On hearing her cries, Max’s first instinct was to look up.
His eyes had grown accustomed to the inky darkness, but he was still surprised he could actually see her. Cathy’s form was apparent by her motion, hanging on to the ladder while flailing wildly at a shadows with the other.
He leaned further out to get a better look. This vertical shaft had originally been used for the power feed for the facility below, and what could only be a mess of loose cables hung down from above. Those wires didn’t reach her head, so her main issue seemed to be with a small furry animal, a bat, or maybe a possum, that was defending its territory. Whatever offence it had committed, Cathy was paying it back in spades.
Climbing higher, he realised the meagre light illuminating her struggle seeped from around a door set into the opposite wall. Apparently she had climbed past their exit.
‘Come down,’ he called, but she was too determined to engage with the enemy to take notice. It was unclear who was snarling at whom.
Max put one foot across onto the narrow ledge beside the door. Now he could see the mysterious animal was only her wig, snatched from her head by one of the severed wires.
‘Cathy. It’s okay. Leave it.’ He tried not to laugh at her struggle. ‘You’ve just gone too far up the ladder.’
She took no notice – not until two of the wires above her head made contact, and a brilliant blue spark lit the entire cavern – blinding him again.
He didn’t feel the wind from her falling past, so he tried shouting upwards again. ‘Can you can see the platform I’m standing on?’
Silence. Then he heard her climbing down. ‘Silly me,’ she said once she was level with him. ‘I had my eyes closed. Give me a hand, will you?’
He reached out blindly and felt her cool thin fingers grasp his. After he’d helped her across, and his night vision had returned, Max climbed the ladder and carefully retrieved her wig. But when he returned it to her, she popped it in her bag and pulled out another. How many did she own? There was insufficient light to tell what colour this one was, but he suspected it would be different again.
‘The door is locked,’ she said.
‘I guess Mr Fred hasn’t made it up here yet. We’ll have to wait. Did you know him in your previous life?’
‘A creep,’ she replied, but offered no more.
Max put his ear to the door. He thought he could hear distorted Christmas carols, unfashionable even in his childhood and certainly inappropriate for August. Combined with this, he heard the occasional high pitched mechanical squeals, and the anguished cries of small children.
Cathy had said he wouldn’t guess their location, but he gave it a go. ‘Do sadists offer daycare?’
‘Far worse. Think of uncontrolled marketing and fast-food,’ she suggested.
‘Carols in August? Is this a shopping centre?’
‘Well done. I can smell takeaway. Yum,’ she said with fake relish. ‘We must be near one of the so called restaurants. A good cover for a secret intelligence organisation, don’t you think? All sorts of undesirable people coming and going and so very convenient for catering. I wonder how they hide the entrance?’ She giggled. ‘Oh, Max, you don’t suppose Mr Fred got stuck in the special telephone booth?’
‘A what?’
‘Oh nothing, 86. Just call me 99 from now on. That’s how old you’re making me feel.’
After ten minutes – while she described a TV series she’d watched as a child, and he had asked what TV was – Max decided something had gone seriously wrong with their escape schedule.
He tried putting one foot back on the ladder and pushing at the door with all his strength, but to no effect. The door was probably bomb proof as well, so even the latest reincarnation of MacGyver might well be scratching the back of his holographic dreadlocks.
‘If I had my phone here,’ he said into the darkness, ‘I might at least find out what’s going on.’
‘I’m glad you don’t,’ said Cathy. ‘I told you, I don’t trust it, even if it’s good for Phenalla and can fly. I heard the way it spoke to you in my kitchen the other night. A positively insolent machine.’
Confucius appeared just behind her shoulder and the muted red text on its screen read, “She’s jealous. But no other suspicious activity to report. I could open that access door if you wish.”
Given the phones tendency for the dramatic, Max feared what its idea of simply opening a door would involve, so he didn’t wish. Not, that is, until a beam of light speared up the shaft from below. They flattened themselves against the door to keep out of sight. The metal ladder began to ring to the impact of many boots. Their pursuers had only started their ten storey ascent, but they would be much fitter and faster than either Cathy or himself.
‘I wish I could open this door,’ he whispered aloud and gave the door another shove. This time he felt it move slightly. The metal hinges beside him started to glow a dull red.
‘One more time, together?’ Max suggested to Cathy.
They threw themselves at the door and were blinded by the light which spilled in as it, and they, landed with a soft ka-thump on the concrete floor of an underground car park. A car that had been reversing into the bay jerked to a halt. A mother struggling with a wilful self-propelled shopping-cart and two toddlers, stopped to stare – but Cathy’s rainbow wig scared the children, and the shopping cart wisely retreated into the plaza.
‘Where now?’ Cathy asked, staggering up against a concrete pillar. ‘If it’s any help, I know the shoe shop is that way.’
