02-20-2019, 01:49 AM
It was the dead time before dawn. The wind was swirling around Boda’s place. He felt the movement of air against his face, gusting down the thick, painted walls. He stood for a thoughtful moment, standard-issue cape swept back over one shoulder, his service gun slouched barrel-down across his belly staring into...
Well, he didn’t rightly know what. The big, metal door didn't open. No amount of knocking could persuade it to open; furthermore he didn’t have the energy to shove his way through Boda’s... wide entry.
Lih grasped the door handle, turned it, but couldn’t open it. He held it fast as he leaned down and put his ear to the green painted metal; brushing his white-blonde hair out of the way to do it. For a moment, for a fleeting moment, he heard... Shuffling. Voices. But, nothing: it had just been the wind, and Lih’s imagination. He felt stupid.
“Boda? Boda?” mumbled Lih, trying to sound tough although there was something about Boda that made him feel anything but. “You alright? I’ll help if I can.”
Boda didn't dignify him with a reply.
Lih's gaze was now accusatory as he looked at the door. It was of little good to Lih or his career for Boda to hide from what had happened at the cabaret. Not that Lih was sure what happened, exactly, but he wanted to find out. Either Boda wanted to talk, or he didn’t. Clearly he didn’t. Not unexpected. He and Boda were probably singing from the same hymn sheet, and the hymn was oh, Lord, let’s get this over with as fast as possible.”
Lih turned away. He’d have to poke around. Find another way in. He’d always held that brains won fights better than bombs. Then again, he also believed that when it really came down to it, fighting your balls off never hurt...
You’re a complex man, officer Costa, his partner, his mentor, his friend, had once told him. He’d been sarcastic of course, and they’d both been off their heads on vodka. The memory made Lih smile. He brushed his fringe out of his eyes and made his way, double-time, moving softly as Costa had taught him.
Lih looked around, sliding his flashlight about him gently. The cone of his flashlight beam bobbed and swung. The shadows moved as his light turned. They dribbled and fell away, they altered and bent. The air was cold but dry, not a hint of moisture in it. A pulse began to beat in Lih’s temple.
“Wait… just give him a minute,” whispered Lih; the pulse in his temple still going tap, tap, tap. He could feel his own nerves drawing tight… Why? Why the hell was he feeling so edgy? Nothing got to him, usually. Why’d he got the strongest impression that—
this is going to be trouble
—he was being watched?
To his left, a window. A shadow. Nothing.
To his right. Another shadow. Wait, not a shadow, a tree… Then he snapped around suddenly, his sidearm up hard against his rib bone, aimed. From his position in that doorway, he could have sworn… he could have sworn… someone had been standing there. Right there.
But there was no one. Just a trick of the shadows. Just his racing imagination, reading shapes and forms in the gloom that weren’t actually there.
“Nope,” Lih breathed; amazed at his own foolishness. He couldn’t explain it. Not without sounding so mad Dr. Alex would have him clapped in irons and locked in a padded cell immediately. He faltered, ashamed.
This wasn’t like him. Jumping at shadows? Calm down. Calm all the way down. It’s routine—you’ve done this check a thousand times…This isn’t like you. All over the place, nervy and wound too tight. You’re a copper, for f—’s sake. We’re the best there is.
He ran his gloved hand back through his cropped hair. Frowning. He wanted to fight. He wanted to badge himself with the sort of glory that would make the other cops look up to him. Instead, he found most of his days spent on paperwork, filing cases, supervising supply details. He could do that kind of thing well, and people knew it. So he was always the one people asked when such tasks came up. It was as if the high-ups didn’t think about Viktor Lih as an officer. Just a facilitator; an administrator; a desk monkey.
“BOOM!”
Lih snapped out of his reverie as a sudden, almost hot wind surged up. The window to his left erupted like a small volcano. There was a chilling sound from above him. A sound that swooped from high pitch to low. The output of a powerful force ripped into the window and a rash of pressurized flame blew out the glass panels. A sound that shook the ground and clouds of smoke and debris burst out of the window.
