GM-46

The Chase

1.

Wrapped up in her comforter, Alexandra turned onto her side. She cleared her mind of daily worries, determined to fall asleep as quickly as possible to get back with him. From the last six months, she had learned one thing: the perfect management of her sleep cycles. At first, to fiercely fight them and avoid the apocalyptic visions that besieged her. But since June, on the contrary, she'd been making the most of them to enjoy Nathaniel's presence, which had imposed itself in every one of her dreams.

Her last trimester marred by neurasthenia, barely passing in the senior year, the three months of vacation she'd spent convincing her mother that she was getting better, the start of the new school year... none of this mattered to her at the moment. She suppressed these parasitic thoughts, focused on Nathaniel - curious about the situation in which she was about to find him - took a deep breath, and let herself be carried away by Morpheus.

2.

The smooth surface of the small puddle reflected the leaden sky, as faithful as a mirror. The heavy gray clouds that rolled lazily by miles above were outlined in all their details. All was peaceful on this miniature watery expanse perched atop a disused building. Not the slightest breath of air scratched this perfect varnish. Yet, the edges began to blister and ripples to shape in circles. The ground propagated a rhythmic wave that gradually disturbed the liquid's tranquility. The reflection of the firmament blurred and its impassivity soon became a mere memory. On the scale of the puddle, a true storm was raging as the jerky shocks drew closer together. In the center, a droplet rose in reaction to the induced vibrations, defying gravity. But you can't flout the law of gravity with impunity. The spray of water quickly fell back and crashed, adding to the tumult of the watery mass. Then suddenly, without further warning, came the tidal wave!

A navy-blue fabric shoe with a once-white rubber sole ripped apart the small slick that had been stagnant just a few seconds earlier. Splashes of water shot out in all directions, glinting with an iridescent reflection betraying a high concentration of hydrocarbons. The sharp snap of the splash was soon replaced by a muffled sucking sound as the blackish-mud-stained shoe continued its momentum. As soon as it was free of the man's weight, the muddy crater that had formed began to gush again. But this time the liquid remained turbid. Deposits and solvents that had been collected on the bottom for ages were now suspended in the foul sludge oozing from the black floor. There was no time for peace and quiet to return, for the puddle to polish and reflect the heavens once more. A boot - this time a polymer-coated shell - crashed, then another, then another. The footprints were deep, the beat so tight that the spongy mud had no time to close over the crevices before a new foot once more dispersed the heavy silt in gooey sprays.

Faint hums marked each stride of the pursuing pack's members. A lightweight metallic frame ran along their bodies, an exoskeleton that accompanied their movements and cushioned their shocks. Motorized joints amplified the wearer's muscular effort with a minimum of human energy. Thus equipped, the trackers had the advantage. They ran faster and tired less. The fugitive, barely eighty feet ahead, did not benefit from the same boon. He would soon be caught.

With sustained but regular breathing, the young man ran with long, fast strides. Clad in jeans and a linen shirt open on his amber chest, he progressed with the steadiness of an athlete accustomed to running. His jet-black mid-length hair, loose, fell back below the line of his shoulders, undulating to the rate of his strides. To his right, the low sun cast fiery gleams, betraying the approaching dusk. Behind him, a huge dome with an orange electric glow protected the megacity he was fleeing. Soon, the star and the shield would compete in colors, and for a time, harmonize their hues to give the brief illusion that the dome didn't exist. City dwellers called this phenomenon "the phase." Many stopped their activities to observe this particular period for a few minutes every day. But Nathaniel didn't look back for a moment. Not even to gauge the distance between him and his pursuers. The metallic clanking of their harnesses was enough for him to assess their progress. For now, he was mainly focused on what was happening in front of him. He was reaching the end of the flat roof on which he was fleeing. A sixteen-foot-wide alley separated this building from the next. He had to gain momentum and calculate the precise second of his extension, in order to leap the length without crashing six stories below.

The tar coating covering the roof had not been maintained for a long time. Weather, sunburn, and time had taken their toll. It had gradually disintegrated to form a sticky layer over the entire surface of the building. The short low wall around the perimeter held back the stagnant muck. The young man knew that this sludge could give way if he exerted too much pressure, so he chose the moment of his leap with precision. He leaned on the small parapet, taking advantage of the stability of this concrete crown to launch himself with all his might. With the impetus, he filled his lungs to the brim in a hoarse and violent breath. His arms accompanied the jump with a swinging motion. For a second, he remained suspended in the air, legs spread like scissors, body leaning towards his goal, arms back, face tense with effort, and his ebony eyes filled with determination. Then his right foot met the flat, solid surface of another parapet identical to the one he'd just left. He released the oxygen he'd trapped and leaped down the low wall. In a few smooth strides across the dark slush of this other roof, he regained his rhythm and breath. He sped on between the few rust-ridden lightning rods and antennas still standing.

Behind him, the group crossed the gap like a writhing mass of ants passing over a twig: in a fluid aggregate, and without apparent effort. Some individuals began to slip as they reached the oily ground, but their equipment's stabilizers compensated and they resumed their course. A lagging infantryman jumped after all his comrades, took off from the first parapet, overtook the second and landed right on the roof. The rust-ridden metal beams gave way, and the concrete slab weakened by years of stagnant acids crumbled like a slab of sun-hardened sand. With a crash of debris and a whirlwind of gray dust and blackish viscous spray, the straggler passed through the structure. The lightweight helmet that topped his exoskeleton slammed into the edge of the hole. His visor cracked upon impact. The rest of the group continued on their way, oblivious to the incident. Only the man heading the troop turned to cast an exasperated look backwards. He spat out a few commands into his communication device to check if the clumsy man could still operate, and instructed him to rally the street below. He gestured to his soldiers to speed up their pursuit. The matte brushed titanium frames gave them power and cushioning. Beneath the metal, their bodies were covered with a protective synthetic chainmail. Flexible, light and robust, it did not hinder their movements. Its gray hue blended with that of the raw unpainted exoskeletons. Only the logo stamped on each shoulder added a touch of color. A stylized khaki uppercase M with pointed legs overlaid with a black X topped a military-style inscription: "A.N.B. 1723." The insignia of each one's rank crowned the whole. The brigade swooped down on its prey.

Despite the fugitive's obvious handicap, the troop had not yet managed to close the gap. But the squad leader saw luck smiling at him. They were crossing the last building in this abandoned complex, and soon the runner would have nowhere else to escape. With a brief command, he ordered his platoon to fan out and cut off any attempt at retreat by the now-cornered rebel. The fugitive was approaching the end of the building. He would have to stop if he did not want to plunge to a certain death. In a single movement, the soldiers cocked the short assault rifles strapped to their thighs, ready to take aim at him. They slowed down, he didn't... Before they had fully grasped what was happening, they saw the young man leap over the railing and disappear into the void.

3.

Alexandra groaned under her comforter. Never had her visions of Nathaniel put her into such a frenzy. Who were these men chasing him? Their equipment bore no resemblance to that of the usual patrols that Nathaniel easily held at bay on his forays into the city. When the young man jumped, she couldn't hold back a shiver. The rhythm of her breathing quickened in anticipation, but she didn't wake up.