Duncan Long - Silver Tiger

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2024-12-23 0 0 487.42KB 227 页 5.9玖币

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n the near future when artificial

intelligence makes computers nearly

as intelligent as human beings, and

where the rule of law is determined by the

dollar sign, Native American searcher Diane

Death Song takes on a job that puts her skills

to the test. She believes she’s been hired by

a large corporation to track down a

genetically altered "Silver Tiger" which a rival

company has stolen. But soon the searcher is

involved in something much more sinister,

and considerably more dangerous.

As Death Song’s life unravels, she finds

that no one can be trusted, including those

who hired her. With memories of the past

that she discovers are most likely

fabrications, she seeks the Silver Tiger, the

creature that holds the key to the truth.

And the key to her survival.

SILVER

TIGER

DUNCAN LONG

For more information and free access to short

stories, artwork, music and articles by Duncan Long,

visit: http://duncanlong.com/

All rights on both text and cover artwork

reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this

book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever

except as provided by US and international copyright

laws. Any resemblance between characters in this

book and those living or dead is purely coincidental.

HAPTER

iane Death Song realized she was making a

mistake when she took the I-35 exit. But she

didn’t have any choice.

A cherry red Two-Teo muscle car had her boxed

in from behind with a double semi-trailer flanking her

in the left lane. When the Federal train truck plowed

into what had been an old Volvo seconds before, the

only opening she had was the exit ramp. The

wreckage of the Volvo cartwheeled directly into

Diane’s path; the collision warning beeper shattered

the silence inside her Eldorado.

She ignored the admonitions of the automap,

cranking the wheel and shooting toward the off ramp

to avoid a bumper somersaulting in front of her car. A

bouncing hubcap crashed on the hood leaving a deep

gash in its mirrored finish.

“It is highly recommended that you navigate

across the intersection and take the on ramp back to

I-35,” the automap advised her as she skidded down

the steep incline, dodging an old crate that lay in the

middle of the lane. “PD warnings report the street

ahead to be in a plague area,” the machine added as

she braked frantically to avoid scrapping the

guardrail.

Finally at the bottom of the ramp, Diane closed

her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she removed

the tint from the side windows and glanced up and

down the avenue, squinting in the sunlight before

muting the windows and checking the video display.

The streets looked safe. Behind her the muscle car

came to a halt, having no doubt followed her evasive

actions to avoid the pileup that was destined to

occur.

Beyond the muscle car, up the ramp and back on

the interstate, she watched as the twisting wall of

dented vehicles grew, writhing with each new

impact from the heavy rush-hour traffic streaming

toward it. Within seconds a giant ball of fire leaped

from the plastic and steel rubble and climbed

skyward as the propane, alcohol, and gasoline that

had powered the wrecks ignited.

Turning her attention back to the street in front

of her, she saw that the on ramp leading back to the

interstate was totally blocked with rusted car

bodies, apparently piled up to keep anyone from

getting back onto I-35 from Union Street.

She eyed the bullet-pocked stop sign and the lone

drunk dancing along the littered street to be sure

there was nothing that posed any immediate danger.

Satisfied she was safe for the moment, Diane leaned

over and hit the “Alternate” button on the automap

mounted in the dashboard.

“Turn right; travel one dot seven five kilometers;

turn left on State Line Road and continue on to I-35

South.”

“Okay,” Diane said, running a hand through her

jet-black hair. She powered up the Eldorado’s engine

and shot across the nearly empty street with a

whining of rubber on concrete.

The driver of the muscle car behind her hesitated

a few seconds and then followed her lead, taking care

not to crowd her as the two vehicles picked up speed,

weaving in and out of the rusty wrecks that littered

the route.

At first the ragged bundles on the sidewalk

escaped Diane’s attention. Then she realized that

they were actually bodies, littering either side of the

avenue. “Cleanup rats haven't gone through here

yet.” Must not have been through for days from the

look of it. She wondered if she was being exposed to

the plague and nervously glanced at the filtration

system on her car. With relief she saw its green light

glowing reassuringly.