Something happened to the sky, accompanied by sounds so loud they shook him. The spraying sky, the shaking ground, the house suddenly exchanged places and he fell back with a shriek.
Back! Back! Get clear!
Lih dove into the shadows and nearest tree cover. He threw himself desperately at the ground. He felt his wallet break under his chest and put his arms round the base of the tree, his heart thundering, his eyes closed.
When he looked again, he looked around, blinking. Smoke wreathed the air… it was murder on his watery eyes. Night vision refused to settle in.
“Oh, god no!” Lih gasped, his warm exhalation becoming vapor. He’d lost Sage’s lens. He cowered in terror at the seething, malign fury of the explosion above him. Signals from his earplugs went berserk in whirs of interference and swarms of static. He wrenched the earplugs out, wincing. Wild static charge filled the air, cracking off his weapon, making hair stand on end. Nothing but static. No getting help now.
Lih looked around for a sniper, a gunman in the shadows, but there was no sign of the attacker. Light! Boda. Had he done this? No. A seriously big, powerful weapon had taken this window out. It had blown out the shutter and bricks underneath. He looked up at the twisted metal and toothy stubs of glass in the frame and it took him a minute to get his breathing down.
Spitting out soil, Lih had risen. He swayed for a second, winded. His left arm hurt. His flashlight was jutted butt-end up a few steps away. He ran and pulled it out of the ground, frantically brushing at it, hoping its light worked after the fall.
It worked; light blinked at the haggard, stumbling figure, covered with dirt and grime; no longer pale; with now dark, freckled skin and hair. Even his shockingly white-blonde eyelashes were choked with dust and grit. Good. He’d need to see now, see like a hunting cat in the dark.
Lih pulled out his pistol, almost as an afterthought. He moved forward to get a look in, stepping gingerly over the debris under his boots. Just before the blasted window arches, Lih was peering in. He swore silently.
A large hole, scorched and burned out, the twisted, blackened limbs of fused metal adhering to the sooty walls like stomped spiders. Millions of glass fragments littered the burnt floor. There were seared tufts of carpeting around the wall's edges… his eyes widened.
What did this? Lih couldn’t see it. It troubled him he still didn’t know what took out the window. A round came from the Creator alone knew where, destroyed the window and... Boda's boxed in... He imagined the intruder climbing up; shuffling along the sill; picking his way down empty halls over the glass of the broken window and kindling of shattered furniture… But no. There was no ledge, no leaded rainwater sprouts or gutter trays to climb. Besides, this point of entry was much too narrow.
Lih shuddered. He could have been gashed by the flying shards; screaming as his blood steamed out. He wasn’t interested in history. He was interested in the future. And in being there to enjoy it.
What great purpose this room had once had was no longer important. It was empty. It was clear. That was all that mattered.
He turned and looked back. The wind, leaking through holes and exposed window, whined after him. Above the broken window, tiled roofs, domes and spires rose. No one came through here. Just a distraction. The terrorist had passed him by. The window didn’t matter. Lih didn’t matter. Only the old man. Boda seemed to be all the enemy cared about. There was some cruel delight to be drawn from the idea of the old man suffering along with Lih; trapped in that house; praying for protection from the almighty hell coming to him.
He moved on; rounding the corner toward the back; crouching low; weapon braced; his flashlight chasing out all corners and the shadows.
He could see a battered, beaten door lay between him and the first floor. Somebody kicked in the back door, complete with frame out across the steps and let it propped upright against the side wall. He pushed the broken door aside. It didn’t budge at first, but then it slumped open. He hastily dropped for cover amid the wreckage. His foot braced against the broken door, Lih looked back once again at the shadows clustered behind him.
“What do you say?” he asked the shadows, “is it a day for heroes?”
