It took Chloe a whole entire twenty seconds to remove enough rubble for me to poke a hand out and another twenty to actually pull me out. “Are you injured?” She asked, pulling me to my knees.
My heart was racing, my mind was buzzing and my body felt drenched in sweat. But other than that I could still see and I didn’t feel like I was about to puke too bad so I was guessing I wasn’t about to die. “I’m good,” I told her, climbing to my shaky feet. “Haven’t been forcibly removed from a forty story building that fast since Beyonce’s house party.”
Removing my helmet so I could breathe easier, I found a spot in what was left of the apartment and sat down. I ran a metal glove through my soaking hair, spitting out the bile that had started working its way up my throat about halfway between buildings in my no-armed swan-dive.
“You okay?” I asked, glancing at her as she removed her helmet, letting her hair, which, might I point out in annoyance, looked extremely dry, shiny and positively daisy fresh, tumble down as she did so.
“It’ll take more than one S-20 piloted by an inexperienced Fascist to kill me.” She stated with confidence.
“I would’ve settled for you at least breaking a sweat.” I muttered, “So that means the Fascists control Flagstaff?”
Chloe, who didn’t have to sit down to regain her composure like me, took this time to reload her assault rifle. “Not at all. Neither the Bears or Fascists have control of Flagstaff and both parties would rather keep it that way since it’s occupied by the Reds and is completely neutral in the war.”
“And thus can sell the weapons no doubt being created here to both sides,” I finished.
Chloe smiled at me as she cocked her rifle. “Just so. Since it would cost more time and men to seize the city for both sides than to just buy what they need, the Reds are left to their own devices.”
“Not to mention a failed attempt for control would most likely result in the Reds joining up with the other side and cutting off trade rights,” I said, getting a surprised smile from Chloe.
“That’s amazing.” Was all she said. Her smile was saying the rest. Jericho, you’re awesome, it said. Although the words didn’t leave her lips I could see it plainly.
Now, if I could only keep up the act of being a freakishly knowledgeable philanthropist instead of some geek who had been betrayed by the French one too many times on Medieval II: Total War, then I’d be looking better all the time.
“So you’re a Red?” I asked, standing and starting to reload my rifle.
“Proudly,” Chloe said. “We represent the very heart of Russia with our hard work, engineering and love for her people.”
“Let me guess,” I said, finishing my piece and slinging it over my back. “The Fascists have the morals and religious ideas, the Bears have the firepower and stubborn streak and you guys fix everything that breaks because the other two sides put too much time into morals and power, right?”
Chloe frowned, rolling her eyes around a little in thought before finally saying, “That’s pretty much it.”
I nodded knowingly. “Just so you know, I always chose the industrious sides in every online game that came down the pike.”
Chloe didn’t really know what to say to that as we made our way back to the street where what was left of the S-20 smoldered away in chunks. I asked her what he’d been doing there and why he decided to attack us since we were wearing Fascist armor and all.
That little inquiry induced a ten minute lecture that brought me up to speed on the difference between actual Fascists, which was what the S-20 had been, and Rogues, which was what the guys who had dropped an EMP grenade into my 2340 welcome packet had been. Also somewhere in the lecture she told me that we actually needed to get out of our current armor ASAP because no one liked the Rogues due to their knack for ambushing convoys from all sides and preying on the weak. Her final answer about why the S-20 had been there was most likely to buy fuel.
“If you love this junk,” Chloe said as we slunk through the streets, waving at my armor, “Then you should get a real rush out of my father’s new design christened the Dragunov. They haven’t become available for combat as of yet but when they do they’ll cost right at one-hundred-million ruble a unit.”
I was shocked at the price at first until I remembered that ruble was way different from good old U.S. bucks and that one-hundred-million ruble was right around $3,406,251 for us.
And fifteen cents.
Still a good chunk for a single suit, though. I have to confess that I was also pretty bummed that the future currency was the same. It would be a lie if I said that I hadn’t been hoping it would be credits. Or, you know, at least called credits…
“Can your daddy’s new Dragunov run as fast as these?” I asked, stepping into yet another alleyway behind Chloe.
“Actually they have only been clocked at 40 mph at top speed.”
I nodded, not really sure where her dad had made this crazy breakthrough that I was supposedly going to quote/unquote “get a rush out of” if 40 mph was all I could get out of his new design. Then Chloe sealed the deal by smiling at me and saying, “But it can fly over two-hudred.”
See? Isn’t the future freakin’ great? I had a feeling that Dr. Atrium Sparks and I were going to get along just fine.
After we had found a suitably abandoned shack, Chloe decided that ditching our suits would be best done now rather than later, stating that we shouldn't push our luck. To which I replied that when someone was as awesome as I was, luck wasn't even a factor. To which she rolled her eyes at me.
After we'd got out of the suits and I had started jumping around like a loser with chattering teeth, Chloe went through the rooms in search of spoils. I was guessing the shack had once been a gas station of sorts then later someone had moved into it in its present mutilated state and had attempted to wall in a few sections for privacy.
It really didn't do much so I wasn't exactly going to give the future want-to-be contractor any points for his attempt. But hey, when life gives you lemons...
“In here,” Chloe called to me from one of the makeshift rooms. I waddled in, trying to keep my legs close together like I'd seen some penguins do in documentaries, thinking that this would help with the cold. It didn't, just so you know.
Being soaked with sweat had been fine in the S-16 but not so much in the bitter freezing elements of Flagstaff. Just how cold was it, anyway?
“It's only ten below,” Chloe told me after seeing my march of the penguins dance and somehow reading my mind. “Stop being such a wimp.” She said, waving at a trunk she'd found, “Let's see what we can find us to wear.”
