Hunter.” (After working there for six years, we were still on a last-name basis.) While I stood tongue-tied, Hampton looked past the electronic equipment, magnetic bubble smelters, and bots directly at the rods which were floating in a group about eight centimeters off the ground, swaying slightly with the air movement in the room. They were anchored by chains, but it was obvious to anyone who cared to study them that they were floating. I figured even a simpleton like Hampton could see something very special was going on here.
Instead he looked right at the rods and didn’t even blink. “Get this junk stowed away and get cleared out by noon.”
“But…” I sputtered. “Can’t you see? We—”
“No back talk. That’s how it is. You’re leaving.”
I decided to take a new tact. Hampton’s a stickler to the compulsive cubed. I tried a proper-paper-work-and-forms angle. “I’ll need to get the inventory and records straightened out…”
Surely he would bite on that.
“The new owners are closing your section up. We’re to junk your equipment; sell it for scrap. World tax write-off. Now get your personal stuff and clear out by noon or I’ll have the guards toss you out.”