Sebeck was puzzled. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”
“I’m PangSoi.”
“I can see that.” Sebeck clicked his pistol into its holster and opened his visor. “But why the hell did the Thread lead me to you? And cause me to leave all those people to get attacked?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“You’re not a high-level, high-rep operative—you’re a weaver-trainee for chrissake. And what’s with the panel?”
PangSoi gazed at him, following Sebeck as he shifted on his feet.
“Why are you doing that?” Sebeck noticed wires running down from the panel to a large box draped in black fabric. It sat next to PangSoi’s chair like an end table and gurgled from some tiny motor.
“We must hurry.”
“What the hell . . . ?” Sebeck flipped up the fabric covering the box and came face-to-face with the severed head of a young Asian woman wearing HUD glasses—bolted into a metal frame. Her dead eyes looked forward, the lids pinned back. Tubes ran into her neck and wires into her HUD glasses. A tiny pump was burbling on a frame. “Oh my god. . . .”
Suddenly what felt like an entire football team tackled him from behind. He felt rough gloved hands prying at his face, but the van he was pressed against kept him from falling down. “You son of a bitch!” He pushed his open helmet visor against the van door to close it, and the weight of several people pulled him backward, where he fell onto the muddy floor. Several strong bodies piled onto him shouting, “Get him! Hold him!”
Sebeck spoke the keywords to electrify the surface of his armor. The tangle of men fell off him yelping, as he rolled free and stood.
Now he could see that he faced half a dozen commandos in full tactical gear. Some of them carried beanbag guns and Tasers. Clearly, they hadn’t expected Sebeck’s Armor of the Warrior—the gift of a faction supporting Sebeck’s quest.
He eyed them through his mirrored faceplate. “I could say I don’t want to hurt you guys, but I’d be lying. . . .”
He turned and jumped up into the back of the van, past the severed head of the young woman in the box. The soldiers pursued him. Sebeck grabbed the ghoulish PangSoi and drew his electronic pistol. “She was practically a child, you sick . . .” He fired a short burst into the man’s chest and watched him fall.
Price.
Sebeck suddenly saw Price being dragged in through the barn doorway—a gun held to his head.
“Detective Sebeck! We’ll kill him if you don’t put the gun down and come out peacefully!” The man had a vaguely Asian accent, but like the others his face was covered.
Sebeck kicked both of the panel van doors open to get a clear view of the situation.
Price looked very muddy and very irritated.
“Laney, they’re hired guns here to capture us. They’re not gonna kill us. We’re both too important to them.”
“Oh for chrissake, Sergeant . . .”
“They somehow figured out a way to hack into my quest Thread. No, there’s something big going down.” Sebeck noticed a row of several plastic ten-gallon jugs of gasoline in the cargo bay. “I guess with gasoline so expensive and hard to find, you guys planned ahead. Smart.”
The man with the gun pressed it into Price’s temple. “Don’t do anything you can’t undo, Sergeant!”
Sebeck grabbed a magnesium flare from his suit belt. “You gonna tell your commander you killed an irreplaceable prisoner because I fucked with your van?” He sparked the flare. “I don’t think so.”
He dropped the flare onto the gasoline jugs and jumped from the van as everyone ran for their lives.
Sebeck was clear of the barn doors by the time the gasoline flared up and filled the entire barn with a rolling fireball that lit up the night, destroying the van and all the hellish things in it.
The moment he came out of the barn he was faced by several dozen commandos charging at him from several directions simultaneously, trying to knock him down. He emptied his pistol at them, wounding several, but he got struck from the side and slammed into the mud. Someone stepped on his weapon hand, pinning it to the ground, and then two men aimed fire-extinguisher-like devices at him, spraying thick white foam all over his legs and arms.
One of them shouted, “Why didn’t you use the foam to begin with, asshole?”
“It’s impossible to clean up!”
The white gooey material quickly turned rock hard—trapping Sebeck in place. Then they knelt around him and twisted to pull his helmet off.
“You bastards, I’m going to—”
Something struck him on the back of the head, and he blacked out.
Chapter 32: // The Burning Man
Darknet Top-rated Posts +2,995,383↑
The corporatists want to make it impossible to live independently without having to become hippies in a commune. But we’ve proven the people can create a high-tech, sophisticated society that’s both connected to the land and to the world as a whole. Darknet communities everywhere must be saved. We must upvote the importance of these attacks as a priority one threat to the entire network.
Jon Ross stared with a deep sense of dread at the two messages that had just now popped up in his HUD listing:
Chunky Monkey—logged off 08:39:36
Unnamed_1—logged off 08:40:33
Ross had added Sebeck and Price into his friends list so he was alerted to changes in their network statuses. He’d been checking the progress of their call-outs across the county every few minutes. They’d gotten through enemy lines, but their call-outs disappeared a mile or so later.
He let out a deep breath and held his head in his hands, unable to conceive of a scenario where this wasn’t bad news.
It was mid-morning and the situation in Greeley had become dire. The sun was up now, and it was another burning-hot day. Almost all the outlying farms had been burned to the ground; columns of black smoke striped the horizon. Likewise, the homes on the edge of town were being razed.
Ross knew that darknet video of this event would get out to the Web sooner or later. He wondered what people in the outside world were going to make of it. But then it occurred to him that he’d seen a hundred hours of footage showing violent conflicts in various parts of the world. What would the world think? Probably that America had finally lost its mind. But otherwise things would continue as they always had.
In the brief lulls in the fighting, Ross had used his HUD display to follow the unfolding farce that was mainstream news coverage. They were apparently being “liberated” from an insurgent occupation. Someone had created a darknet feed of mainstream news beyond the blackout.
Ross and a group of forty or fifty other men and women had spent much of the morning moving the ample numbers of abandoned cars from the fields in town to create blockades around the downtown perimeter, while the mercenaries busied themselves razing outlying areas. He also helped fill sandbags that were apparently intended for floods and packed them outside the walls of the middle school.
One mercy was that the helicopters had gone away some hours ago and not returned. The Cessna with Hellfire missiles had also flown off. They’d either gone to re-arm or had finished their role.