Ben Chaney - Son of Sedonia

It rose to a roar, echoing over the rooftops. It got sharper. Louder. They looked up in time to see a white, wedge-shaped object streak overhead. Its blade wings jutted through thrashing engine flames. A Pulsar HVX! Luxury class! Matteo’s pulse raced. Whoops and cheers sounded throughout the neighborhood. Jogun, without looking, held out his open hand. Matteo placed the gun in it. Jogun got to his feet, then turned.

“Stay. Here.” Jogun glared at Matteo, waited for a nod, then took off after the bulging smoke trail. He ran across a narrow catwalk, vaulted over a guard rail, and disappeared behind hanging laundry in an alleyway.

Matteo fidgeted in the excitement. It was luxury class! I saw it! His feet begged him to follow. Oki’s gang reappeared and ran past. Turned to wave ‘goodbye’ on their way after the ship. Oki back-pedaled to face Matteo and clutched his chest in a mock coughing fit. That was it. Matteo took three deep breaths from the tube and trotted off after them.

Jogun bounded from rooftop to rooftop, glancing up to keep the smoke trail in sight. Ahead, two young T99s in tank-tops, shorts, and running shoes darted up a fire escape and matched pace with him. Together they scrambled over walls, up ladders, and through the apartments of cowering dwellers. The locals cleared a path without complaint. Everything else in the Slums stopped when the Nines moved in force.

As the smoke thickened, they were joined by one, and then two more guys, all with ‘T99’ on their left shoulders. The wreck was close. Sour smells of charred carbon fiber and burning coolant confirmed it.

“The H3!” one of them shouted, “gotta make this quick, or it’s gonna go off!”

Running up one final stairwell, the group emerged onto a flat, concrete rooftop. The Pulsar HVX sat wrecked at the end of a savage gouge in the concrete. Jogun sprinted up to it, meeting the several other gang members who were already tearing it apart. At the rear of the hull, Jogun recognized the radioactive symbol. He cringed as the Cutters yanked out the canisters of Helium-3 and tossed them to the waiting Runners. Nothing happened. He sighed. No meltdown today…

Jogun got to work. He and two others forced open the trunk with a hydraulic hiss. Revealed pay-dirt. Groceries. Laughing and whooping, they rifled through the treasure and filled their satchels. Jogun caught glimpses of detergent, potato chips, soap, shampoo, ground beef, and… fresh produce! He took care not to open that bag too wide while he took his cut from it. The others didn’t seem to notice. Boomer was too busy stuffing his face with tortilla chips, and Porki chewed on a frowning mouthful of toothpaste. Spat it out in a soggy lump.

The Cutters torched panels from the hull while three senior T99s drew pistols and surrounded the cockpit. Suomo, the ranking member, waved his long lean arm for a Cutter to pop the driver’s-side hatch. It swung open with a flick of the crowbar. A spongy, yellow-green material crumbled out the door. Suomo checked inside, then relaxed with a metallic smile.

“All clear!” Suomo called to the group. Jogun took out his crowbar, pulled his satchel drawstring shut, and trotted over. Met Suomo at the door.

“Cheap-ass foam,” Suomo said, holstering his pistol, “Did the job for us. Jo, go on and pop the other side.” Jo looked inside. Stalled. A family of three sat partially encased in their seats. Hollow stares from the husband and the eleven-year-old boy in the back seat told of instant death. The wife slumped over the dash, her face half-buried in foam.

“Well do it quick, fool! Better believe the Robos gonna be here any time!” Jogun ran around to the other side, pried the door open, and climbed up just in time to see Suomo reach into the foam on the driver’s side. The husband’s harness straps zipped back into the seat, Suomo grabbed the arm, and yanked the corpse out into a crumbling heap of dry foam. The senior Nine started rifling through compartments without a second thought. Jogun reached in. He grabbed the dead wife by the shoulder and eased her away from the dash.

She gasped and flashed her eyes wide open.

“SHIT!” Jogun stumbled out of the ship. The woman groaned, pulling a shaky hand from the foam to touch the gash on her forehead.

“A live one!” Suomo shouted, “Go ahead wit it, Jo.” Only one thing that could mean.

Jogun swallowed hard. His heart raced. All eyes watched him as he pulled out the nine millimeter and climbed back up into the ship. He found the woman struggling to keep her eyes open. Her light-brown hair was stained yellow-green, clinging to her scarred, middle-aged features. She looks like…like Her… Twelve years ago, and her face still haunted him clear as yesterday.

“ Today , Jo!” Suomo said. Burying the memories, Jogun raised the pistol. Looked down the sight at the woman’s head. His breathing quickened. His arm trembled. Awareness gathered in the woman as her eyes rolled toward the sound of the clicking hammer. BANG! Red splashed against the sick-colored foam. Her head returned with a thump to the dash. I’m sorry… Jo pinched his eyes shut and pulled her out of the cockpit. Cheers and applause erupted outside.

“Yeah!”

“GOT that city-bitch!”

“That’s the shot , Jo- Gun! ”

Jogun flicked the safety on his pistol, stuck it in his waistband, and climbed into the Pulsar’s backseat. Just get to business. Don’t let ’em see you sweat. He scooped foam out by the arm-full, digging for the center console. Suomo climbed into the driver’s side, leaned over to Jogun, and slapped him on the back. Jogun managed a nod then continued working. He kept his attention fixed on the console and away from the boy’s body next to him. He looked away as that corpse was unhooked from its harness and dragged out.

They picked the wreck clean within a matter of minutes. First the factory stereo and speakers, GPS, head-rest monitors, yards of fiber optic cable, and anything with a circuit board. Then the heavy lifting. The seats, undamaged glass, polyurethane interior paneling, and the carbon fiber hull came out in crudely cut sections, tossed into piles on the roof to be carried off by the Runners.

Jogun, with full satchel in tow, stepped out of the skeletal remains in time to see the kids arrive. Despite their long pursuit, they had lost no energy. They pestered the Runners for closer looks at the loot. A few ran to the piles, picked up all they could carry, and followed behind their elders. A tiny kid arrived dead last. His tiny body heaved with each exhausted gasp. Matteo! Jogun sprinted to him, and crouched down.

“Dammit Matteo, when I say stay, you stay! ” said Jogun. He glanced back, scanning behind him for traces of the bodies. Gone. They were carried off too. Jogun tried to block thoughts of what they’d be used for.

“I—I wa—” Matteo struggled.

“Slow down man, like we practiced,” Jogun pursed his lips, drew in a long, deep breath, and exhaled. Matteo nodded and obeyed. Jogun pressed a hand to Matteo’s stomach and pushed against the pressure of each breath. The boy’s breathing slowed, accompanied by shrill wheezing.

“You good?”

“Y—yeah. What’d you get?”

Jogun furrowed his brow.

“Never mind what I got, boy, you need to learn how to listen! This ain’t no place for you!”

Matteo frowned at the remark. He looked at the kids with armfuls of cable and hull fragments. He huffed through the wheezing.

“You ain’t like them,” said Jogun. Matteo shot him a dirty look.

“C’mon, I didn’t mean…I just—whatever. Sounds like you need to head down to the Doc for a refill.” Jogun tapped the inhaler tank in Matteo’s hood, stood up, and dug into his satchel. Pulled out a ripe clementine orange.