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The truck backed around, and a guard opened the gates. It slid back
on compressed air and electronic magnets. The drive waved at the guard.
Another guard opened the back. Several small balls rolled out, and
the door slammed shut. The butchers started screaming and beating on the walls
of the van. Inside the cab, the driver opened the trapdoor. A black ball hit his
face, then rolled into the seat.
“What was that?” he asked, frowning at where the ball
disappeared. White fire filled the cab. The windshield blew, shards of
plastisteel hissing through the air to strike other vehicles and men. Vehicles
roared up in flames. The guards stepped back with their rifles up.
Phosphorous spattered over armored guards to eat through the
plastisteel suits, and they began screaming.
The back door opened with Anna sliding out first. She stepped
around glowing holes in the concrete.
“Open the gates and grab weapons,” she shouted, snatching a
rifle from a still quivering guard. “Get those people out of here.”
Squinting through the laser sights, Anna popped single rounds at guards. Heat
guided bullets smashed through faceplates and the joints in armor.
Prisoners flooded out of the pens, racing towards the doors. Anna
and the men raced after them. The checkpoint was overrun and then torn to
pieces. More gunfire added to the racket.
Iron sheets of the gates began to descend from the ceiling. Anna
screamed a cry. The shotgun pointed a rifle at the guard in the tower. It
snapped, and the guard was thrown back, but the gates continued down.
They dived out into a hellfire night of screams and explosions.
“Too much like home,” the shotgun said. “Lot's o'
fun.” He was hugging his ribs, but grinning, too.
Anna muttered a small, sad laugh. “You sound like Carl.”
“I sound like me. Ivanovitch gotta get his butt in gear and
help.”
Peering out over the pylons, Anna said, “Carl has his own
problems.”
A guard jumped up with a hand grenade already glowing in one fist.
“Death will do that to you.” The shotgun aimed and fired. A
guard dropped, and the hand grenade he held flared, and the checkpoint burst into
red flames and oily smoke.
“Got balls o' brass, lady?" a butcher shouted. He threw a
popper at the last checkpoint. “Then run like hell and gone.”
In the flare of the popper, he darted forward only to drop
shouting in agony. The man's knee was gone, the leg dragging. Anna and the
shotgun grabbed him by the arms and raced into the night.
In his courtroom stories higher from the battle than Anna was in,
Harrison stared at flashes in the window and clutched the desk. In the first
row, Henri was playing with the pen again. The remote. Sweat beaded on
Harrison's face.
As the explosions died, the bailiff bawled out, “Next case.
Rippley versus the People's Directorate in the State of Pennsylvania. May the
president have mercy on your soul.”
A teenage man was dragged to the bench.
Harrison sat huddle through the case. The man was caught stealing
from the government store. The 8-Ball in his hand was shaken. A black eight slid
up. Harrison smiled. He consulted the computer and chose the second most
merciful verdict. The gavel came up in his hand.
“Left hand to be removed and the perpetrator sent to a
re-education camp.”
Then he noticed Henri pointing the pen at him, and the collar
started to warm up. Harrison choked.
“In light of the fact that Mr. Rippley has never before been
brought to court on charges, I hereby dismiss the case.” He leaned over the
desk and said to the stunned face, “But be warned, sir, my generosity will not
be repeated.”
The man blanched, and his head beat out a rapid tattoo.
“Next case,” the bailiff called.
Henri smiled and nodded and took a nap till it was Harrison's
turn to speak. Hm-m. But Alma sure did
have a cruel mind. Fun though!
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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