The pale white fluorescent light strikes through falling droplets of rain so it seems as though liquid crystal sparkles just outside my window. I lean back into my chair closing my eyes and listening to the warm, full notes of the cello wafting in from the next room. A long wavering note fades into silence and I stand walking across to stand in the doorway of another room. I wait, leaning slightly on the doorframe and watch her. Long pale hair drapes down over her shoulders and the neck of the cello shivering in light currents of wind and from the last reverberations of the music as if the strands weave a connection between instrument and performer. Her head is bent in what I can only describe as a kind of worship that I can share only in the appreciation of the music. A weak substitute at best. Slowly she looks up blue eyes so pale as to seem almost white and the gentle facial lines of beauty and serenity.
Alyssa speaks with a quiet voice that compliments the velvet notes of her cello only on a slightly higher register with a peculiar slanted southern accent. “It’s time.”
“Nearly. You’re finished.”
“Yes Walker.”
We stopped actually asking questions of each other a long time ago. She stands smoothly laying the cello in a silk lined case wrapping it carefully in the smooth cloth. I reach into the room and flick the lights off as she walks out into the hallway with me. Nearing the interior door to the garage we can hear the shifting rattle of wind blown rain. Alyssa slips into the mottled charcoal car while I push the garage door open from the inside. Outside I can see the rain again and I can feel the invigorating wash of chill wind across my face. The low rumble of the engine rolling past me and out of the garage calls me back from reverie and I pull the garage door closed then open the passenger side door, slipping smoothly in and closing it behind me shutting out the noises of the storm with the warm silence of a leather interior and heavy impact resistant glass.
“Markham has the blackout scheduled for 12:24. He said he can guarantee 15 minutes and will probably be able to keep it off for 30.”
I nod despite the darkness inside the car. “We’ll only need 10.”
“True. I parked the backup behind the electronics shop across the street.”
“Our equipment is in the trunk. Checked it out this morning.”
“Rendezvous at the coffee shop.”
“Yeah, secondary gate four at the bus terminal.”
“Check.”
At a quarter past midnight we roll into the parking lot of a large office building with our lights off. Leaving the car in one of the reserved spaces we climb out. While Alyssa grabs two packs from the trunk I slap on a pair of fake license plates with numbers that match one of the cars authorized to park here. The thin plastic coverups would never pass a careful inspection but even though the rain has stopped it’s cold enough to make it unlikely anybody will bother with more than a cursory check. I grab my pack from Alyssa and we walk quickly to a side entrance slipping into the shadow of a large shrug. She has her hair tucked up into a black cap and we both wear light black clothes. Pulling a small device out of my bag I hook some wires onto the door and a few other wires into the screws holding the code access panel. At 12:24 the nighttime lighting goes black. Pushing a button sends a sudden electric pulse through the door’s electric locking mechanism, disengaging it. Stuffing the device back into my pack I follow Alyssa into the building. Our near silent steps are covered by the sound of running boots and crackling walkie talkies as the security guards quickly organize themselves.
Alyssa pulls open the door to the stairwell and I epoxy a small sheet of steel over the bolt so that a sudden restoration of electricity does not get us trapped in the stairwell. Half a flight up a quiet buzz invades the quiet of the stairwell and emergency light flicker to life. We exchange glances and turn as one rushing down to the group floor again as we hear the clicks of electric locks re-engaging. Exiting the stairwell I can hear the steps of guards approaching and we turn to run for the exit. Rounding a corner I draw a heavy pistol raising it to shoot out the glass of the door and make good our escape.
I skid to a halt and Alyssa slides to a stop on one knee. A small group of Lonestar officers is approaching the door. They stop and we share a moment of surprise before their weapons are coming free of their holsters. I fire two shots high through the door shattering glass and sending the officers diving for cover giving Alyssa and I enough time to get back around the corner. I kick open the door to a perpendicular hallway and Alyssa rolls a pair of smoke/flash grenades down the hallways towards the oncoming security guards.
A few random gunshots ricochet off the walls around us as we duck into the new hallway running smoothly in tandem. Her hand touches my shoulder and I know her eyes are closed as she recalls the building’s layout trusting me to keep us moving until she can find a way out.
Amber eyes snap open and her hand is drawn away.
“Five doors, on the left. Straight through to the south fire exit.”
I nod and we slide to a stop at the proper door. Three bullets from my pistol rip through the wood weakening the doorjamb enough for Alyssa to kick the door open as I throw another smoke grenade back down the hallway towards the footsteps of our pursuers.
