Chapter 8

The next morning passed quickly—within moments of his awakening, he heard Livingstone calling his name, found a breakfast had been prepared them, and a curious package beside it. Opening the parcel, wrapped in simple brown paper, Warren gasped. It was a small wire cage with a fluffy, black-eyed gray rat staring back at him. Livingstone only raised his eyebrows in curiosity. Warren found a note stuck to the side of the cage; he opened it and read the following:

Watson,
I haven’t the time to come by myself; but good luck on your journey. This furry little delight will accompany you. Let her be your constant friend and a reminder of the joy of life. She is only about a month old and hasn’t been named yet. I leave that to you. Until we meet again,

Sofi

Warren looked back to the creature, who scratched herself lightly behind her white ear. “Well,” he addressed the glittering black eyes, “. I suppose I will call you Ali. Does that suit you, Ali?” To his surprise, she squeaked, as if answering him. “Yes I think it does.” He opened the cage door and the rat edged towards the opening. After a minute or so of persuasion she ventured out and into Warren’s hand. He stroked her head with his little finger and smiled. She seemed to like him already. Her small whiskered nose twitched as she sniffed the air. “Oh I see, Ali. Are you hungry?” He pulled a bit of potato from the hash-browns on his plate. “What about this, does this count as rat food?” Ali’s tail twitched as she sniffed it—then she snatched it up with her front paws and polished it off.
Livingstone concentrated on his own breakfast, saying nothing to interrupt the pair as they bonded, except to remind Warren that rats took a fondness to shoulder perches and that his own breakfast was getting cold. And so the morning passed quickly, Warren enamored with Ali, Livingstone watching from the other side of the table—occasionally laughing at the antics of the rodent.
When Trent arrived, they were ready, the three of them: Warren, Livingstone, and Ali. “What’s with the rat?” Trent asked, after noticing the small whiskered face peeking out of Warren’s collar. Livingstone rolled his eyes. He evidently knew a barrage of questions would follow the first.
“A gift from Sofi, apparently,” Warren answered.
“Does it have a name?” Trent asked with shining eyes and a grand smile as they walked down the stairs.
“Ali is her name.”
“And did you pick that out? Or was that her name beforehand?”
“It was my choice.”
“Good call,” he complemented. Then he looked back at Ali and laughed. “She likes you, that’s for sure. Just make sure she doesn’t make a mess in my car.”
“No, I’ll keep her in the cage while we’re in the car,” Warren assured him, as they exited the stairwell and pressed through the doors into the crisp morning air. And one moment, he was chuckling and stroking Ali’s soft head, the next, Livingstone cried out and Warren felt an iron hand pressing his head to the ground. Warren watched Trent dive to the side and pull a pistol from his jacket. On his knees, he cranked his neck sideways to look back up at Livingstone who had a shotgun in his other hand, and was barking out commands. A black sedan pulling into the parking lot in front of him, apparently Trent’s, quickly accelerated and swung around to leave, but not before Warren became aware of a slight buzzing sound. Livingstone was still pushing him sideways, away from the house and into the cover of some landscaping between the place and the sidewalks. Ali shrieked several times and buried herself in Warren’s collar.
Warren tried to identify the buzz, but when a giant, spinning metal blade fell from the sky and sliced the escaping car in two, bouncing through the brick wall of the apartment wall behind him, he no longer worried about the sound nor resisted Livingstone’s urges to run. He scrambled around the corner as the singing buzz intensified and five more blades, easily ten-feet in diameter came spinning over the buildings to the east and crashed into the apartment, sending debris flying everywhere. Livingstone was screaming something to Trent as the three of them dashed for the road. Then what Warren thought were hundreds of mini-blades began crashing and bouncing around them, carving through tree branches and windows and mailboxes. Several more of the extra-large blades came ripping through the apartment behind them, weakening the structure enough that partial collapse sent clouds of dust spewing through the windows above and around them. Everywhere was the clinking of falling debris and high-speed blades skidding across concrete and ricocheting off of walls.
Then an indefinable roar joined the muted crumbling within the safehouse, the sharp tinkling of shattered glass falling to the ground, the screech of metal against asphalt—Warren looked up to the sky and saw a plane cruise low overhead, dispatching a final barrage of the little blades and a few small, dark objects into the middle of the apartment. Warren watched it disappear to the north and climb into the sky, while hoping the new torrent of blades would hit anything but him and Ali.
