Free Point Apocalypse by Alex Bobl

at me and went on studying the shore through his field glasses.
    Grunt and Jim slung the guns across their backs and prepared to jump down.
    "Well, Mark," the captain leaned across the side of the truck and stuck out his hand. "Nice meeting you, man," I shook his hand and he jumped down.
    "We'll go by the river," Grunt adjusted the holster on his belt. "We've got no business in the city tonight, that's for sure."
    " Wladas?" I said. "What have you decided?"
    He looked aside. I nodded to the sailors and shut the cab door.
    "If you really need to go to that hotel," Georgie spoke, "take a right from the fork under the hill and keep driving. Make sure you keep your back to the beacon. When you enter Broadway - that's the biggest street in town - go three blocks and look out for a two-story house to your left. You'll see the shop sign."
    He opened the cab door.
    "Well, nice meeting you." He wanted to add something but reconsidered and slunk off.
    I sat up glancing into the side mirror as Wladas climbed back into the truck. I started up, shifted into third, gunned the engine and rolled downhill toward a nightlit New Pang.

 
    Chapter Five
    The Trigger Code
     
     
    T he truck rattled down a dark lane and rolled out onto an intersection with its back to the bay and the beacon. The streets were dug up in places. Lengths of water pipes heaped up along trenches snaking past sandstone walls and squat houses.
    It looked as if the town had embarked on some large-scale renovations - most likely, building a water pipeline. I was forced to take a detour to bypass more dugouts and finally reached the main street after ten more minutes of driving around, guided by the beacon.
    I glanced into the back window. Wong and Wladas sat on the bench on the truck's right-hand side keeping an eye on the road.
    The truck droned past the houses. The Broadway lamplights emitted the same white glow as the beacon. Could be some gas or special liquid but it could also be the mixture of some weird local tree saps or something discovered by local tinkerers. I vaguely remembered something about the rainforest stretching between New Pang's eastern borders and the desert: I thought I'd heard of one or two local plants suitable for that purpose. But my memory refused to help, and Information wouldn't oblige, eighet.
    As Georgie had said, Broadway was indeed broad and paved with stone, sloping gently upward away from the sea, and wide enough for three trucks like ours to pass each other leaving enough space for pedestrians. No trenches there.
    I steered to ward a two-story house at the end of the block, with brightly lit windows and a red sign over the front door. I drove past it and stopped in front of the next house, then reconsidered and backed up, parking the truck in a tiny side street by the wall of the Sea Pearl . I killed the engine and heard a bunch of drunken voices bellowing the old Russian anthem - something about the unbreakable union of freeborn republics. I got out and with a quick "Come on, then" headed for the front door.
    I couldn't have cared less about the drinkers. All I wanted was to get inside. One hand already on the door handle, I looked up at the bright letters of the hotel sign. My eyes stung; I blinked. Something went off in my head again - it felt as if the memory chip, removed before the trial, woke up and started testing neuro chains. I almost expected to see a 3D model of my nervous system. Then the illusion faded. The hollering inside grew louder coming from the bar in the right wing of the first floor. I pushed the door and walked along a hallway leading to a brightly lit room. No vacant tables; faces blurred behind blue clouds of tobacco smoke. I walked past. The other two followed me in silence.
    At the end of the hallway I discovered two doors and a staircase. One door, scratched and padlocked, seemed to open into a utility room. I walked past it and reached for the next door - fancy and carved with a chest-high sea shell design.