Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions
Page 25

Walter put the brochure down and popped the thing on the head once more. The stupid thing had become like another crewmember, someone else Molly spent more time with than him. He thought about bopping it again when a large man in a jumpsuit came out of the back, wiping his hands on his butt. He smiled at Cat.
“Hey, Cripple. Looks like you’ve been having a good time tonight.”
“Yeah. Not bad, Paulie. Look, I was wondering—”
“Listen, we’re not really open right now, and I’m pretty busy in the back, so why don’t I come over and find you later? I’d be up for cracking some ribs if you’re buying.”
Walter watched a smile creep across Cat’s mouth—a mouth that didn’t seem near as busted up as it had earlier.
“Actually, I’m trying to help my friend here find someone. A young girl. You seen anyone stop in?”
“Not a soul. Been real quiet tonight. Big rally over on the square and all. Tell you what, I’ll keep an eye out and find you at the bar if I hear anything, okay?” He smiled at Cat, but his eyes darted over to Walter.
“Yeah,” Cat said. “Sounds good. Come by later.”
Paulie gave a half-wave and backed through the door, pushing it open with his elbows. Cat turned to Walter. She squatted down to be on his level while the men behind the counter continued with their work of moving heavy boxes, ticking items on clipboards, and eyeing the duo warily.
“Maybe we should head back to that ship of yours,” Cat said to Walter.
He shook his head and sniffed the air.
“No? Whatcha thinking?”
“He’ss lying,” Walter hissed quietly.
Cat jerked her thumb at the door behind the counter. “Paulie?”
Walter nodded. “It issn’t a guesss,” he said.
Cat touched her nose. “The Palan thing?”
He nodded again. “It reekss in here,” he said.

“Hey, Paulie, what did she want?”
The far worker’s voice throbbed in Molly’s ears, mere background noise to her calm meditations. It was like falling asleep in the cockpit and feeling the thrum of the engines coursing up through the hull. More than that, actually. More like being in the vacuum of space and sensing vibrations through her fingertips. Her fingertips were tingling.
Molly couldn’t tell how much of her detached feeling was from blood-loss, how much from fear, and how much from the meditation. Her world had become a feeble set of inputs—dull and jumbled in her fuzzy thinking. She heard the other guy say something and a third voice tell them to get back to work. All of it took place far away, seemingly heard by someone else’s ears.
The large man appeared beside her once again. He dragged his apron off her chest and draping it around his neck. He fumbled with the sash, wrapping it around his back as he glanced down at the second bag.
“What the flank?” he asked. With both hands, he traced the tube from the bag to her arm, obviously searching for kinks.
Molly smiled ever so slightly.
The man must’ve noticed the twitch at the corner of her lips. He reached down and grabbed her neck, bent over and brought his face close to hers. He started to say something through a toothy sneer, but there was a crash at the other end of the room.
The man looked up.
“What the flank?” he asked again, louder, this time.
Or maybe Molly just heard it more clearly as the carefully wrought fog began dissipating from her senses. She felt it in her temples again: her pulse. Betraying her.

“Jesus,” Cat said, looking out across the room of bodies. They were spread across a grid of tables, the forms as still as the two men she’d dropped behind the counter. She saw the bags hanging from one of the gurneys, saw the insulated cooler below a table stamped “Votes,” and a sickening puzzle fell together. She felt like she’d wandered into the back of a morgue to find them churning out links of sausage.
A short, bald guy with a beard came running over, yelling something. Cat drove her fist into his trachea to shut him up. She felt a lot of meat give way under the blow, felt her knuckles impact the ridge of spine beyond that softness—and figured she’d gone a little hard on him.
The man collapsed in a quiet mound. He just folded up on himself and remained as he landed, strangely still. He weren’t the sort of guy she usually tangled with. Part of her felt horrible for him. The other part wondered what it had felt like to get hit like that. Had it hurt? Or been done and over too quick?
Looking up, she saw two men more her likable size: brutes with lots of muscle and mean faces. Her favorite combo.
