Hi folks, thanks for dropping by to read! The usual caveats apply this week: This is a rough draft so expect errors. This is also a work that includes adult language and situations, so if that kind of thing offends, please read no further.
Finally, if you find yourself enjoying the story, please consider sharing! I'm trying to generate some interest for the happy day this novel is finished and I can begin work on book 2...
-S
There was a gasp from the crowd and people scrambled away opening a clear space around them. Aleph stepped in close to the assailant and delivered an open palm blow under her chin, snapping her head back in the worst case of whiplash Sam had ever witnessed. His gut clenched in sympathy as he heard the muffled crunch of bones. Instead of falling to the ground though, the woman took a single steadying pace back and swung her gun arm back up in Aleph’s direction. Sam couldn’t help but note in sick fascination that her head now wobbling loosely on her neck.
As the gun swung in her direction, Aleph moved her upper body away from the muzzle and, in a move that Sam sensed more than we saw, used one hand to torque the barrel away while the other smashed against the inside of the woman’s forearm. The gun fired again, the report barely louder than a polite clap.
This seemed to enrage Aleph more than anything before had. She grabbed the attacker one-handed by the neck and physically slammed her to the cobblestone ground where she lay still—at least for the time being.
Dimitri, who had been crouched next to Sam for the brief confrontation, darted over to Aristarchus and pulled his uniform jacket open to reveal a bloody white shirt.
“He’s breathing!” His voice sounded higher than Sam remembered.
“Check for an exit wound,” Aleph instructed him, striding over.
Dimitri’s mahogany skin looked ashy as he slid a hand under Aristarchus’ side and pulled it out to show her. It was clean of blood.
“Well, at least we have that going for us. Sam, take over for Dimitri and put pressure on that wound.”
“Why does he need to do it?” asked Dimitri.
“Because I asked fucking nicely.”
Sam felt his throat click as he swallowed and nodded at her. He gingerly placed his hands over the bloody hole in Aristarchus’ side and began pressing down.
He could feel the blood draining from his face, he’d never been good with the sight of blood. It didn’t bother him on an emotional level, but every time he saw more than a few drops something in his hind brain triggered and he began to feel green.
He tried to focus on his breathing but he could already feel his lips beginning to tingle. He tucked his knees to his chest and rested all his weight on his hands. If he did faint, by all the gods his body weight alone would still stop Aristarchus from bleeding out.
Meanwhile, Aleph had taken Dimitri’s phone and had it up to her ear. “I thought you said this thing got reception.”
She tossed it back to him and Dimitri grabbed the phone out of the air. He swiped at the screen and began flicking past menu screens. After a moment there was another chorus of chimes and chirps around them as the notification beeps of other phones and tablets immediately around them sounded.“Dimitri, what’s going on, do I have communication, or don’t I?”
“Working on it.”
“How long.”
“I don’t know, a couple more minutes? I didn’t think they could shut him down to begin with.”
“Him?”
“Me. I meant me.”
“Sure, whatever. It’s too long to wait, we need to move now. Aristarchus can’t wait and we’re a sitting target.”
As if in response to her words, there came the sound of grinding bone. The drone Aleph had struck was beginning to stir and as they watched. She rolled to her hands and knees, her neck drooping at an unnatural angle.
Aleph let out an impatient noise, walked over to the drone and gave her arm a sideways kick. The elbow bent in sideways with a horrible crunching noise and the drone let out a screech of rage. There was a gasp from the crowd.
“What? I didn’t kill her. She’s still alive,” Aleph said. Gazes fell away as she swept her eyes across them.
“You should all get someplace away from here,” Aleph said, calmly walking around to the other side of the downed woman. “This,” she said gesturing at the growling drone, “is just the start of things. Get out of the Market, go home, lock your doors.”
The crowd began to slowly stir under Aleph’s continued glare.
“Now!”
She punctuated the word by taking out the drone’s other elbow. The crowd scattered and the nearby vendors began shuttering their displays.
By this time, Sam’s nervous system had decided that it would be best to stay conscious. He wasn’t as dizzy as he had been and his hands were almost finished trembling. For now, he kept his eyes on the dispersing crowd. Any new threat would be coming from that direction and keeping watch gave him a good excuse not to look at the blood that was becoming thick and sticky under the heel of his palm.
Winging above them, there was a veritable tornado of crows wheeling in place. He took real comfort from the sight. After what he’d seen the crows do to the drones at Memorial Park, he was absolutely confident that the flock that size could seriously ruin someone’s day.
Aleph strode to one of the nearby vendors who had a large wheeled cart with a display of cut glass prisms and animals for sale. “I need to borrow your cart.”
With no more discussion than that, she cleared the glass curios off with a sweep of her arm and hauled the cart back to where Aristarchus lay. Behind her, the vendor, a huge walrus of a man, bellowed in indignation, looking at his glittering wares scattered on the cobbled street. After Aleph’s confrontation, Sam wasn’t surprised that blustering was as far as it went.
“Come to the Armoury and fill out a loss form,” she called over her shoulder. “A man’s life is at stake here. Get some perspective!”
“Won’t her elbows just heal?” Dimitri asked, nodding toward the drone.
“Sure, but that takes time and unless they’re set back in place, they’ll heal like they are. She won’t be playing the piano until a doctor sees to those elbows.”
Dimitri looked back at the drone on the street with a sick expression. She was back on her knees and slowly beginning to stand.
Aleph followed his glance. “You still have two good knees,” she growled the drone. “I can have them too.”
The drone didn’t appear to hear. She walked toward them, head askew on her neck and arms hanging uselessly in front of her.
“She’s sort of like the Black Knight,” Sam supplied from where he crouched. “‘Tis but a scratch!”
Aleph sighed, marched up to the drone and snapped a kick out at her kneecap. There was another pop and the drone’s leg went out from under her depositing her back onto the cobblestones.
“You get his legs,” Aleph instructed Dimitri, walking back and working her hands under Aristarchus’ shoulders. “On the count of three.” She counted down and they lifted, Dimitri nearly staggering under the weight. Sam kept his hands pressed firmly on the entrance wound, and between the three of them, they were able to maneuver Aristarchus’ torso on top of the cart, his legs dangling over the side.
“Now move,” Aleph instructed them. “Dimitri, you push, Sam, keep that pressure on. I’ll be on look out. You two spell each other off when the runner gets tired. We need to get him to The Armoury fast.”
Sam nodded, and soon he and Dimitri were trotting along, doing their best to avoid the crowd where they could, Aleph clearing a path for them when they couldn't. Dimitri did his best to keep the cart at a pace that maximized speed without rattling Aristarchus off the display while Sam executed a gimpy sideways shuffle as he attempted to keep pace with the cart and maintain pressure on the gunshot wound.
Despite the makeshift nature of their little ambulance, the bicycle wheels on the cart were doing an admirable job of absorbing most of the jolts and bumps.
They were only at it for a few minutes before the White Bridge, and The Armoury beyond came into view. Sam was pushing now, his violin case bouncing against his back, and Dimitri had taken over the job of keeping Aristarchus’ bleeding to a minimum.
A group of five black-uniformed officers were making their way across the bridge. In the group, Sam spotted Miranda, the watchman from the gate. She was at the rear of the party and judging from her body language, not happy about it. In the lead was a black-uniformed man with a thin face and a beaky nose, his epaulets displaying three golden bars to Aristarchus’ two silver.
“Shit,” Sam heard Aleph say under her breath.
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