F Wilson - Fatal Error

A closer look revealed a covered walkway running up to the viaduct. How had he missed that? He guessed his attackers had distracted him. More they had to answer for.

He gunned the bike. The pedestrian ramp was about to become a motocross ramp.

Kewan sat in the borrowed car, sipping lukewarm coffee and listening to the news while he waited for word. He'd parked on a little-used stretch of asphalt off the rural county road that led to the IXP. He'd tuned in to a Cleveland station and couldn't help grinning as he listened to news of the chaos. The city was paralyzed. Nobody could get anywhere.

He pumped a fist at the windshield. They'd done it-they brought down the system.

He checked his watch and a tingle ran through his chest. Less than a minute to go. He checked his cell phone. He'd been told to keep it handy in case Bridger called to tell him plans had changed, but that wasn't going to happen. The phone's window read No Service. Fine with Kewan. He didn't want to hear from Bridger. Didn't care much for the guy and got the impression the feeling was mutual. But he didn't have to like the guy. What mattered was with no service, there'd be no message telling him to walk away. No message meant it was Go for blow!

Timing was important. No sense in breaking up the infrastructure before the Net was down because that would actually save some routers. No, they wanted everything fried before the charges added icing to the cake.

He started the car and pulled up to the four-lane blacktop of the county road. He paused there and sorted through his collection of seventeen garage door transmitters on the passenger seat. Each had a piece of white labeling tape on its cover, and each tape was labeled with a number. He found number 1 and opened the battery compartment. He slipped in two AA Energizers, then turned onto the empty road. Keeping an eye on his rearview mirror, he pressed the button.

A column of flame exploded from the center of the pavement, sending the manhole cover into orbit.

He laughed and pounded the wheel as he drove on. One down, sixteen more to go. Much as he liked to watch them blow, being there was risking getting his ass caught, the last thing he needed. He wanted to be out and about when everything fell apart, not in a jail cell.

But these transmitters didn't have much range, so he had no choice.

Maybe that was for the best. No worry then about someone passing a spot when it exploded. He was an evolutionary, not a revolutionary-a Kicker, not a killer. He didn't want innocent blood on his hands. Guilty blood, okay, but he wasn't no goddamn Arab. Anybody who got in the way of the evolution had to go down, but a mom driving home to her kids from a late shift… no way.

He kept to the speed limit as he drove toward the next spot.

"Hey, you gotta come with us," the guy said for what seemed like the thousandth time. "Jake'll be here any minute-lives like a mile from here-and then it's party time."

Gia kept a tight grip on Vicky's hand and stared straight ahead at the empty baggage carousel. After the nightmare plane ride, why did she have to be saddled with these two low-rent Lotharios?

For a while up there she'd been afraid the plane would never land. The pilot had announced that computer problems were slowing landings at all the New York airports and they'd been directed into a holding pattern. As they'd flown round and round, she'd wondered how much fuel the tanks held in reserve. Then, finally, they'd been cleared to land.

But upon leaving the plane, these two had attached themselves to her on the jetway. They'd obviously been drinking. Probably had a few at O'Hare before the flight and then more on board.

Gia had been about to say something back there, but then she'd emerged into chaos. The gates and aisles of Concourse D were jammed with angry-looking people. As she moved through the crowd she gathered that the same computer problems that had delayed their landing had delayed all departures, with no hint of when they might resume.

As she'd woven through the crowds, the two remoras stayed close behind, oblivious to their surroundings, focused solely on what they repeatedly referred to as her "fine ass." She finally stopped and confronted them and threatened to report them. A mistake. They'd only laughed and escalated the trash talk, becoming bolder and bolder as they moved from the concourse to the equally chaotic Central Terminal.

"Why are they following us, Mommy?" Vicky said.

"Just hang on. We'll be out of here soon."

"I don't like them."

She'd tried to lose them in the terminal, but they'd stayed close. They seemed to be traveling light and she'd prayed they wouldn't stick with her all the way to baggage.

They did.

Along the way she'd learned that the taller one was named Gabe and the shorter was Angelo. Gabe had bleached his hair a stark white but had left his eyebrows black. Angelo simply tied his long, dirty locks into a greasy ponytail. Both had Kicker Man tattoos on their hands.

Gabe was the mouthier of the pair. He leaned close now-close enough to share the whiskey on his breath as he spoke over her shoulder.

"You're one fine MILF, y'know that?"

Gia said nothing.

"You know what MILF means, don't you."

She did, but she ignored him. Too late she realized that was a mistake.

"It means you're a Mom I'd Like to Fuck."

Fury ignited within Gia. She spun to face him and shoved him away.

"If you've no respect for me, at least have some for this little girl!"

He looked at Vicky and grinned. "Hey, a couple more years on her and she'll be a TILF-a Tween I'd Like to Fuck."

This cracked up Angelo and the two of them bumped fists. Gia's hand started into motion to give his face a bump of her own, but she pulled it back. No telling what that would spark in these two.

"That does it. I'm getting a cop."

He laughed and made a dramatic show of looking around. "Yeah? Where?"

She made her own search. Her heart sank. Not a uniform of any kind in sight. No TSA. Nothing.

Two liquored-up creeps and her with a child. Jack had pushed her for years to carry a pistol but the very idea terrified her. To pacify him, she had agreed to a little spray can of Mace. She'd never had to use it, but she was ready now. Too bad it was on her dresser at home-no way to check it through onto the plane in her carry-on.

Where was Jack? She couldn't raise him on her cell phone-couldn't call anyone, in fact, including 911.

Then she felt a pair of hands grab her hips as Gabe began thrusting his pelvis against her buttocks.

Angelo laughed. "Ride her, cowboy!"

Gia tried to twist away but Gabe held her fast. Other people around her turned to look but no one moved to help. Maybe they thought they were a couple just fooling around, or maybe they simply didn't want to get involved.

Vicky's terrified expression fueled a burst of strength that allowed her to pull free. She whirled, fingers bent into claws. She remembered Jack telling her that if she was ever in a situation like this to go for the eyes. No matter how big or mean an attacker, they'd drop whatever they were doing to defend their eyes. A gouged cornea monopolized anyone's attention. She'd never thought she could do something like that, but this creep had crossed the line.

She lashed out and raked her nails across his face. He ducked back but not before she made contact, scraping his forehead and the bridge of his nose, but missing his eyes.

She grabbed Vicky and began to hurry her away when a hand clamped on the back of her neck.

"You fucking little-ungh!"

The hand suddenly released her. She looked over her shoulder and saw Gabe down on one knee, his face a mask of pain as a man twisted his ear. The man wore a Nets sweatshirt with the hood up. His face was partially hidden but her heart leaped as she recognized what she saw of it.