Crashland by Sean Williams Page B

we were allowed to do it, they would be too,” said PK Drader. “I can’t see the lawmakers agreeing to that. LM Kingdon made it very clear in a ruling this morning—”
    â€œLook,” said Jesse, pointing at something above street level. “There’s another show in town.”
    On the building opposite the old post office, a trio of masked figures had appeared. They weren’t wearing uniforms or armor. They had backpacks, which, when they reached the edge of the roof garden, they took off and opened. Carrying what looked like glass bottles in each hand, the masked figures leaned over the edge, directly above the thick brown cloud created by the dupes.
    One by one, they threw the bottles at the points from where gunfire appeared to be issuing. Each bottle exploded on impact, sending tendrils of fiery liquid in all directions.
    â€œYour friends, I assume,” said Devin to Jesse.
    â€œNo one I know personally,” said Jesse. He bumped Clair a statement from WHOLE listing all the people killed by dupes in recent days, followed by a call to arms. These three had responded. “They’re local Abstainers.”
    â€œHow did they get up there so quickly?” she asked.
    â€œThey know their way around because they don’t use d-mat.”
    Clair remembered the people who had flocked to see her on her train journey to New York. At the time she had felt sorry for them, but now she saw that their lifestyle actually gave them an advantage during the crash. As Turner Goldsmith had said, they were in every town, everywhere, and they didn’t treat their homes like temporary rest stops, with their real lives happening somewhere else entirely.
    A bottle bomb exploded in the middle of a clump of dupes, sending bodies flying.
    â€œIf a terrorist helps you, PK Forest,” said Devin, “are they still terrorists?”
    â€œThey’re not helping us,” said Sargent. “They’re helping Jesse.”
    â€œAnd Clair,” Jesse said. “She’s the girl who killed d-mat.”
    â€œI wish people would stop saying that,” Clair said.
    â€œI’ll go down and tell them now, if you like,” said Devin. “Then they can go back to whatever hole they crawled out of and leave us to die in peace.”
    Clair shot him a sharp look that had no effect whatsoever.
    â€œWe can’t stay here,” she said, just as horrified by what was going on outside the room as what lay within. How long until someone innocent was killed by one of those bombs? “ I can’t stay here.”
    â€œWe don’t have to leave just yet,” said Sargent. “We’re in no immediate danger.”
    â€œCan you watch this? I can’t,” she said, balling her fists and rubbing them into her eyes. It didn’t help: she saw the images just as clearly in her mind. “I don’t want anyone else to die because of me.”
    â€œIt’s about more than you,” said Devin. “There’s an ideological war taking place down there, one that’s been brewing for a while . . . but I take your point. You’re the flashpoint, the trigger. If you go away, most likely the dupes will too. But go where? That’s the question.”
    â€œLet’s join the guys fighting out there,” said Jesse eagerly. “Go underground, travel quiet. They’ll know where to hide. They can keep us safe.”
    â€œIt could work,” said PK Drader, scratching his ear.
    â€œWe’ll be spotted the moment we set foot outside the building,” said Sargent, her expression betraying her alarm at the scheme, alarm Clair shared. “If we’re cornered, there’ll be no way to escape.”
    â€œYou don’t have to come with us,” said Jesse. “In fact, the fewer there are, the easier it will be to stay out of sight.”
    â€œWe cannot allow that,” said PK Forest.
    â€œWhy not?” Jesse asked.