"Molly Brown - Community Service" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Molly)

estate the locals referred to as "the Fortress" because its hilltop
location had made it a stronghold for the East Central branch of the
Spiders. Cops never went into the Fortress, but this was just a domestic
tiff in the no man's land on the outskirts near the bottom of the hill,
too easily accessible from outside to be much use to the terror gangs.
It was my turn to do the driving. The sun was setting as the car
approached the hill. I couldn't resist the urge to gaze up at the high
dark towers of the Fortress set against a glowing red sky. While other
terror gangs like the Cobras and the Blades had moved their operations to
underground tunnels, the Spiders had taken to the air. They were famous
for the huge nets they draped across their roofs and their networks of
suspended walkways. They said there were people in the Fortress whose feet
had never touched the ground. The Fortress represented everything I hated,
everything I was sworn to fight against - but at that moment I couldn't
stop thinking that those tall black silhouettes also had a kind of
strange, almost thrilling, beauty. I noticed that Bruce was looking up at
them too, and I couldn't help smiling.
A group of children appeared out of nowhere and started pelting the car
with rocks. I gritted my teeth and kept driving; children with rocks were
just one of those things you got used to on vehicle patrol.
The address we'd been given turned out to be a converted garage at the end
of an alley. I stepped on the brakes, rolled down the window and listened.
"No sound of breaking glass, no yelling. Maybe they've already kissed and
made up."
"Let's hope so," Bruce said.
We got out of the car and walked towards the door. I reached up to ring
the bell and a window above my head flew open. There was a sound like an
explosion. Bruce toppled forward, clutching at his chest. "Officer down!"
I shouted into my radio. "We need help! Now!"
There were more shots from overhead. Spirallers: those spinning
rocket-type bullets with a tail of flaming propellant that can burn a hole
through nearly two inches of solid steel. This was no domestic call; this
was an ambush. I crouched down with my drawn weapon in one hand, trying to
shield Bruce's body while I dragged him back to the car. "Don't die on me,
damn you," I warned him. "Don't even think about it."
A spiraller spun past my head, melting a hole in the side of my helmet. I
fired several times into the window the shots were coming from. There was
a moment's silence, then a spiraller grazed my arm, scorching the sleeve
of my jacket. Another grazed my leg.
I kept tugging at Bruce with my one free arm until I managed to get him
around the back of the car. I fired over and over at that upstairs window,
tears streaming down my face. Bruce wasn't moving.
Suddenly the air was filled with the hum of spinning blades. There was a
loud burst of gunfire, then a figure in blue and gold slid down a rope,
landing directly behind me. I turned to see a woman holding a hypodermic
needle. "Just relax," she told me, "you'll feel better if you just relax."


- III -
I woke up in some kind of clinic, with an acrid smell of disinfectant in