Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [77]
Then Lefeertsin let out a loud belch and the eye winked at Gal.
The crowd went mad with delight. Spectators cheered and laughed and danced, or simply stayed in place and hopped up and down. A cry of “Lef! Lef! Lef!” started up, building and building. More money changed hands, as Lefeertsin was the obvious winner now, but no one seemed chagrined to have lost or especially delighted to have won, beyond the enjoyment they took in the performance itself. People bumped into Kyle, and one Cyrian woman hugged him to her abundant bosom, then released him with a pinch on the rear.
Kyle was starting to push through the mob, trying to get to Michelle and the others, when the mood suddenly turned. There was a hush and smiles were replaced in an instant with scowls. On the edges of the crowd, people began to melt away into nearby buildings. For a moment Kyle didn’t know why things had changed so suddenly, but when he looked in the direction nearly everyone else was, he understood.
Rolling down the street toward them was a squadron of police vehicles. Armored officers ran behind the vehicles, shields up, energy weapons at the ready. It looked like a war, like an invasion, more than a police action.
Someone grabbed his arm and Kyle started, so intent was he on the oncoming police. “Joe, come on. Let’s go!”
It was Michelle, her brow furrowed with anxiety, her eyes narrow and frightened. “Michelle, what’s…?”
“Let’s go,” she repeated urgently. “Now!”
“But… were we doing something wrong?”
She tugged at his arm again, then released it and started to back away. It was obvious that she was leaving, whether he went with her or not. Behind her, Cetra and Jackdaw waited with a couple of others Kyle didn’t know. She had given Kyle the chance-more of a chance than the others seemed comfortable with, judging from the worried expressions on their faces-and either he’d take it or not. Michelle met his eyes once more and then turned to run. “Wait,” Kyle shouted, but he ran after them.
He had expected Cetra ski Toram to be slow, but the old woman surprised him with her speed and agility. As they rounded a bend Kyle glanced back over his shoulder. Behind them, many of the people in the crowd either hadn’t been able to run away in time or had chosen to stand their ground, and the police were tearing through them. Their energy weapons emitted bright blue bursts that vaporized flesh and bone, and everywhere they shot, blood splattered. People were screaming, begging for mercy, but the police showed none. Those who weren’t shooting used their shields as rams or clubs, chopping and bashing with them. Some of The End’s residents tried to fight back, but they were outnumbered and outgunned.
Kyle stood there, rapt. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. None of those people had been doing anything wrong. Even if the competition had been illegal for some reason, no one had been hurt by it. It had been a party, a street fair, improvisational theater. Michelle tugged on his arm again. “If you stay here, you’ll die like those others,” she warned him. “Please, Joe, come with us. It’s the only way.”
He shook his head as if by clearing it he could make the horrific carnage go away. But it didn’t. The street ran with red and blue blood, mixing into vibrant purples, black where it vanished into shadow.
“Yes, okay,” Kyle said. He felt detached, in shock. As he ran hand in hand with Michelle he expected the Tholian flashbacks to start up again. But they didn’t. This fresh horror was bad enough on its own. Out of the light, they kept running, past buildings so dark and silent they seemed already to be mourning the fallen. Finally, Jackdaw led the way into a building Kyle had never seen before, a collapsing wretch of a place with boarded-up doors and windows. Jackdaw entered through a side door, where a flat object Kyle only recognized