A Guardian Angel (30 page)

Haley was
surprised. She had never expected Graves to show up. Not with the
kind of pressure everyone hand been putting on him. She watched
people continued to holler and rage. Nothing short of dire importance
would make the man put himself in this kind of risk. Haley was no
fool. She knew what the Knights wanted to do here.

Merc-cops were
watching the crowd from inside the windows of the Decree Tower.
Everyone was aware of their staring eyes, and it only pissed them off
more. Some of the people had peeled away from the makeshift stage
Haley stood upon and came up to the glass doors of the building,
yelling at the mercenaries. Fists pounded on glass and curses cracked
out in the ambiance. The men in the tower just watched.

“Please,
everyone!” Haley yelled to the mob at the doors. “We'll
do no good provoking them. You're all better than this.”

Something clanged
on the concrete steps, then rolled out into the street under the feet
of the bulk of the crowd. Hissing, the tear gas canister erupted its
contents into the air. People exploded into panicked motion. They
coughed and sputtered as they all ran away from the gas as more
canisters were ignited. Angry cries emanated from the protestors.
With just a sudden rush to the front door of the tower, they formed
from a crowd to a mob. The glass was kicked in and swung at until it
all came down in a loud shatter.

No one could step
in far to the building before the merc-cops burst into action,
fending the people away. They were well equipped for a riot, with
vests and helmets and shields. The mercenaries beat and battered the
protesters back onto the concrete steps. There were far more of them
that stormed out of the tower than could be seen through the windows.

Most of the
protestors did what they could to push back and resist against the
mercenaries, but there was no getting through the riot shields. An
enormous energy of disobedience buzzed within the gathered people.
Less and less of them seemed willing to be herded and pummeled by the
criminals of the Decree Nation. Action was all the protesters sought,
all any of them desired. The time for being sheep has passed.
Violence would be their tongue and fear shall be their message.

In just a matter of
an instant, someone had drawn a firearm and discharged it. There was
no telling if it was one of the protesters or one of the mercenaries.
Soon, that mattered little. Automatic rifles were releasing their
contents onto the civilians. Scared, the merc-cops exchanged their
nonlethal riot control equipment for weapons of war and began
executing everyone without a uniform.

As people fled and
hollered, Haley watched. And as she watched, protestors arranged
throughout the crowd had drawn military pistols or retrieved rifles
and were returning fire upon the mercenaries. They had draped the
hoods of their jackets over their heads, and covered their faces in
brown masks with the Knights of the Proletariat's insignia on the
nose.

Voices called out,
calm and organized. Most of the civilians had been escorted away from
the firefight, which had sparked to full flame. Arms pushed along the
wounded and frightened people. A pair gently grabbed Haley's
shoulders, gaining her attention.

“Miss Flynn,
come with me,” the young Knight before her instructed.

Dazed, Haley asked,
“Where?”

Without any further
exchange of information, the Knight lead her down the steps of the
tower and away from the loud staccato of rifles. Sweat drenched her
brow, and her stomach had tied into a wretched knot. Fear had made
her fingers numb, but never seemed to give her the strength to run.
Guilt forced its way into her thoughts after the panic hit its
climax.
Why should I survive?
She asked herself.
How many
people have to die at my gatherings?

She was herded
toward a van about a block away. It sat alone by the curb,
unimpressive in its appearance. But its solitude terrified Haley.

“Where are
the rest of the vans?” she asked.

“There are no
other vans,” cracked the voice of her young escort.

Haley's mouth
dropped open as she searched past her cloudy emotions for the words
that she wanted to say. “How are you evacuating the others?”
she asked again, frightened to do so.

The man released a
sigh. He opened the vehicle door and did the best job he could at
shoving Haley through it. Then he slammed the it shut.

Rosa stared down at
the floor of the bus as it rolled through the streets of New York
City. Everyone aboard the vehicle sat as silent as a dark shade of
blue, one of the few sounds heard was the furious hum of the tires
below them.

The only other
noise came from the enormous black man seated by the driver, who
whistled away as he watched the world move outside his window.

Muscles tightened
up inside all of the young and green Knights around Rosa when gunfire
became audible over the whir of the bus. Numerous bursts of gunfire,
too frequent to count. The faces of her men were wrought with nerves
and concern. She managed to keep her own calm as she turned to them.
The gun shots got closer.

“We're ready
for this,” she told them all. “You've all worked so hard
for this moment. I believe in all of you, with every bit of my
heart.”

Guillotine could
still be heard whistling in the background. Rosa could see how much
this unnerved the recruits, and she shot him a look. He ignored it,
and turned back to the window.

Rosa did so
herself, spotting the helicopter on the tower. Its blades had been
still for too long. They needed to hurry. She also could see the
battle outside. Her Knights had done an impressive job of evacuating
most of the civilians from the area and arming those who insisted
upon staying for the fight. She could see the forms that laid like
heaps on the concrete.

The clouds were
dark.

“Leroy Graves
has arrived,” Rosa turned to the rest of the bus again. She
indicated the helicopter. “Our job is to make sure he never
leaves.”

With little
evidence that she had assured her soldiers, Rosa waited for the bus
to come to a stop. When the door had hissed open, she was already
halfway out of it, her submachine gun locked and loaded.

