Our Last Echo

7

Singleforth City

"Left! Take the bridge."

The Suttonmobile's tyres squealed as he made the turn. His headlights illuminated a barrier that stretched across the road.

"The bridge that's closed?" he yelped.

"It's closed, not missing," Thomas pointed out reasonably.

It was too late anyway. The car smashed through the barrier and Sutton floored the gas launching the car into the air and over the detritus left behind by the work crew. The suspension bounced as the car hit the road.

"Shipyard or freight?" he demanded, adrenaline coursing through him. The police system had picked up the gunfire just as he did. They would not respond quickly to this part of Singleforth, but they would respond. Sutton had to be there first.

"Freight," Thomas said.

"Almost there. Get me a location."

The freight yard was the border of no-man's-land, a maze of steel shipping containers surrounded by the old warehouses from the days when Singleforth's port was a thriving centre of international trade. The only international trade coming through this part of the port in the current century was drugs, illegal weapons and slaves.

He steered through the narrow pathways between the containers. He had no need of directions here: one of those containers was his. A signal from the car opened it and he hit the brake. The car slid across the steel. Sutton checked his gear and got out of the container, fast. It slammed closed, concealing the car.

Sutton fired a grapple and flew upward, to land on the top of the stacked containers. He crouched at the edge and his cape pooled around him. "Which way?"

"To your left, five rows over."

The gaps between the rows of containers were just wide enough to make the jump challenging, but it was nothing the Sutton hadn't done many times before. He leapt over the first and used the momentum of the first jump to keep going. The second gap was wider and his foot slipped a little on the edge. For an instant he felt his balance go. He recovered quickly, swore, and kept going over the third gap and the next.

Gunfire exploded ahead of him and he heard screams. A throwing blade was in his hand as he sprang from the top of the container, turning in the air as he dropped so he would land facing the entrance.

Everything happened very fast.

The Sutton took in the scene in an instant. At the back of the container was a cage and inside it were children, screaming. In the space outside the cage, there were three men. Two were down, at least one of them bleeding. The third was against the wall, sliding a fresh clip into a semi-automatic. And there was a woman, wearing a hooded cloak over some kind of costume, reaching for a rope that hung in loops on her hip. There was an honest-to-god brazier, like something from a medieval dungeon: a metal bowl on a stand filled with glowing coals; and a thing like a bed with chains attached to it. Lastly, a video camera on a tripod.

Fury filled him as the meaning of the scene crashed down on him. The Sutton raised his hand, preparing to throw a blade.

The man with the gun slammed the clip home and took aim at the woman. The Sutton threw his blade. The woman moved, the man fired the gun. Children screamed. The woman moved in a blur. Sparks flew and bullets ricocheted off her.

How the hell?

Sutton felt the impact of bullets on his armour. The woman's momentum brought her into the path of his throwing knife.. It bounced off the metal at her wrist, just like the bullets. The blade landed in the brazier, sending out a shower of hot sparks. Children screamed.