I was shocked at how fruitful our search had been. Shocked and super thankful/grateful to the future want-to-be contractor who'd left the trunk filled with clothes.
Except he probably went out to grab some things one day and got a bullet in the head. That was more likely.
Once we'd finished pulling on the clothes we looked like a couple of mercenaries. The thick plain black shirts and pants weren't the snazziest apparel but the heavy dark red overcoats that reached to our knees were pretty much wicked. Thick, too. I swear it felt like I'd pulled on a little red cloud of awesome warmness.
Since Chloe hadn't sweated like an Egyptian slave in her suit, she didn't have to take off any soaked clothing like yours truly. I stripped down to my boxers, which were staying no matter how drenched they were, and pulled on the black pants, dropping my beloved Amosu on the floor, never to be picked up again.
Then I noticed Chloe looking at me.
“What?” I asked. “I'm not about to put on some dead dude's undies.” Since I seem to lack the general part of the brain that tells the mouth to stop while it’s ahead, I finished with, “Just be glad you got to see this much. I once dated a chic for eight months in college who never even saw my feet.”
I'm guessing she didn't think I could see her and, to be honest, I didn't see her at first. I mean, Jericho Johnson had just taken off his shirt in the
presence of a woman. Of course she was staring. And possibly even drooling like a blood-hound. Not sure because I wasn't close enough to tell.
Alright, I'm kidding. I mean, for a guy my age and build, you'd think I'd be a little more cut, you know? Sadly, I'm not. I don't look like someone in the last stage of leukemia, or anything, just not exactly built. How can I say this... Appealing yet not exactly hot? Does that make any sense? Well, I hope so because I've ran out of ways to explain myself to you.
“You're really tan for a guy who spends most of his time in a basement,” Chloe said.
And tan. Did I mention I had a nice tan going on for me?
Alright, I lied, again. What was actually said was, “Wow, but you're pale. Don't you ever leave that basement of yours?”
I don't exactly have a tan. Just saying.
“Says the milky-white Russian chic that lives on Lost Planet,” I shot back, pulling on my shirt. “I'm so glad you didn't have to take off too much 'cause I left my Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses back home...”
“Spare me the lecture on ridiculously priced eyewear, would you,” Chloe muttered.
“...that I got for a steal at just $300,000. Knew a guy who knocked off about $80,000,” I finished, not about to back down.
Chloe rolled her eyes, something that I’d been seeing her do a lot recently. Which I hated because I thought our relationship was starting to develop quite nicely.
Also, that chic I mentioned dating in college was real and so was the situation. She was a doozy. Can’t really remember her name.
I didn’t notice the patch on the right arm of our new coats until I saw Chloe pull on the red overcoat. “Please tell me there aren’t any Nazis left.”
Chloe blinked at me for a second before noticing me point to the Swastika on my sleeve. She frowned at hers before saying, “We did have a lot of stuff stolen from one of our museums below. I suppose whoever broke in must have stashed some of it here.”
“So,” I said, slinging my assault rifle on my back, “We’re not going to get lynched for wearing these?”
“Not at all,” she said, picking up her rifle. “If anything they’ll think we robbed the museum then we’ll get arrested.”
Try and get a good picture of us, if you can. Chloe looked halfway descent because all she really added to her black jumpsuit and heeled boots was the long rusty-red Nazi coat. I, on the other hand, looked like a coloring book in the same coat with my black Chuck's still on my feet.
Actually, I thought I looked pretty awesome but I didn't want to just start bragging again.
“Why’re we sneaking in, anyway?” I asked, “I mean, this is where you live, right? Can’t we just walk right up and knock on the door?”
I fell in step behind Chloe as we exited the hovel. “We can’t. Verde von Klaus has my father deep below the city so that’s where we’re going. Giving Klaus the glove would make everything my father has done obsolete.”
“But it’s to save his life,” I stated, “Not to point out the elephant in the room but I thought that we were going to hand it over, anyway. Regardless of what your old man thought.”
Chloe didn’t answer for a long time as we made our way through the abandoned streets. The snow had picked up since we left the hovel and I noticed the white flakes looked cool adorning the back of Chloe’s head, her jet black hair swaying back and forth while she walked.
“I’ve thought about it,” she said finally, making me have to remember what we’d even been talking about to start with. Oh yeah, handing the glove over.
“And you’ve decided against it?” I asked, glancing at the dead gauntlet I was wearing on my right hand.
“Yes.” Was all she said.
We walked on in more silence for a while before I asked, “Won’t Klaus be a little agitated if he finds out you’re double-crossing him?”
“Yes.”
“Like, kill us kind of agitated?”
“Yes.”
More silence as we trudged the white streets.
Oh, well. I suppose that if I did get killed by some crazy Russian billionaire then I could go out of this life knowing that I died while trying to help a wicked hot chic save her father’s life.
Yeah. Forget that crap. I wanted to live.
I was about to let Chloe know that maybe I could just go back to the hovel and wait it out with my gun when she said, “You don’t have to come, Jericho. There really isn’t a need for both of us to die if it comes to that.”
She had a point. No need for two people to die if one would be just as…
Hold up.
If I quit now, I’d look like more of a wimp than I would have if it had been my idea. But now it would just seem like Chloe was like, I don’t know, letting me out of my end of the deal…
Oh, yeah. I had kind of told her I’d help her save her dad, didn’t I?
I’m so glad that Chloe wasn’t able to hear all those thoughts I just told you about because they only lasted in reality around ten seconds, just enough time for me to say, “Whatever, woman. You know you’d be lost without me.”
And that was that.
Any thoughts you may have had about my throwing in the towel can be trashed, whoever-you-are, because Jericho Johnson is back, baby…
…except I hadn’t exactly went anywhere so…
Chapter 18