Sergeant Winestock
was the first one in the van to hear the distant cracks of gunshots
as they rode on to their new destination. He watched the rest of his
men's faces as they each made out the racket themselves. The
Grandfather saw the fear that stole the color out of Barney's cheeks.
There was a darting of the eyes, a clamminess to his lips. After a
moment, the newest member of the squad noticed the older man's eyes
upon him. He straightened his posture and turned his face to the
window in his best attempt to conceal his nervousness.

“You scared,
Slechta?” the sergeant asked.

With a slight
expression of hesitation, Barney nodded.

“Do you know
who's here?”

“No, sir,”
Barney answered.

“Guillotine,”
Sergeant Winestock said in a matter-of-fact manner.

“How do you
know that?”

The man stared in
response. Just as the old man had expected, the fear returned to
Barney's eyes. The recruit tried to look out the window again, but
Winestock's stare burned at him again.

“I know
you're scared,” the sergeant started. “But there are men
out there fighting for their lives who are even more terrified than
you. They are dying at the hands of this son of a bitch, and we're
going to be the only support they can get. They are counting on us.”

Barney looked
around and saw that everyone watched him, gauged his reaction. His
nerves were still glued onto his face and his concern was gathered by
them.

“Get mad,
son,” Sergeant Winestock suggested. “We're going to
subtract him from our fears.”

Barney only got
more scared.

Footsteps roared
like the call of a waterfall, pounding across asphalt. Knights burst
forth from their bus and sprinted across the street, opening fire on
the mercenaries. In just under a minute, the Proletariat fighting
force had tripled, encircling the men in the orange fatigues.
Vehicles and architecture had their purposes reformatted when the
militants dove behind them. Dust shot out and scattered into the air
as bullets collided into the sides of walls or ricocheted off of the
street.

Guillotine charged
up past Rosa and her officers. Without slowing his approach, he
cocked and fired his magnum into a Decree soldier. As if he could
smell the concentration of a young mercenary gazing at him down his
sights, Guillotine dove out of the way of the bullet, then blew a
hole through the merc-cop's face.

Rosa felt terrified
as she watched her comrade dance. She lacked the soul of a
juggernaut, which the gigantic black man wore on his sleeve. Skipping
between cover, Rosa picked off more distant mercenaries. Her pulse
returned to normal.
This is it,
she thought.
This moment is
made for us.
With calm and measured breaths, Rosa continued to
thin the enemy.

A miniscule amount
of calm dropped down onto the battlefield, in which Rosa rushed
closer and closer to the looming tower. Resistance fell down onto the
asphalt as the Knights continued their charge. They darted around the
steps so that they could encircle the bulk of the Decree soldiers. In
just a matter of minutes, it seemed like the battle had started to
wither out. The Knights held control over the situation.

“Find the
entrance to the military portion of the tower,” Rosa ordered to
one of her lieutenants. “Remember that the offices are separate
and won't lead to Graves' office.”

A nod was given in
response before he rushed off to give the order to his officers.

“Gill –
” Rosa started, turning toward where she had last seen the
statue of a man. Instead, he was past a sea of disconnected
mercenaries, striking his machete through their defenses. The woman
sighed, then muttered to herself, “Or do that, too.”

She looked back up
into the sky at the parked helicopter on the roof of the tower.
Whatever Leroy Graves is doing here, it must be important.
Nonetheless,
Rosa thought,
there's no way he's going to
stick around with a battle on his doorstep.

A Decree van pulled
itself up across the corner from the violent scene. There was a pause
just after the engine shut off where everyone inside the vehicle
stared out of their windows at the world they had to emerge to. Most
of the color faded from their faces, even the Grandfather. Barney
couldn't look at it for more than a few seconds without turning away
in panic, trembling.

“Before we
go,” Sergeant Winestock started in his warm and comforting
voice, “you all should know why we're here.” The old man
shared stares with each of the men's eyes, reassuring those darting
and dancing irises that their gaze needed to be firm. “We were
not assigned here. No one knows that we are at the tower. My defense
would be that we needed to act quickly to be effective, and you all
know I hate jumping through hoops for permission. Our brothers out
there need our help. Let's show these terrorist bastards that Decree
has war heroes.”

A collective deep
breath was drawn before the door slid open and they piled out.
Reinforcements were here.

The volume of the
surrounding air jumped upwards in Rosa's ears. She turned around and
saw the new force of merc-cops dashing behind cover, shooting over
their heads at her men. In just a few seconds, she watched a pair of
Knights get dropped by the surprise backup. Guillotine turned toward
the leader of the Knights, who had just ducked behind cover.

“The
cavalry's here,” she called out to him.

The hulking man
grinned a yellowed smile. Dropping his revolver, he dashed from
behind the bench he sat behind. The black machete flew out of the
sheath on his back, and he disappeared as a blur from Rosa's sight.

One of her
lieutenants ran up and ducked behind the truck Rosa crouched behind.
His face drew her attention. Concern illuminated her eyes.

“We have to
get inside, quick,” she said in a severe tone.

“Yes, ma'am,”
the Knight replied. “There's a door into a garage, just a level
under the lobby.”

Rosa peeked over
the cover for a moment. She heard the melee, but could only see
bodies. She ducked down again. “This is the one that needs
sergeant's access?” the woman asked. The young man nodded.
“You're absolutely sure there's no other way in?”