Chicago 56

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CHICAGO 56

By Jordan Lapp

"I'm not in any-," but she had already pulled him into the shadows. Her grip was strong but her skin was soft, her hand looking small as it cupped his wrist. She was determined, yanking him around a dumpster and through a crumbling door at the end of the alley. She slammed it shut behind them and Thrush blinked away the darkness. When his eyes adjusted, he realized that they'd stumbled into the bottom of a stairwell. A second door, outlined in peeling red paint led further into the building.

"Now wait just a minute," said Thrush, finally asserting himself. To make his point, he yanked her to a stop. Forgetting in his excitement that she was no more than half his size, he pulled her off balance and she collapsed into his arms.

"What's this?" she asked. Her hand brushed his chest, but her sleeve caught on a translucent red haze several inches further out. The effect was strange. Her hand ran up his shirt, but her sleeve could come no closer than that crimson glow.

Thrush didn't answer right away, having been distracted by the lavender scent of her hair. The smell was compelling and, coupled with the feel of the small of her back beneath his palm, roused the feelings of a much younger man within him. "It's. my Shield. I said I wasn't in any danger. Not from bullets." The phrase was a double entendre since he felt himself attracted to this woman who had risked her life for him.

"What do you mean, 'not from bullets'", she asked, completely spoiling the subtlety of his remark.

He smiled inwardly at his own foolishness and answered, "It's a Norg Shield. Protects against non-organic objects, but lets anything else through."

Her curiosity satisfied, she stepped away from him, but slower than she might have, and pulled him towards the door. "We have to keep moving. The men who killed your bodyguards are still out there."

Just as she turned the brass knob, Thrush saw a faint line of shadow block the light underneath the door. "Behind me!" he yelled and used all his strength to spin her around. Caught by surprise, she squealed in pain and slid on the black and white tiled floor. Moments later, two shots ripped first size holes in the door, and angry red sparks sprayed off Thrush's Shield.

His pistol leapt into his hand and the weapon barked, one, twice, three times. After the third shot he stopped, not wanting to completely empty his weapon in case his assailant had ducked away from the door. He held the pistol out, smoke curling up from the barrel, and counted up to ten before kicking open the nearly disintegrated door.

"You saved my life." said the women breathlessly from the floor.

The door caught on something and Thrush could see a body lying in the hall beyond. Blood began to pool beneath it, and, not wanting to shock the young woman, he pulled the door shut again. Holstering his weapon, he looked up through the concentric rings of stairwell, hoping for an alternate route.

"C'mon," he said to the young woman, giving her a gentle hand up. This time, she fell into his arms, but not by accident.

"You saved my life." she breathed again.

Thrush felt himself go warm as she drew close and her hips pressed into his. Her hand slipped round his neck and he leaned in for a kiss.

Crimson flashed and she pulled back, "How do I kiss you in this?"

"Slowly."

They melted together, him into her arms and her into his, and she leaned in slowly, gently. Their lips locked and Thrush felt a current of excitement pass through him quite unlike anything he'd felt before.

"That was magic," he gasped as they broke apart. She smiled then started for the staircase. He followed but his legs wouldn't work properly and he stumbled on the first step. She stayed silent and watched him from above, her eyes dark and unreadable.

It was that veiled gaze that gave her away.

He bit down as hard as he could on the fake molar nestled in the back of his jaw. The stream of golden liquid that hugged his gums and coated his tongue calmed his nerves and he felt the feeling rush back into his legs like a million points of fire.

"Chicago '56", he muttered.

The young woman looked startled that he was able to talk. "What?"

"You tried the same thing in Chicago in 2056. Same poison even."

She paled, the colour seeming to leak out of her into the shadows. She put a hand up to her lips, her fingertips brushing away a thin coating of sticky powder. It was green, but here and there she could see little flecks of purple, flecks that hadn't been there before.

Thrush rose as she fell. She'd hooked one arm weakly around the banister, fighting the poison. Thrush, powerful and tall now, with no trace of the poison still in his system, drew his weapon.

"That hit in Chicago? That was a friend of mine."

She looked up at the barrel of his gun and closed her eyes.

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