Max dithered. He had been confident their escape would fail, so he hadn’t planned the next stage. Crowds of late night shoppers, lured by the promise of Christmas specials, were milling about their vehicles while trying to simultaneously load tired children and their purchases.
‘Run!’ The shout startled both the shoppers and fugitives. It had echoed from somewhere within the car park, but he couldn’t tell from whom. Even the children stopped cryings, but the guards climbing the riser behind them could be heard urging each other upwards by calling ‘Hut hut hut hut.’
Max grabbed Cathy’s hand, and they ran towards the vehicle exit ramp, but they didn’t get far. Major Driesk was marching down it. Spinning around, Max saw Mr Fred and two guards, Bluey and Tick, had come up behind them. Mr Fred was wearing handcuffs. He must have been caught while coming to free them from the riser.
‘Oh dear,’ said Cathy.
Max held his hands up, turning back towards the major. ‘Okay, you’ve got us. We surrender.’
‘Yes, very convenient, and timely.’ Driesk raised his gun and declared, ‘Maxwell Clerk. You have been sentenced to public execution by her Majesty the Queen. I guess this is public enough. Now stay still please.’
The public, who were intended to witness Max’s execution, had apparently experienced enough American virtual-adventures to know when to scream and when to hug the ground. Most chose the latter.
What to do?
Driesk was still fifty metres away and walking fast towards them. It would be a difficult shot if he fired now, but Max wondered if the Major’s prosthetic limb gave him superior musketry skills. As soon as Max attempted to move, he was proved right.
The touch of Driesk’s bullet felt like a kiss on Max’s forehead. There was no pain. Time slowed. He had the horrid vision of a maiden aunt smothering him with wet and sloppy affections in the same spot. He couldn’t remember the name of mum’s eldest sister – clearly post traumatic stress. Why, in the few precious moments of dying, would he think of that? He was almost grateful when the thunder from the gun’s discharge caught up to the bullet and brought him back to the present.
Dead, for sure. Something was dripping onto his nose. Blood? Brains?
Max touched the point of impact, expecting to find a hole, but instead of warm and wet, his fingers became stuck in a cold and viscous fluid glued to his forehead.
He became aware that Cathy was tugging desperately at his arm, but he couldn’t be moved, mesmerised by shiny white liquid on his fingers. Was he bleeding mercury? It didn’t have the surface tension of quicksilver, so he tried shaking it from his fingers. The liquid splattered on the concrete floor, more like molten solder, then it hardened to a dull grey.
Why hadn’t Driesk killed him? Had he accidentally picked up the wrong gun – one only intended for training?
While he was looking down, a patch of the same substance appeared on his borrowed jumper, just above his heart. He didn’t even feel the impact this time, but he’d never be able to remove that kind of stain, not even with Eucalyptus wool wash. Good thing Graeme wouldn’t want the jumper back.
‘Get out of the way!’ Mr Fred called from behind him.
With a grunt and a heave, Cathy finally moved Max behind a nearby SUV, just as Bluey and Tick opened fire. Either their aim was terrible, or they were shooting at Driesk instead of him. Driesk obviously thought so, for Max saw Tick go down almost immediately, and it was blood which stained the concrete now. Mr Fred snatched up Tick’s gun, and then he and Bluey maintained an almost continuous volley of semi-automatic fire over Max’s head at where Driesk had been standing. More weaponry opened up from closer to the exit ramp and soon the car park was filled with ricocheting bullets and broken glass. The noise was horrendous, but much less so once he stopped screaming.
He couldn’t understand who was shooting at whom. Clearly Mr Fred and Bluey were now on the same side, but either Mr Fred was better at hypnosis than he thought, or Bluey had been a paid up member of the wish-upon-a-scroll people from the beginning. That did make sense.
‘Quick,’ said Cathy, crawling between the cars. ‘To the shoe shop.’
Mr Fred had told Max not to do anything she said, but her suggestion was oddly attractive.
The guards who had climbed the ladder from the dungeons were emerging as Max and Cathy sprinted past and straight through the shattered glass of the sliding doors into the plaza before they could open.
‘I’ll hold them off, Captain!’ Confucius’s voice cried from the ether.
‘Who said that?’ Cathy asked but didn’t stop running.
They skipped down an escalator and entered an arcade, skidding on the mock marble floor while attempting to pass the ambling mall dwellers. The average shopper has no sympathy for the impatient fugitive.
Doctor Telu was just leaving a bra shop, one half of a kabab roll in hand, and the other in his mouth. He looked disappointed to see them, but not nearly as much as Karl, the giant leader of the we-don’t-want-to-be-born-again conservationist movement. That fellow was just then ascending in a glass elevator to the restaurant level. His bulk nearly filled the elevator and had clearly chosen the wrong moment to satisfy his hunger. He could do nothing but stare at his intended quarry, his face nearly purple with suppressed rage.
