“Pull up by the entrance.” Josiah pointed at the huge dark hole in the side of the dull, damaged building. It had once been a shining jewel in Old London’s crown, all sharp lines and elegant features, but now it was dangerous as parts of it crumbled into the water on a daily basis.
“It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Reed yelled.
“The chip is still moving.” Josiah pointed at the screen. “He hasn’t figured it out. I can follow them.”
“You’re not going in there without me,” Reed told him firmly.
“Fine, but your duck might not be here when we get back.”
“You mean what’s left of her.” Reed sighed. “Fuck it, if she’s stolen, she’s stolen. I’m not letting you go in alone. The other agents aren’t far behind. I’ll send them our location.” Reed barked some instructions into his holopad while Josiah climbed out of the hatch. He jumped onto the landing port and nearly passed out. Damn it, he was still losing blood. He crouched for a moment until the dizziness passed and then stood up cautiously.
“You really should go to the hospital,” Reed said, grabbing his elbow to steady him. “But I know that’s not going to happen.”
He was right. Josiah drew his gun and took off, following the chip on Reed’s holopad hovering in front of him.
The Shard Quarter was dangerous and desperate. Most of the windows were smashed in, and nobody lived here by choice.The hopeless, pathetic people squatting here were mostly drug addicts. It wasn’t an organised little city like the Canary Quarter, it was more like a zombie town.
It stank to high heaven and bodies littered the place, both alive and dead. The croc-heads were sobbing, lost in their own little worlds, but those on the harder drugs, like sable, lay with their eyes open, gazing at nothing. It was hard to tell the living from the dead.
No drug gangs ran this place – nobody ran it. It was too shattered, too broken, for anyone to care, and the down and outs who inhabited it were too far gone to organise themselves.
Josiah followed the chip up endless dark, damp stairwells filled with broken glass, human waste, and huddled bodies. The elevators had long since stopped working, and it was a long climb up.
“Where the hell is he going?” Reed panted, pausing to hang on to the wall and get his breath back.
Josiah was glad he was in good shape. His shoulder wound was slowing him down, but he was running on pure adrenaline and his body never let him down in a crisis.
“The chip has stopped again.” He paused to gaze at the holomap floating in the air in front of him, trying to figure out the direction. “According to this, it’s right here, but…” He looked around, but there was no sign of Neil or Alex.
“Itishere,” Reed said grimly, pointing to a winking red button on the filthy floor. “Looks like he finally figured it out.”
“You search the floors. I’ll keep going up,” Josiah ordered, and then he set off, without waiting for Reed’s inevitable objection.
There were fewer people up here, and with good reason. It was cold and inhospitable and there were no lights, although dawn was breaking, the watery winter sun sending tiny tendrils through the broken glass.
Josiah kept on climbing, some instinct forcing him on. He was breathing heavily, his shirt stiff with his own blood by the time he reached the top floor. It was a dark, open space, surrounded by the jagged remains of what had once been glass walls. The wind had dropped now but it was still raining. The water lashed the open structure, and nobody was stupid enough to be up here. Even the worst drug addict knew they’d be better off in the lower levels of this godforsaken building. He looked around at the shattered remains of a huge room covered in glass and dirt. Damn it, he’d come too far. Neil must be further down. Turning to go back, he heard a muffled gasp and spun around, raising his gun.
“I know you’re here, Neil,” he yelled across the open expanse. It was still too dark and the storm too vicious for him to see properly, but it was getting lighter with each passing second. “Give up. You must see it’s hopeless.”
A shot suddenly rang out, going way over his head. It was pointless to try firing in these conditions without clear sight, but Neil was desperate.
Josiah ducked behind a pillar and waited, crouching, his gun still raised. “Let Alex go,” he ordered. “If you do, it’ll count in your favour in court. I’ll make sure of that.”
“I’m never letting him go again.” Neil’s voice rang out, wild and shrieking above the sound of the storm.
“Come out and let’s discuss this in the open,” Josiah yelled. “Look, I’ll come out first.” He held his gun in the air in a gesture of surrender and edged out slowly from behind his pillar.
In the corner, he saw movement, and then suddenly, Neil appeared, dragging Alex with him, his gun pressed to Alex’s head.
“Come on now, you won’t kill him. You love him,” Josiah said, moving a little closer.
“Stand back.” Neil fired off another wild shot, which pinged off the pillar behind Josiah.
“Let him go, Neil. Look at him. He’s dead on his feet.”
Alex’s face was pinched and white, his head wound bleeding freely and his left eye bruised and bulging. He was barely able to stand.
“He’ll be fine when I get him out of here. I’ll take him to a doctor.”