Livingstone was yelling again, pointing across the street to an alleyway. Trent sprinted across the street, a few of the final blades narrowly missing him. Then Warren felt himself shoved into the street, held his breath and tried to make his feet run. He heard a final glancing blade whir past his ear and felt Ali digging her claws into his neck to keep from flying out of his collar. When Livingstone was halfway across the street, two thundering explosions knocked them from their feet and a plume of smoke and flying debris enveloped the apartment. A surge of broken glass and bits of brick showered them; Warren squinted and pulled himself across the street to Trent’s waiting arms. He shook his head, tried to get the ring in his ears to go away—but it refused, the only other sound he could make out was his own panting breath. Livingstone picked him up to his feet. His lips were moving; head turning from side to side, evidently expecting another round of bombardment.
And then it came. The jet returned with a low, howling rumble, towing what seemed a giant concrete slab behind it. And as the three sprinted down the alley, the twenty-some cables all released and the massive chunk fell sluggishly through air. Warren glanced behind him as the slab found its target. The concussion of wind blew them again to the ground, but instead of little, pesky debris, much larger sections of wall and brick came hurtling past them. They scrambled back to their feet and down the alleyway. A post came cart-wheeling down between Warren and Livingstone, missing them by inches, but Trent fell when a section of brick wall hit his shoulder. Dust enveloped them and all became dark—Warren felt Livingstone grab his elbow and move him along, calling back for Trent—who mumbled something and pattered on among the final crashes and echoes of falling debris.
Warren pulled his shirt over his mouth—the dust in the air was still nearly intolerable. He coughed a couple times, spat out the dust in his throat, which helped clear his hearing for some unknown reason. He heard sirens erupt in the distance, Livingstone tredding on in front of him, Trent coughing somewhere in the cloud behind him. Ali panted, still tucked away in his collar.
“Trent, get package four over here now.”
“They’re northern side,” Trent rasped, “East team’s closer.”
“Package three was shopping mall—cover may have been blown; package four was in the garage. Get them over here,” Livingstone demanded.
Trent mumbled something as they cleared the alleyway and turned towards a park. A fresh breath of air rushed to them when they cleared the buildings; Warren paused to inhale the pure fresh breeze, to dust himself off, rub the debris from his hair. But Livingstone had other ideas and instead yanked Warren forward and across the road, into the park. Warren checked over his shoulder and found Trent stumbling after them, holding his left shoulder, gun still in hand, talking to what seemed his wristwatch.
Livingstone strode around a thicket next to a park bench and pulled Warren down into the thick of it. “Stay here; watch for a beige SUV to pull up to that stoplight over there. When it stops, run for it and get in the right rear door. Don’t look back. Trent will cover you from across the way; I’ll cover you from that big oak over there. Got it?” Warren had never seen this leadership side of Livingstone—a far cry from the impatient philosopher he met yesterday. “Answer me, Watson, do you understand?”
“Yes, I got it,” Warren replied.
“Good.” And with that, Livingstone darted to the tree, and scampered up its trunk like a squirrel chased by a dog. Warren glanced across the street—Trent was ducking behind a dumpster. He felt Ali quivering on his shoulder and reached back to give her a tender stroke.
“It’s okay, girl. We’re almost safe—you’ll need to hang on one more time.” Ali gave him a soft squeak and repositioned herself where she could look out of his shirt. He caressed her head. “Yeah, that’s better, huh girl.” He kept his eyes searching for the vehicle Livingstone had described while encouraging Ali. “You’re okay…you’re okay, girl,” he soothed. He suddenly wondered, “Am I okay?” He didn’t remember being hit by anything of substance—nothing hurt at the moment. But he knew that when the adrenaline wore off, it might be another story altogether.