‘What’s his problem?’ Cathy screamed as they passed.
‘I think he wants revenge for something I haven’t done. Not in this life. Or not yet.’ Max was pleased she had shown no sign of recognition, but had he really killed Karl twice before? The look on big Karl’s face suggested Karl thought he had.
‘There it is!’ she cried, pointing to a store with a big marquee that claimed “Up-to-50% off all leading brands. Stocks limited.” This spurred Cathy to run even faster.
A strange noise made Max look back.
The plate glass windows from the shop fronts they had passed collapsed into a shower of fine spherical marbles. The shoppers tried to get out of the way, but landed on their bottoms as soon as they took a step in any direction. The guards in close pursuit fared no better.
But where was Driesk? Some of the guards, namely Bluey and Tick, must have secretly been on Mr Fred’s side, and, so far, Driesk was the only one to have actually fired a shot at Max. He might be the only one Max needed to worry about.
When they entered the shoe shop, Cathy only glanced at the “Celina Tarantino” display of fine foot wear, then leapt over a young couple who were trying on identical pairs of fluorescent green running shoes. They were oblivious as Max shouted an apology and ran along the bench behind them.
Cathy greeted the startled shop manager with a short but familiar, ‘Hi, Miss Gerhart!’ and forced her way into the back storeroom.
‘I’m with her,’ said Max.
He found Cathy panting beside an exit door at the very back.
‘Why here?’
‘I ... worked … here … once,’ she explained between breathes. ‘Over the school holidays when my parents separated. Not in this life, so Miss Gerhart didn’t recognise me. Which is good. It means she lives. And oh, it was such a dream job to begin with. But I never ever want to see another bunion, in-grown toenail, or whiny child in this or any future life.’
She pushed the panic bar and hurried out onto a loading dock. Behind him, Max saw the entire stock of shoes spring from their boxes and fall to the floor. Mysteriously, their laces had been tied to each other. It was an accident waiting to happen for anyone who followed them.
Once he exited, Cathy tried to slam the door, but he held it open an inch.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked.
‘A friend.’
Cathy looked disgusted when his phone slid through the gap. Max quickly piled wooden packing cases in front of the door.
‘That should hold them.’
‘Time then to look for a ride to paradise,’ said Confucius, ‘though some say it’s not that nice.’
Cathy rolled her eyes in frustration or distaste. ‘It won’t be if that thing is coming.’
After being underground, Max was surprised to find the sky dark on yet another cold Canberra night. He recognised a few landmarks lit by flood lights in the distance. Black Mountain tower. The Parliament House flagpole. So he and Cathy had travelled in car, aircraft and bus, only to be back not far from where they had started. And it was drizzling again.
This late in the day, only one van had reversed against the dock, unloading small-goods for a deli. The van’s rear doors were open, and several crates were stacked nearby, but there was no sign of the driver.
‘Get in the back,’ said Confucius. ‘I’ll drive.’
Max was about to object when there was a loud bang and something struck the van’s rear door, putting a hole in it. It swung slowly closed, and Driesk appeared at the far end of the loading dock under a harsh and flickering light. He was walking towards them, slowed by one leg stiff at the knee. That leg was shiny, and he was leaving a dark trail along the dock. The balloon on his left arm had also deflated, but Driesk’s determination to shoot Max remained undaunted. He raised the gun and fired again though still a hundred metres off.
At first Max thought the major had missed badly, then realised the crate of Sauerkraut in front of Cathy had taken a direct hit. The bullet made a terrible mess amongst the jars. Had Driesk decided she was a more vulnerable target for his oddly soggy bullets? Max still didn’t understand their purpose when they hadn’t affected him at all.
However, Max’s subconscious had endured enough of his cerebral conjecture. It decided to take control of his body. He grabbed hold of Cathy’s coat and threw her in among the sacks inside the van, before diving none too gently on top.
‘Oh, Max,’ she grunted. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’
The walls of the refrigerated compartment did nothing to slow Driesk’s bullets, but the sacks of vegetables on the floor seemed to hold them back. Holes appeared in the insulation just above their heads, and then more bullets sliced through the salami that was hung higher up.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked her.
She nodded, though she was shaking now.
Max reached for the doors, and more silvery goo hit his arm and thigh.
Were only some of the Dreisk’s bullets molten? If so, Max had been incredibly lucky to avoid the others.
Cathy hissed like a cat, and Max looked up again, right into Diesk’s eyes as the major stood just outside the van. A wry smile appeared on the major’s face when he saw that Max was watching him reload his gun. ‘Let’s see you melt my bullets at this distance.’
The van suddenly tilted forwards, knocking Max off balance, and when he looked back – over a now vertiginous drop – Driesk had shrunken to a small belligerent figure hundreds of metres below. The occasional flash indicated he hadn’t given up, but only one hole appeared in the van’s floor – between their legs – before they entered the clouds.