“Paulie? What the flank is going on here?” She turned around and made sure the door to the front was closed, saw the Palan kid rushing over to check the bald guy. “You goddamn draining people?” She walked across the room. The two guys formed up in the aisle, both wearing aprons splattered with brown smears of dried blood. Except for Paulie’s. His looked awful fresh.
“Oh, hell, Cat, we’re just making a living.” He reached over and held the other guy back. “We can get you in on this if you want. Guarantee it pays more that the performin’ arts. You could make enough to get yourself a real ass-whoopin’.”
Cat scanned the room. There were at least a dozen bodies in there, most of them too pale to be alive. “Where’s the girl?” she asked.
“Don’t know nothing about any girl. Look, you’ve had a rough night. Why don’t I give you enough coin for a few fights and you let us see to our friend over there.”
“Why don’t we just flank her up?” the other guy asked.
“Yeah,” Cat said. “Why don’t you boys just flank me up?”
Paulie laughed. “For free? C’mon, Cat, I like you and all, but you don’t know what you’re messing with here.”
“Yeah,” the other guy said. “This ain’t some small racket. You’re gonna get a world of hurt.”
Cat smiled. “Promise?”
Paulie waved his partner down. “Seriously, Cat, you should take your little friend and get out of here. Pretend you never came. Besides, we ain’t seen no girl tonight.”
“He’ss lying,” Walter said, arriving by her side.
Cat placed a hand on the boy’s chest and pushed him back. “Trust me,” she said. “I know.”
She turned and faced the men and smoothly changed her stance, bringing her fists up and taking her hips off square. Small things, but enough to change the game and quick. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Paulie’s friend came fast. Fast and dumb. She’d never seen him around any of the pubs, so he obviously didn’t know what he was dealing with. Cat watched his feet as he ran, figured out where he’d be planting his foot just before he got to her and made sure her own foot was driving to where his knee would be.
It sounded like a thick branch snapping in two. The knee bent back the wrong way, and she barely moved in time to keep from getting wrapped up in his flying bulk. He landed with a thud and went to screaming holy hell, writhing on the ground, fumbling for his foot, but it was trapped beneath him, out of reach.
Cat watched the Palan kid go from silver to white, his eyes bulging at the sight of the man.
“Can you shut him?” Cat asked.
The boy nodded and ran back to the screaming figure, pulling some-thing out of one of the pockets on his flightsuit. Cat turned back to face Paulie.
“Now you see why I never bring him out,” he told her, smiling ner-vously and gesturing to the gurgling man behind her.
Cat took a few steps forward.
“Damn, Cat, fine. The girl is right there. Barely gotten started on her. Take her and go.”
Cat shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so, Paulie ol’ buddy. I ain’t had such a great night. Or not bad enough, anyway.” She called back over her shoulder: “Hey little man, see to your friend over there.”
The boy padded by, wiping something off on a bloody rag. He hopped up and down, looking on top of the tables for his friend.
Cat pointed, showing him which one, and then stepped closer to Paulie.
Close enough that he could hit her.

Molly didn’t understand what was going on. She saw one of the guys go down, tripped up by a Callite. One of the other victims? Had someone gotten loose? She shook her head, tried once more to spit the rag out, and then felt her pulse quicken, pumping out more blood.
She tried to find a balance between staying calm and getting free; her struggles would hasten the end, but her stillness would ensure it. Her moment of panicked indecision was interrupted by Walter, who appeared out of nowhere.
Molly moaned at the sight of him; she could feel tears streaking down the sides of her face. He ripped the tape free and pulled the foul rag out of her mouth, holding it with his fingertips like it was something dead. Molly turned her head to the other side and spat, scraping her tongue against her teeth. She saw the other victim, the Callite, get hit in the face and go down.
“Hurry,” she told Walter, who fumbled with the straps across her.
Walter peered over her at the fight in progress. He bit his lip in concentration and reached for one of the straps.
“Arms first,” she said, as he went straight for her thighs.
He flicked the leather strap open and her arms came free. She worked on the one across her chest, then sat up to do her legs—and nearly blacked out.
