Andy looked around. It was one of the quieter roads out of town, near some farm steadings.
"Let's just do it here," said Victoria. "Then I can visit the market on Saturday with some of the girls from Traffic." She released the seat belt buckle and let the belt slide back over her.
"Here?" He glanced around in the darkness. "I'm not really in the mood for that."
"Shut up," she said, slipping along beside him. Then with ill-practised clumsiness she held onto his shoulders and swung her leg around him.
Andy felt a little more enthusiastic as the heat of her chest warmed his face. But his flush of passion was cooled quickly. A large pale face had flashed out of the darkness, past the window, and disappeared again.
"You dirty bastard," he started to say, but the vehicle shook as it was struck from the side.
Victoria braced herself against Andy's arms and started to shout. "What was that?" But a heavy blow struck the windshield and long cracks were already running up and down. Andy had a fraction of a second to protect Victoria's head before another blow shattered the heavy glass inwards. She curled up against him.
He screamed. "Shit." He could hardly see. His left arm stayed locked around Victoria. His right hand reached into the holster hidden under his and pulled out his certified firearm. He fired the pistol randomly out into the darkness. "Shit," he said and fired again.
:::
Chadha wiped the blood from his checked turban with both hands and looked around the gloomy cell for the sink. "What is that thing?" he asked himself.
There was a commotion at the door of the cell, a violent crash of keys in the lock, and the lights flashed back into action. Two armed officers filled the doorway, pistols pointed expertly at Chadha and at the body on the floor. "Armed police! Do not move!" More uniformed figures crowded into the dim corridor beyond.
Chadha rinsed his red-stained hands under the brass tap, wiped the water from his shaking hands on his own stab-jacket and took a deep breath. "Don't worry. It's dead. Has been for about five minutes. Your lack of haste is disappointing."
The first officer advanced and kneeled touching the twitching form on the floor. "No sign of life, sir," he whispered back to his colleague.
The second officer, three white chevrons adorning the shoulders of her black shirt, emerged from the dark corridor, holstered her gun and nodded to Chadha. "We got in here as fast as we could, Constable." He recognized her voice now, Sergeant Ake. "Those doors are bulletproof. You know that." Ake turned to the squad of armed officers in the hall and ordered them away with a twitch of her head. "Reports! Everyone," she bellowed. "No-one go off shift either. All of your time is now police time."
They were left alone. "Are they those Weevils I used to hear about?" asked Chadha. He felt a coolness lingering around his arms and legs. Not fear. Perhaps something else.
"Who knows?" said Ake." We all heard things, young man. But let's not give it a name until we're sure. Just a big mess to clear up. Then explanations." She stared at the shape on the floor. An inordinate amount of blood was accumulating on the ground. A horrible observation struck her. "Did you pull its head off?"
Chadha rubbed his forehead. "I was trying to do a Nelson hold on him. Must have snapped some of those neck bones. The blood came from it tearing at itself afterwards." He breathed out slowly. The shrieking came back to him inside his head. "Not pleasant."
The sergeant's face looked queasy. "We could hear from the third floor," she ventured. "One of the smaller ones too."
:::
"You're a real hero, Andy," said a familiar voice.
Andy's eyelids resisted the strong light of the hospital room. "Don't call me, Andy, Kath Simpson," he hissed. His arms were stiff under the sheets. He could feel a drip line in his right forearm and the firm grip of a pressure cuff on his upper left arm.
"It's not 'Boss' yet, Andy." She leaned forward as much as her stab jacket would allow. He could see genuine concern in her face. "We got called out with all the other units. That thing made quite a mess of your Land Rover. And you made quite a mess of its head. But there were other attacks around the city too. Dozens. A bit of a crazy night."
He started to recall more of the evening and tried to sit up, but all his muscles were wracked with cramp. "How's Vic? Jesus. Is she alright?"
A second voice chipped in from over his shoulder. "She's fine, Boss. Cuts and powder burns. You obviously weren't too rough with her."
Davidson turned to face Allie Simpson. A relative newbie to the service, her slight form was dwarfed by the hat, the jacket, the stab vest, the cuffs, the truncheon, the pepper spray, and the taser. She was braced as best she could on the edge of the window frame. "Hi," he sighed. He wrinkled his nose, sniffed, and turned back to the other, more familiar, Simpson. "Right, Sergeant. Status update."
"No," said Kath. "You're signed off sick at the moment. We'll report thru the regular channels until the Nest is up and running."
Andy growled and slapped the bed sheets. "Stop calling it the Nest. And we're not waiting to get up and running. We're good to go from last night. This series of attacks is precisely what the Directorate is about. Get the other candidates on the phone and get some numbers together for me. If they're half decent officers, we'll just go with them. Forget the interviews. And I'll need photos and maps of the attacks on a laptop."
Allie stepped forward, and subconsciously jingled the cuffs at her waist. "Let me do all that, boss. Kath can taser your wife when she turns up." She winked at her partner and left.