Free The Courier (San Angeles) by Gerald Brandt Page B

coming before I even entered the lot.
    I dropped my shoulders in defeat, lowering my head and staring at his boots. In the same motion, I pushed off the pile behind me toward him, hoping to drive my head into his gut and make a run for it.
    He sidestepped with the agility of a cat and grabbed onto thecollar of my jacket, jerking me off my feet and flat onto my back. My breath blew out in a giant rush, and I lay there, my mouth flapping helplessly, trying to suck in a fresh breath.
    He grabbed the front of my jacket and picked me up with one arm, throwing me against the pile of rubble I had just been hiding behind. My lungs released, and the disgusting air of Level 1 filled them like a sweet nectar. I wrapped my hand around a broken brick and swung without thinking about what I was doing. The man jerked back, but the brick hit, pulling the glasses off his face. Blood poured from his nose, dripping down his chin and staining the metal on his chest.
    “You fucking bitch!”
    He jabbed me hard in the chest and followed up with a sharp slap, spinning me around. I felt my nose rupture, and blood spilled across my face. I collapsed onto my hands and knees, the ground spinning beneath me, threatening to give way at any moment. The helmet slid down my arm to my wrist. I felt him grab my shoulders as the spinning slowed. He twisted me around, slamming me against a partially standing brick wall.
    I almost laughed. This was the same wall I had ripped moss off of, sucking the water out of the green spongy growth, when I had run away from home. It was going to end almost where it had all started. I raised my hands to protect my face, curling my arms around my head.
    “They only said I had to deliver you, they didn’t say you still had to be pretty.”
    Through my protective cover, I saw him pull his hand back and curl his fingers into a tight fist. His lips stretched into a grin underneath the blood.
    A single thought pulsed through the fear: thejacket.

four

LEVEL 1—WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 10, 2140 5:45 A.M.
    I COULD FEEL THE adrenaline course through me, making my skin prickle, and a sharp thrill settled in my gut. The damn jacket was charged.
    My attacker raised his fist, swinging it at my head. I fought the reflex to duck and jumped toward him instead, hitting the switch in the collar of my jacket at the same time.
    As I leaped forward, the direction of his blow changed, lowering to catch me as if I was ducking away. The two moves combined perfectly, as though we had choreographed and practiced them beforehand. His fist hit my chest in a blinding flash of light when the jacket’s stored charge released at the point of contact. I stumbled, falling to my knees. He flew backward, arcing through the air, and landed a few steps away from me with a dull thud. Electricity sparked across the wires attached to his clothes and his body twitched in silence.
    Sharp pain lanced through my chest and I hunched over, pressing my hands against my heart, sucking in air through my clenched teeth.
Please don’t let it be a broken rib.
    I crawled to the nearest scrapheap on my knees and one hand, using it to pull myself to my feet. Every muscle in my body complained. It felt like every joint was twisted, and every bone scraped against another one. My brain wasn’t working at full speed. I teetered to my feet, not knowing what to do next.
    I don’t know how long I stayed there, breathing through my mouth, wobbling, crying. My bloody nose dripped slowly, mixing with the dirt between my feet. My hand wrapped around a length of rusted wire as I pulled myself from the black hole I was circling. When was the last time I’d slept? At least twenty-four hours ago.
    The man still lay on the ground twitching and moaning. I hobbled over to him and tied his arms and legs together as tight as I could. With each twist of the wire, I could feel the knot loosen in my stomach. Anger rose in its place. I turned when I heard a growl, before realizing the sound, guttural