He knew what to do: protect Boda. He paused against the sidewall near the exit and called.
“Hey, inside! It’s the police! I’m coming in so don’t hose me with bullets!”
He swung inside.
Well, he didn’t rightly know what. The big, metal door didn't open. No amount of knocking could persuade it to open; furthermore he didn’t have the energy to shove his way through Boda’s... wide entry.
Lih grasped the door handle, turned it, but couldn’t open it. He held it fast as he leaned down and put his ear to the green painted metal; brushing his white-blonde hair out of the way to do it. For a moment, for a fleeting moment, he heard... Shuffling. Voices. But, nothing: it had just been the wind, and Lih’s imagination. He felt stupid.
“Boda? Boda?” mumbled Lih, trying to sound tough although there was something about Boda that made him feel anything but. “You alright? I’ll help if I can.”
Boda didn't dignify him with a reply.
Lih's gaze was now accusatory as he looked at the door. It was of little good to Lih or his career for Boda to hide from what had happened at the cabaret. Not that Lih was sure what happened, exactly, but he wanted to find out. Either Boda wanted to talk, or he didn’t. Clearly he didn’t. Not unexpected. He and Boda were probably singing from the same hymn sheet, and the hymn was oh, Lord, let’s get this over with as fast as possible.”
Lih turned away. He’d have to poke around. Find another way in. He’d always held that brains won fights better than bombs. Then again, he also believed that when it really came down to it, fighting your balls off never hurt...
You’re a complex man, officer Costa, his partner, his mentor, his friend, had once told him. He’d been sarcastic of course, and they’d both been off their heads on vodka. The memory made Lih smile. He brushed his fringe out of his eyes and made his way, double-time, moving softly as Costa had taught him.
Lih looked around, sliding his flashlight about him gently. The cone of his flashlight beam bobbed and swung. The shadows moved as his light turned. They dribbled and fell away, they altered and bent. The air was cold but dry, not a hint of moisture in it. A pulse began to beat in Lih’s temple.
“Wait… just give him a minute,” whispered Lih; the pulse in his temple still going tap, tap, tap. He could feel his own nerves drawing tight… Why? Why the hell was he feeling so edgy? Nothing got to him, usually. Why’d he got the strongest impression that—
this is going to be trouble
—he was being watched?
To his left, a window. A shadow. Nothing.
To his right. Another shadow. Wait, not a shadow, a tree… Then he snapped around suddenly, his sidearm up hard against his rib bone, aimed. From his position in that doorway, he could have sworn… he could have sworn… someone had been standing there. Right there.
But there was no one. Just a trick of the shadows. Just his racing imagination, reading shapes and forms in the gloom that weren’t actually there.
“Nope,” Lih breathed; amazed at his own foolishness. He couldn’t explain it. Not without sounding so mad Dr. Alex would have him clapped in irons and locked in a padded cell immediately. He faltered, ashamed.
This wasn’t like him. Jumping at shadows? Calm down. Calm all the way down. It’s routine—you’ve done this check a thousand times…This isn’t like you. All over the place, nervy and wound too tight. You’re a copper, for f—’s sake. We’re the best there is.
He ran his gloved hand back through his cropped hair. Frowning. He wanted to fight. He wanted to badge himself with the sort of glory that would make the other cops look up to him. Instead, he found most of his days spent on paperwork, filing cases, supervising supply details. He could do that kind of thing well, and people knew it. So he was always the one people asked when such tasks came up. It was as if the high-ups didn’t think about Viktor Lih as an officer. Just a facilitator; an administrator; a desk monkey.
“BOOM!”
Lih snapped out of his reverie as a sudden, almost hot wind surged up. The window to his left erupted like a small volcano. There was a chilling sound from above him. A sound that swooped from high pitch to low. The output of a powerful force ripped into the window and a rash of pressurized flame blew out the glass panels. A sound that shook the ground and clouds of smoke and debris burst out of the window.