And then there it was: the beige SUV traveling towards the stoplight. He looked for Livingstone, but he was nowhere to be seen in his tree. His eyes shot back to Trent, who had disappeared behind the dumpster. He took a quick glance around the park, a jogger with a shaggy dog by the pond, a mother with a stroller between him and the stoplight, a student reading a book underneath a tree. He looked across the street again—a man in a suit opening the door of a lexus, two hipsters lounging on a corner, a lady with a pink dress late for some party or get-together. When the vehicle stopped, he rose from his hiding place and concentrated on the vehicle. His steps came quickly, firmly—he sprinted, used his arms like his track coach had encouraged, took little steps to accelerate, like his soccer coach had mandated. Ali clenched her claws into Warren’s neck, holding on for dear life. His strides grew longer and more powerful, his vision was locked onto that SUV—but a figure atop a building in front of him interrupted his focus.
The silhouette’s elbows suddenly bowed outwards, and the realization that a rifle was being focused on him struck his heart with icicles of fear. His mind shorted—what to do? Then he was back on the soccer field. A single defender stood between himself and the keeper. He stutter-stepped right and then veered left, planting and shooting back right. A hiss-snap as a bullet hit the asphalt commanded Warren to keep dodging he leaned left, as thought to plant and dodge back right, but let his momentum carry him further left and spun around, with a short stutter-step backwards. Another hiss. Another crack. He saw the impact of the bullet on the street behind him as he spun—he even imagined he saw a vapor trail over his left shoulder. He planted hard on his left foot as he finished his spin and plunged back right towards the vehicle. A door was opening.
Another hiss-snap that hadn’t stopped him from running or filled his mind with pain made him wonder how many more times his luck would hold in the last twenty yards. Then a different sound echoed across the street. A heavier crack. He glanced back to the rooftop in time to see the figure slump to a knee and topple over. He turned to the park and saw Livingstone fall from the tree, land, and sprint away, across the park.
Then he slammed into the vehicle, staggered around the open door, and clambered inside, slamming the door behind him. His breaths were short and powerful, but he still managed to return Scott’s greeting. As the vehicle roared to life and shot down the road. He glanced out the back window to see Trent take off after Livingstone—and decided those two could take care of themselves.
“Nice moves,” Scott said, while rummaging for something below his seat.
Warren nodded, still out of breath. “Thanks,” he finally managed to say.
“You look like you’ve been through World War Four; good heavens, I don’t know how you’re in such good shape after what they hit you with.” He smiled and tossed a lump of heavy material in Warren’s lap. “Put that on. You’ll probably need it,” he said with an ironic laugh. Warren held it up. A bullet-proof vest. “Perfect timing. Really. Couldn’t have been better,” he chuckled and let his head sink back to the headrest. Ali crept from his shirt out onto his shoulder and squeaked. “Yeah, close one, huh,” he sighed and picked her off his shoulder, placing her in his lap. She stared up at him with her radiant black eyes, whiskers twitching. He patted her head gently. “I know; you’re a champ. Way to stick with it.” She abruptly sneezed. “Well, bless you,” Warren laughed. “That dust is getting to me, too.”
“Who are you talking too?” Scott asked without turning, pointing at something for the driver.
“Oh. This is Ali. She’s my pet rat, as of this morning. Courtesy of Sofi, I believe.”
This secured Scott’s attention. “You mean to tell me she was on your shoulder through all of…that?” Warren nodded. “You,” Scott began, addressing Ali, “have to be the craziest rat I have ever met.” Warren found it funny that she seemed to be aware of when people were addressing her—she had turned her nose towards Scott and squeaked.
“Yeah, she’s my girl, alright. Aren’t you? If you can survive that, you can survive anything, can’t ya? That’s right.” He turned his attention back to Scott. “So where are Oscar and Trent? Why didn’t they come with me?”
“The Mar usually follow up large-scale attacks with ground-team sweeps. We knew if they tried an attack on the safe-house, they’d have personnel in the area. You are the priority here, you know. And who knows if you’d have been able to dodge another bullet if Oscar hadn’t dropped him when he did. They’ll hook up with package two and meet us in Denver. Don’t worry; this isn’t their first rodeo. They can handle it. The odds of encountering any resistance on their way to hook up with package two are slim enough. They’re out of the main sweep zone by now. It’s just smooth sailing to Denver now. So relax a bit, Watson. You look like you could use some rest. Or maybe just a handi-wipe?”Warren laughed. “Yeah, I’ll take more than one though.” Ali squeaked and stood on her back feet. “And one for her, too.”