Hitokiri Orange Road
Chapter 8. Falling Curtain
Tortured steel screamed, drowning out the rest of the collision's chaos. A feeling of weightlessness welled in the pit of Kyosuke's stomach; it was the first sign of teleportation. He fought down the impulse to cut and run.
Kyosuke tore the building energy out of himself. An incoming hail of glass halted in mid-flight and were launched out of the sedan. His pent will unleashed like the arms of a hurricane spiraling from it nexus. One arm caught the side of the delivery truck. The battered sheet metal crumpled. On the other side of the Benz, the roof of the white sedan crushed. Kyosuke hurled the three vehicles apart with one monstrous surge.
The backlash of the forces surged through the boy's body. Most of the opposing reactions canceled, but the remainder ripped through his frame. A pain flared through his innards like a torn muscle amplified a hundred times over.
The smashed Benz swerved erratically after being freed from the three way collision. Ayukawa had flung her arms up to protect herself from incoming glass. Kyosuke called shrilly to her. He tug at her wrists with the last shreds of his mental strength. The pull was as gentle a toddler's touch, but it was enough to rouse the raven-haired girl from her shock.
Ayukawa's poise and determination never ceased to amaze Kyosuke. In his reality, she had faced down armies of thugs with one arm tied down and challenged the mother of all tides. Ayukawa did not disappoint him now. The young woman furiously worked the wheel, stick, and pedals, guiding the black car into a crazed fishtail. Storefronts, parked cars, and street lamps whirled by in a centrifuged succession. A red compact swerved onto the sidewalk to avoid them. Its horn wailed after them. They glanced off of a parked van, and nearly richoceted into an oncoming blue sedan. After a half a block of scorched tread later, the black Benz screeched to a halt. The cabin filled with the putrid tang of gasoline mixed with burnt rubber.
"Everyone alive?" Akane asked weakly. Kyosuke could barely hear her; his ears were filled with ringing.
Ayukawa looked into the passenger's side and then unlatched her seat belt to check on the back seat. Her eyes lingered over him. She reached toward him, but pulled away as if her hand had been scalded. Her face set itself into a grim mask of stone.
The girl turned back to the wheel. She wrenched the key in the ignition. The engine responded with asthmatic wheezes. She gave up after several tries and rushed out of the hulk.
Kyosuke gasped helplessly in his seat. He could not breath. His fumbling fingers found the seatbelt catch. A pair of hands stopped him from rising.
"Where does it hurt?" Akane asked. Though her hands were firm, her voice quivered.
"We've got to get out of here," he gasped. "We've got to stay together."
"Can you move your arms and legs?" she asked. He nodded.
Though Kyosuke did not show signs of neck injury, Akane tied her neck scarf around him to restrict his head. She half-carried him away from the wreck. The short distance felt like the last leg of a marathon. Akane leaned him against the pocked side of a pick-up truck. He trembled, and his black uniform hung like limp lead from his body
A crowd had gathered around the smashed import. A thickly built laborer, wearing a stained shirt and jeans, strode to the front of the onlookers. He banged a meaty fist against the end of the pick-up. Akane jumped; Kyosuke was too far gone to react.
"What the hell are you doing? Get out of there!" he shouted.
Ayukawa emerged from the cab with a glare. She pulled out the captured handgun.
"Give me your keys," she demanded.
The laborer stared in disbelief. The crowd quickly melted away. Ayukawa switched off the safety.
"The keys. Throw them at my feet," she aimed the handgun with exaggerated care.
The big man pulled a jangling cluster of keys. He tossed threw them at her before running away. Ayukawa caught the keys one handed. She squeezed off a shot into the pavement. The crowd dispersed as she ducked into the cab.
Akane helped Kyosuke into the other side of the pick-up. He lolled against the head rest as Akane shifted him into the center seat. Ayukawa turned the ignition, but the truck refused to start. The steering column had been gutted. Ayukawa tried to tie the wires back together with a pair of multi-purpose pliers, but she was too late. A helicopter whined into earshot and grew into a thunderous chopping.
"You're surrounded. Give yourselves up," an amplified voice warned. An impact jolted the driver's side. The truck listed to the passenger side as a tire deflated. "That was a warning shot. The next shot will not be in warning. Come out with your hands up."
Sirens echoed through the streets. Police cruisers pulled in from all directions, blockading the roads ahead and behind the truck. The uniforms poured from the cruisers, taking cover behind their wheeled stockade. Their black revolvers aimed at the escapees. Akane held her arms skyward and emerged from the truck. Ayukawa cursed under her breath. She was in arm's length. Kyosuke mustered his will to reach out, but his battered body responded too slowly; Ayukawa had already moved beyond his reach. His hand grasped the air. The empty fingers wrapped into a fist.
Ayukawa carefully set down her gun as she surrendered. The cops surrounded the girls and patted them down. Leering smiles twisted their faces. Kyosuke rose on a surge of anger, but a stab of pain drove him to the pavement. He could only cough violently as several uniforms towered over him. A polished shoe stomped his wounded arm. Kyosuke felt broken bone grind as it shifted. The boy dropped weakly onto his side, clutching his arm.
He flinched as one of them spat. The globule splattered over his cheek. The boy was certain that they were going to kill him. A hoarse voice called out over the chopper's racket.
"They've got to be intact. You can't damage the goods!'
"Mr. Tanaka," a policeman crisply saluted. They parted for him.
A drably dressed man loomed into Kyosuke's view. The blocky face was recognizable as the speaker from the auditorium and the driver who rammed them to prevent their escape. The front of the his shirt was smeared with dark blood. Calloused fingers pried Kyosuke's eye open. The boy could not look away, though the stare bore down with the intensity of train headlights. The rough hands abruptly released him.
"Pick up this one. Hurry," Tanaka ordered a pair of men who wore white surgeon masks.
Kyosuke was hauled onto a stretcher. The movement set off the pain in his arm, but the masked men ignored him. They strapped down his battered flesh and loaded him into a waiting ambulance.