Something happened to the sky, accompanied by sounds so loud they shook him. The spraying sky, the shaking ground, the house suddenly exchanged places and he fell back with a shriek.
Back! Back! Get clear!
Lih dove into the shadows and nearest tree cover. He threw himself desperately at the ground. He felt his wallet break under his chest and put his arms round the base of the tree, his heart thundering, his eyes closed.
When he looked again, he looked around, blinking. Smoke wreathed the air… it was murder on his watery eyes. Night vision refused to settle in.
“Oh, god no!” Lih gasped, his warm exhalation becoming vapor. He’d lost Sage’s lens. He cowered in terror at the seething, malign fury of the explosion above him. Signals from his earplugs went berserk in whirs of interference and swarms of static. He wrenched the earplugs out, wincing. Wild static charge filled the air, cracking off his weapon, making hair stand on end. Nothing but static. No getting help now.
Lih looked around for a sniper, a gunman in the shadows, but there was no sign of the attacker. Light! Boda. Had he done this? No. A seriously big, powerful weapon had taken this window out. It had blown out the shutter and bricks underneath. He looked up at the twisted metal and toothy stubs of glass in the frame and it took him a minute to get his breathing down.
Spitting out soil, Lih had risen. He swayed for a second, winded. His left arm hurt. His flashlight was jutted butt-end up a few steps away. He ran and pulled it out of the ground, frantically brushing at it, hoping its light worked after the fall.
It worked; light blinked at the haggard, stumbling figure, covered with dirt and grime; no longer pale; with now dark, freckled skin and hair. Even his shockingly white-blonde eyelashes were choked with dust and grit. Good. He’d need to see now, see like a hunting cat in the dark.
Lih pulled out his pistol, almost as an afterthought. He moved forward to get a look in, stepping gingerly over the debris under his boots. Just before the blasted window arches, Lih was peering in. He swore silently.
A large hole, scorched and burned out, the twisted, blackened limbs of fused metal adhering to the sooty walls like stomped spiders. Millions of glass fragments littered the burnt floor. There were seared tufts of carpeting around the wall's edges… his eyes widened.
What did this? Lih couldn’t see it. It troubled him he still didn’t know what took out the window. A round came from the Creator alone knew where, destroyed the window and... Boda's boxed in... He imagined the intruder climbing up; shuffling along the sill; picking his way down empty halls over the glass of the broken window and kindling of shattered furniture… But no. There was no ledge, no leaded rainwater sprouts or gutter trays to climb. Besides, this point of entry was much too narrow.
Lih shuddered. He could have been gashed by the flying shards; screaming as his blood steamed out. He wasn’t interested in history. He was interested in the future. And in being there to enjoy it.
What great purpose this room had once had was no longer important. It was empty. It was clear. That was all that mattered.
He turned and looked back. The wind, leaking through holes and exposed window, whined after him. Above the broken window, tiled roofs, domes and spires rose. No one came through here. Just a distraction. The terrorist had passed him by. The window didn’t matter. Lih didn’t matter. Only the old man. Boda seemed to be all the enemy cared about. There was some cruel delight to be drawn from the idea of the old man suffering along with Lih; trapped in that house; praying for protection from the almighty hell coming to him.
He moved on; rounding the corner toward the back; crouching low; weapon braced; his flashlight chasing out all corners and the shadows.
He could see a battered, beaten door lay between him and the first floor. Somebody kicked in the back door, complete with frame out across the steps and let it propped upright against the side wall. He pushed the broken door aside. It didn’t budge at first, but then it slumped open. He hastily dropped for cover amid the wreckage. His foot braced against the broken door, Lih looked back once again at the shadows clustered behind him.
“What do you say?” he asked the shadows, “is it a day for heroes?”
He knew what to do: protect Boda. He paused against the sidewall near the exit and called.
“Hey, inside! It’s the police! I’m coming in so don’t hose me with bullets!”
He swung inside.