She lay back down, remembering the needle. A dark cord of crimson trailed off her left arm, spiraling down to one of the bags hanging from the table. Molly gnashed her teeth together and fumbled with the little valve on the end of the needle. The device tugged against her flesh as she twisted the small, plastic handle; she could feel the metal needle move around inside her arm as she fumbled with it.
Walter got her feet free as she finally closed the valve. She pulled the hose away from the device and felt nauseas as it started dripping her blood from the bag to the floor. She looked away and toward the fracas—saw her kidnapper on top of the blood-splattered woman. Molly wanted to help, but she wasn’t sure if she was even strong enough to stand. She swung her legs over the side and felt Walter’s hands on her arm. He had some of the tape from her mouth and a clean rag. He held them out as if to make a bandage across the needle.
“Wait,” she told him. She pulled the needle out with a grimace, then Walter pressed the cloth against the rising bubble of bright blood welling up from her arm. Molly looked over her shoulder, keeping an eye on the two fighters while Walter wrapped tape around the cloth. He, too, was keeping an eye on the one-sided action.
“That’ss wasssername,” he told Molly.
“Who?” Molly glanced back at the woman, who was being pummeled into the ground. “You mean Cat?” she asked.
Walter nodded.
Molly jumped down from the table and her brain toyed with passing out; her knees jittered, and Walter steadied her. She glanced at the bags of blood, trying to figure out how much was in them and remember how much she’d started with. There were a dozen or so hanging from the table with only two full, so she had to be okay. Just deciding so gave her enough psychological strength to remain upright. She turned and sized up her predicament as the man in the apron continued to pound her mother’s friend. Wet, slapping sounds accompanied each blow. The noise had the same effect as the taste of that foul rag—it nearly made Molly gag.
“See if you can open the back door,” she told Walter. He hurried off while Molly tried to figure out how she was going to get Cat out of there—if she was even alive. The man’s body obscured most of the Callite, but what she saw looked horrible. A small pool of the alien’s blue blood spread out from underneath her, and dotted trails of the stuff streaked away in wide arcs that matched the man’s blows. Molly checked the tables for a scalpel, or anything sharp, but there were only the extraction needles, some tubing, and a bunch of bags.
She grabbed a full bag of her own blood and one of the needles, formulating a plan as she crept up behind the large man. Her heart, so recently calmed to slow its draining, raced as she snuck closer. She cringed as another blow landed. She watched the man’s hand—clad in dripping blue—come back up, then plummet with another fleshy crack. Molly expected him to turn around and see her, to stop her. She fought the urge to run, which she knew would just make her pass out. She carefully re-opened the valve on the needle. When she got close enough, she didn’t hesitate. Forming a fist around the valve end, she swung her hand around the man’s shoulder and buried the needle in his neck.
The large man spun around, eyes wide, his bloody hands fumbling above his collar where jets of crimson stole away his pulse. Molly bit into the bag, tearing it open with her teeth. The man growled at her and reached out—
Molly crammed the spilling bag of fluids into his face, aiming for his eyes, shoving it hard before letting go. He pawed at himself, screaming, blood flying through blood, his head still level with her waist. Molly grabbed the back of his head, wrapped her fingers in his hair, and pulled down as she threw her knee up. She tried to drive her leg all the way to her palms.
There was a dull crunch. The man’s arms fell to his side and his body went still. Molly’s knee lanced out in pain. She wobbled from the exertion—fell down to her hands and knees and fought hard to not black out.
Nearby, Cat’s head rolled around, blood and gore making her look like something out of an alien horror vid. She gave Molly a nasty smile. Her teeth—the ones not missing—were covered in her own blue blood; her lips were torn in two, bifurcated like her tongue.
Cat tried to say something, and flecks of azure mist popped up into the air. Molly scurried to her side, trying to figure out which wound to tend to first and how she was going to get them out of that damned place before more people showed up. She glanced to the back of the room where Walter stood holding the door to the alley open. He waved one arm for her to hurry up.