Mercury Revolts by Robert Kroese Page B

street
below. She was only on the second floor, so a fall was unlikely to kill her,
but it was also unlikely to be painless. And if she broke a leg, she’d never
get away from these gun-toting goons. There was a small ledge outside the
window, though, and from there she thought she could jump to the fire escape.
    She managed to climb the rest of the way out the window and
get herself perched on the ledge. Just as she was about to jump, though, a hand
reached through the window and grabbed her ankle. She lost her balance and
fell, bracing herself for impact with the street below.
    But the hand held on. After a moment, another hand gripped
her ankle, and then a head appeared. It was the same guy who had busted in the
bathroom door.
    “Hey, it’s Mister Projectile Dysfunction,” Suzy said,
hanging upside down. “You’re pretty strong. Steroids?”
    “Ha ha,” said the man. “I’m going to pull you up now. Don’t
fight me, or—” He broke off as the sound of gunfire erupted inside. “Shit!” he
exclaimed, and began to pull her in through the window.
    But Suzy, who was convinced that if she were apprehended
now, she’d never see daylight again, did fight. She kicked and screamed and
twisted, trying not to think about what would happen if she actually managed to
get away. Down below, a garbage truck was making its rounds, and Suzy had seen
enough action movies to know this was just the break she needed. If she could
time her fall with the passing of the garbage truck, she’d only fall about five
feet. Still farther than she’d ideally like to fall, especially considering
that she’d be doing the falling head first, but she’d probably avoid serious
injury.
    As the truck approached, she fought with even more ferocity,
and finally the man apparently had enough. He let go and she fell toward the
truck below.
    And missed it by six inches. She’d
either miscalculated the truck’s speed, or the man had let go a half-second too
late. Either way, she was about to kiss pavement.
    But she didn’t.
    For the second time in one day, she stopped falling in
mid-air, eight inches from the ground.
    And then she started falling again.
    And stopped when she hit the ground.
    “Son of a bitch!” she yowled, curling into the fetal
position and holding her head. Falling from a height of eight inches was
surprisingly painful. She wasn’t bleeding, but she was going to have a nasty
bump on the top of her head.
    “Sorry about that!” called a voice from the window. It was
Eddie. “I got distracted. Oh, shit.” He disappeared back inside.
    There was another burst of automatic weapon fire, followed
by someone groaning in pain.
    “Cripes, that hurts,” moaned Eddie, sticking his head out
the window again. “Hang on, I’ll be right down.”
    By the time Suzy had gotten to her feet, Eddie had appeared
at the door of the apartment building. He was carrying a Spider-Man backpack,
which seemed a little weird to Suzy. Not nearly as weird as the six bloody
bullet holes torn in Eddie’s shirt though.
    “Oh my God,” she cried, rushing to him. “You’ve been shot!”
    “Only six times,” he said. “It’s—ow—not so bad. I’ll be fine
in a few minutes.”
    “You’re in shock,” she said, putting her arm around him to
steady him, as if he were about to fall over at any second. “We’ve got to get
you to a hospital.”
    “I’m fine ,” Eddie insisted. “Look.” He pulled up his
shirt to reveal bullet holes that had already begun to close up.
    “How… how is that possible?” she asked.
    “Immortality, accelerated healing,” muttered Eddie. “Benefits of being an angel. Too bad Rosenfeld wasn’t so
lucky.”
    “Rosenfeld!” cried Suzy. “Where is he?”
    “Boy, that’s the real question, isn’t it?” said Eddie. “Beats me.”
    “What? Isn’t he upstairs?”
    “His body is, but Rosenfeld isn’t home anymore. Poor bastard. I never should have dragged him into this.”
    “He’s dead?” she