Kan-Topeka City. Between the epidemics and the

violence, the crews were getting behind. It would just

be a matter of time before some serious diseases got

into the water system with this many dead left on the

streets. One good rain was all that was needed. Then

things would get really serious.

She reminded herself that she had to escape the

metropolis. City life was getting too hectic.

“Time is seven PM,” her clock announced.

“Going to be late, besides everything else,” she

muttered, dodging a corpse that lay in the street. She

glanced down to locate her comphone, then forgot it

when she glanced back toward the street. A mob

spilled onto the narrow avenue a block ahead of her,

shoving two cars ahead of them as they came, their

forms silhouetted in the sun that was now nearly at

the horizon.

She eyed the muscle car following her to be sure

she wouldn’t be rear ended, then slammed on her

brakes, screeching to a stop that left her car sideways

in the street. The muscle car stormed past, its driver

seemingly oblivious to the trouble ahead. Diane

watched, as if the scene in front of her was on the 3D

rather than real.

The polished muscle car pummeled three of the

rioters, throwing them aside as it bumped over a

fourth with a sickening bounce. Then, as the numbers

of people ahead of the car grew and the two derelict

cars were pushed into his path, the driver lost his

nerve and slammed on his brakes. The moment he

stopped, a hail of bottles and rocks pounded the car’s

skin.

The driver jerked the vehicle into reverse and

attempted a bootleg turn. The molotov hit halfway

through the turn; flames splattered across the

windshield and dripped in a waterfall of fire onto the

tires, a cloud of black smoke rising into the Spring air.

“Stay in the car,” Diane whispered, willing the

driver to stay inside the relatively safety of his

vehicle.

But her hushed warning did no good. The driver

and passenger released the wing doors that flipped

open on their hydraulic lifts and then the two leaped

in panic from the flaming car. The driver only

managed two steps before the crowd was on top of

him, ripping his leather jacket off before attacking

him with the long machetes they carried.

The woman got five meters before she was

thrown to the pavement and her clothes ripped off.

Diane didn’t wait to see more. There were too many

of them and nothing she could do, even though she

was armed. Shifting into first gear, she floored the

accelerator, her Eldorado screeching around with

tires smoking.

Then she slammed on her brakes.

The National Guard APC that blocked her path

had its 25mm and .30-caliber coaxial guns leveled at

her windshield. She wondered how close she’d come

to being snuffed by the most-likely edgy crew inside

the tank-like vehicle.

Foot soldiers accompanying the APC jogged into a

flanking position next to her car and motioned her to

sit still. Beads of sweat formed on her face as she sat

motionless, knowing better than to ignore their

orders. Most of the troopers turned their attention to

the crowd running toward them, raising their baton

guns and firing short bursts of plastic bullets toward

the mob.

A sergeant motioned to Diane, his pistol pointed

at the driver’s door as he held up an ID reader with

his free hand. “I need your number,” his helmet-

amplified voice told her over the noise around him.

Diane reached to the dashboard and turned a

control knob, lightening the Eldorado’s windows,

transforming them from their thickly smoked gray to

fully transparent. She held her national ID number,

tattooed to the back of her hand, to the window. The

sergeant scanned her hand and then waited for

confirmation.

“How long does it take you guys to check an ID?”

Diane wondered aloud, knowing the soldier couldn’t

hear because of the din of guns and crashing bottles

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摘要：

nthenearfuturewhenartificialintelligencemakescomputersnearlyasintelligentashumanbeings,andwheretheruleoflawisdeterminedbythedollarsign,NativeAmericansearcherDianeDeathSongtakesonajobthatputsherskillstothetest.Shebelievesshe’sbeenhiredbyalargecorporationtotrackdownageneticallyaltered"SilverTiger"whic...

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Duncan Long - Silver Tiger

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