Snake Eyes

Eventually, she managed to pull the door closed behind her but it seemed to be at great cost to herself. Johnson could see on the monitor, now half obscured by a thick rope of greenery, that there was blood coming from her mouth. In closing the door she’d severed many major limbs of the vine and inside the security chamber there was a flurry of movement. The chamber seemed to hold a particularly dense collection of vine limbs; possibly where the roots of this particular vine had taken hold. Cut tendrils and healthy ones slapped at her and began to take hold.

She managed to wrench the safe open and pull out her gun and a blade. It was the start of a battle. Even through the solidity of the reinforced door, Johnson could hear the muffled reports of each shot she fired. On the monitor the image turned white each time she pulled the trigger. Human and plant limbs flailed together. In her hand she swung a switchblade in every direction, hacking and stabbing at the vine. When the larger limbs tried to take hold of her she fired into them, splitting them. Fluid began to spatter the camera; he couldn’t tell if it was blood or sap. For every vine she cut or destroyed with a bullet, more seemed to grow from the walls and ceiling, one even unfurled from the safe.

There was no way she was going to make it and no way he was going to open the door to her even though, for some inexplicable reason, Johnson felt he owed it to her.

He sat down in the centre of the room away from the walls, on his couch. No more shots came from the security chamber. From this distance he could only see vague movements on the screen.

“Phone JHD.” He said.

He heard the connection and a ringing tone.

“This is the Justice and Harmony Department of Tier Two. How may we assist you today?”

“Put me through to Beckeridge, please. This is urgent, it’s Officer Johnson.”

It was a long wait. On the tiny screen by the door all movement had ceased.

“What the hell do you want, Johnson? You’ve got some nerve calling me.”

“I need you to pull me out, sir. I’ve got two dead lowlifes in here and the place is crawling with weed.”

“You’re wasting police time. That’s an offence, or had you forgotten already?”

“Sir, I need evac and reassignment immediately. I’ve been identified.”

“What are you talking about Johnson? We fired you months ago.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been off the force for three months. You never made it past day one on the outside. You couldn’t cope with the adjustment from the psych endurance test. Weaver tried to persuade you to come in but she said you got violent, tried to rape her. We canned you right there.”

“But sir, I’ve been working my contacts hard and now they’ve figured it out. These two came here to kill me. They know I’ve been turning Sooth dealers in to you.”

“You didn’t make a single bust, Johnson.” Beckeridge was laughing. “All you did was get high. For all I know you’re high right now, hallucinating this whole thing. You certainly hallucinated your involvement in JHD business.”

The weight of Beckeridge’s words sank onto Johnson’s shoulders like wet concrete. He covered his face with one hand.

“Johnson, you still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I liked you. You almost made a good drug squad officer but almost isn’t enough. Don’t be calling here again.”

The line went dead. The only sound in the apartment was the damp rustle of the vines as they sucked Fury dry.

Johnson went to the bedroom to retrieve his tube of Sooth from under the mattress. In it he found two Saturns left. He had no recollection of using the others; maybe Beckeridge was right. He took one Saturn, pushed the pill out and placed the disc into his viewer. It took him a long time to come up with a good thought before he placed the pill on his tongue. There was no whisky left so he let it dissolve and swallowed its bitterness as the mesh of plant life grew stronger all around him.

“Play.”

Chapter 22

With Fury and Elina digested by the weed, Johnson knew it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for them. All his Sooth was gone. He wanted more, even though he couldn’t account for most of the Saturns. There was no Mist left in the apartment either; not even a Beat cap. It meant he would have to hit the streets again.

In the bathroom, he checked his appearance in the mirror. When he didn’t recognise his own face, a tear slipped from the outer corner of his right eye. It travelled from his skin onto the flattened meadow of black hair that was his beard. There it glistened before sinking and disappearing. The beard was full and he could not remember the last shave he’d had. It looked to Johnson as though he had never shaved.