Lab Rat part 76

Posted: April 18, 2011 in Fiction, Test Subject

“We have our car then.” If we can get to it. I look up at the chopper again. How has he not spotted us? Bad viewing angle? I shake my head. I don’t care as long as my luck holds for another minute. I check the injector and spin a power into place. My first contingency plan. Dad would be so proud. He’d be prouder if I hadn’t waited until age twenty six to come up with one, but whatever. I decide now might not be a good time for that conversation. Besides, Dad and Jennifer are providing a more conventional backup plan anyway. I wonder if Jennifer’s any good with that gun. It might not matter; I think I’d take cover if someone gestured in my direction while spraying bullets, no matter how close the shots were actually getting.

I look down at the chump that Dad’s got pinned to the ground. “I have a thought.” The three of us are all peering over or through the car, keeping tabs on the sweep that will fail to turn up me. I reach down and pull a pair of canisters off of the man’s tactical harness. “Listen, man. This isn’t personal. I know you’re just doing your job, but I really need you to stay down. You get me?” He nods. I may not be a mind reader right now, but I doubt he’s telling the truth.

“He’ll have zip-cuffs on his belt. Hurry up,” Dad tells me. I feel around the officer’s waist and my fingers close around a set of plastic loops. I pull one free. “Hands behind your back,” Dad tells him. The man struggles a bit and clasps his hands behind his back. I loop the plastic strip in a figure eight around his gloved wrists and poke the narrow end through an opening on the opposite. I pull it tight. He may be able to get out of it, but not quickly, and I don’t plan on sticking around. I unsnap the sidearm on the man’s left leg. “You know how to use that thing, kid?”

“Not really,” I admit. I had never been one for the more violent and manly pass-times. I’m finding that I regret neglecting my education on them now.

“Okay, the safety’s on the right side. Don’t point it unless you’re ready to kill. You probably have thirteen shots.” He never looks away from the strip mall. “Can we get this show on the road already?”

“Working on it.” I pull the man’s air mask off. I set it down next to the pistol, and pick up the canisters again. I hook fingers through the safety pins and pull them free. I skate one down the street toward the SWAT van, and turn and lob the other into the parking lot. Both trail streamers of thick white smoke. I grin up at Dad. “I’ll be back with our wheels.” I scoop the gun and mask up. I keep myself crouched as low as possible and run for the van. The gas canister rolled to a stop underneath. Thick white smoke is geysering out of it, nearly obscuring the van. I can see the driver getting out and struggling to pull a mask over his face. I pull my own into position and thumb what I’m hoping is the safety. I don’t feel any other switches. I’m about halfway to the van when the driver finishes getting his mask in place. He reaches for his gun.

It’s been determined that as the night wears on, the things I say approach an event horizon of foulness. I cross that threshold at about 0100. Anything I say after that time is bound to be insulting or disgusting or both.

Life is starting to repeat itself again. I don’t know how much of this crap will happen again, but I feel like the last few days have all happened before. If I had a script writer for my life, I’d can that hack for rehashing the same ideas so many times. It’s ridiculous.


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