Alarms ring as we burst out the emergency exit. Behind us I hear the impact of rubber bullets against the closing door. I touch her hand gently for a moment then we split one to each side. Her footsteps echo in my ears for a few precious seconds before we both turn corners and vanish into the cloud blackened night.
I can hear gunshots. Some of them are directed at me but distance and darkness keep me safe. I slip myself into the gentle stream of humanity working its way down one of the few streets that still sports open shops slowing to an unconcerned stroll. A Lonestar officer looks at me and I smile back with a friendly nod and he moves on still searching for me. After a half hour of window shopping I catch a cab leaving my equipment behind between trashcans in a dark alley. The rain starts again as the cab rolls closer to the bus terminal.
Danny Markham rushes up the steps into the Lonestar station so busy looking behind him and to either side that he very nearly manages to run over a pair of officers coming off their break. One officer half turns as if to stop Markham but his partner shakes his head.
“Let the guys inside deal with him. Probably just another looney.”
In the controlled chaos inside the station Markham quickly worms his way through the small clumps of people to the watch commander’s post. As he waits for the watch commander to finish a phone call Markham looks around nervously. At a window just a few feet away a tall man wearing a long trenchcoat and a cowboy style hat leans on crossed arms talking with an officer. Behind him a pair of teenagers sit sporting bruises and some scrapes while a detective talks on a phone. The watch commander hangs the phone up and flips through a log book sitting on his desk speaking to Markham without even looking up.
“I’m sorry sir. If you need help you’ll have to speak with one of the duty officers.”
“No man, you don’t understand I need help FAST. I mean like 911 is gonna be too slow ta keep my head on if I don’t get some cover like now.”
The watch commander looks up with a sigh checking Markham’s pupils as well as he can getting a little dizzy as Markham keeps looking around nervously. “I’m sorry sir but I can assure you that you don’t need to leave the building to speak with a duty officer. Nobody is going to come after you in the middle of a Lonestar substation.”
“You don’t GET it man he will. I squealed on Walker and his other half. You know the big class, #8 wanted, high class snatchers. But you guys fucked it up man cause you didn’t get Walker and now I know he’s after me ‘cause ya wasted the other one. I gotta get like witness protection or something.”
“That’s not our business but, as I said, just talk to a duty officer and we’ll help you out.”
“That’s not...” Markham stops suddenly almost jumping as voices are raised nearby. He calms slightly realizing that the cowboy is arguing about a stolen truck. He can hear the thick south accent over the din of the station.
“Ah ain goina sah moah. At’s mah truck and I ‘spect ya’ll could fine’a sucker. Cherry red quaatah ton...”
Markham looks back at the watch commander who is trying to flag down an officer. “Like I says that’s not good ‘nough. You guys don’t have any idea how crazy this fucker is.”
An officer catches the commander’s sign and walks over. “Can I help you sir?”
“Yes, please take this gentleman to fill out a report, he feels his life is in danger.”
“Yes sir. Please come with me.” The officer walks over towards the windows passing the cowboy.
Still looking nervously around Markham follows letting his shoulders slump in resignation. He glances up just before running into the man arguing about the truck pausing to make room for two officers leading a handcuffed man by. As Markham waits with his guide stopped a short distance ahead the cowboy turns, smiling. The color drains from Markham’s face as the man speaks in a thick southern drawl.
“Now ah ‘spect yer not a’gonna try an hide from me are yah? That’s just not neighborly.”
Walker removes his hands from under the trenchcoat smoothly drawing a pair of concealed pistols. Aiming one without looking he fires a single shot at the officer manning the window and she drops quickly out of sight leaving a red splatter on the filing cabinets behind her chair. He fires the other pistol twice catching Markham in both knees even as Markham tries to break into a run. Several officers yell “gun” and draw their own weapons as the rest of the people in the station dive for cover or run for an exit. For a few moments the panicked chaos keeps anyone from having a clear shot at Walker who smoothly spins his weapons back into concealed holsters and pulls a pair of round, grey objects out from under the coat. Flicking off the pins Walker drops the two antipersonnel grenades onto the floor beside Markham who is desperately clawing at the floor trying to escape.
“Goodbye Markham. Give Alyssa my love.”
Walker shoulder rolls smoothly over the window’s counter dropping down on the other side in a crouch again drawing both pistols. He fires a few rounds down the line of windows alternating shots so he can compensate for the recoil of each shot and, staying low, runs across the room towards a rear exit. A second after he comes through the window both grenades detonate with subdued bangs. Two officers come out from under their desks, weapons drawn, and start to run for the back door while the others rush around to help the dozens of wounded people in the main room. The mangled body of Danny Markham receives no attention until a van from the city morgue arrives