Jack

They’re watching the penthouse. It doesn’t matter. I’ll go in through the garage. If I don’t make it out....

I’ll make it. I have to. I key in the gate code and nose my stubby red hatchback through the opening. It might handle like shit, but this car’s the perfect camouflage. Not only is it embarrassing, but I barely fit: my knees are wedged tight under the wheel, and it wouldn’t take much of a speedbump to bounce my head into the ceiling. I ease into someone else’s parking space and whip out my phone. Signal, check. And...Safari, Wordpress, drafts, and...publish.

Feels anticlimactic. The button doesn’t even make a clicky sound. It just loads for a moment, and returns me to the edit screen.

Right. Time to do this. Grab the evidence, torch the evidence, and—

Thunder booms overhead, huge and deafening. The ground vibrates. Tiny cracks web the drywall, and the fluorescents sway overhead. Not thunder. Explosives—I lift my hand, signaling Ferris straight....

Not Ferris. I’m here, not there, and this isn’t the time for...for....

I blink, confused. It matches—then and now, here and there, one and the same. I blink again, and he’s still with me: Erik, large as life, slowing down as he spots me. The smell of smoke—no. Exhaust. It’s exhaust: I’m in a garage. And he’s pulling a gun—a handgun, not a rifle, and...”Shit!”

I dive between two vehicles. He doesn’t fire. I can hear his boots on the concrete. Coming closer. I drop down, scoot under someone’s minivan, and pop out the other side. Need to get one of those reinforced columns between me and him. Lure him close and knock him out. Can’t linger. Can’t fuck up.

“I’m not going to shoot you.”

Sounds like he’s sobered up, at least. I edge toward the open, keeping my head below window level.

“That was your place, just now. Whatever evidence you had, it’s history. Up in smoke.” Asshole’s right: my safe was a blastproof model, but not temperature-proof. That hard drive’ll be melted to shit. Which...kind of suits my purposes.

I gauge the distance between me and the nearest column. Eight feet. A quick drop and roll, one good jump....

“Just give me your word, and I’ll let you go. That you won’t come after us.”

He’s lying. I can feel it.

“I mean, fuck—we were brothers. Still are. I never wanted this. Just, that bitch of yours, digging around like a—”

I make my play for the pillar. Erik cocks his gun. I press my back to the concrete, making myself as small as possible.

“You goddamn marines—you’re all the same. Semper I, fuck the other guy. Isn’t that it?”

I bristle. He’s calling me selfish? I resist the urge to lob one back at him. Plenty of shit I could say....

“I mean, it’s fine for you. You got your...your malls, your skyscrapers, your waterfront whatever-the-fuck. You can’t let us have this one thing?” He’s stalking me, circling the column. I tense, ready to move. “We agreed—or did you forget? Blakemoor’s ours!”

I can’t let that one go. “We also agreed to shut down the black ops. Or did you forget?” I sidle around, keeping a foot of concrete between me and him.

“That was ten years ago! Shit’s changed—all the bad press; ten times the competition. You’d know, if you—”

“Stop right there.”

Starkey? Fuck’s he doing here?

Erik squeezes off a shot. There’s cursing and scuffling—and sirens, fast approaching. I abandon cover, breaking for the exit.

“Halt!” Starkey’s got a rifle on Erik and a grim look on his face. His jaw’s set in a hard line and his eyes are blazing. It’s me he’s looking at, over Erik’s shoulder. “It’s still going on?”

Erik shakes his head, like he didn’t just admit it.

“Did you know?” He’s still talking to me.

“On my mother’s grave, I just found out.” I chance another step back. Time’s running out. “Look, I can prove it—I’ve done something about it. Do you have your phone?”

Starkey scowls at that. The barrel of his rifle’s swinging between us. Can’t be sure who he’s aiming at. His lip curls.

“I swear, this is over! I’ve—”

“Enough!” He drops his shoulder, gearing up to fire. I want to run, but I can’t look away. His eyes narrow, still locked on mine. His face twists into something hellish, barely human. “You. You’re a disgrace—to your uniform. Your country. Your service. To everything I stand for!” The muzzle roars.

Erik goes down like a sack of potatoes, flat on his back with a hole in his chest.

“Starkey, what...what the...?”

He turns his rifle on me. “Is she alive?”

Is she.... “Stella?”

“Is she alive?”

I nod, hands in the air. “She’s fine. In a safe place.”

“You said you did something. What was it?”

“I—I....” Erik’s head’s canted at a broken-doll angle, sightless eyes staring through me. He’s dead. Dead, in the here and now.

“Eyes front, soldier! I said, what did you do?”

I drag my attention back to Starkey. He’s not looking great. He’s gripping his rifle fit to break it, swallowing like he might throw up.

“Stella’s blog. The Countess BeeBee thing. I... She did a story. Everything—it’s all out there now. Posted ten minutes ago. It’s over—or it will be. You’re....” Free doesn’t seem like the right word. Maybe there isn’t one.

Starkey lowers his rifle, scrubbing at his mouth.

“John, are you—”

“Go.” He jerks his head toward the stairs. “Slip out with the evacuees. I’m....”

“Starkey?”

“Just get back to her. She’s... Well, I’ll let her tell you.”

He knows? Knew before I did? How the...?

“Get out!”

With great effort, I get my feet moving. He’s right: there’s no time to loiter. The sirens are closing in. This is my window: a big crowd to block lines of sight; first responders still getting organized.

Slip away; make sure I’m alone; get back to Stella.

After that...the fallout.