Shadowrun - 29 - Blood Sport by Smedman Lisa

Author:Smedman, Lisa [Smedman, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

14

If I’d thought that Aztechnology Security Corporation maintained a heavy presence in Tenochtitlán, compared to Izamal, they’d been discreet.

Izamal is a town of about fifteen thousand people—it used to be larger, but the VITAS epidemic had hit it pretty hard, and it never really recovered. It’s smack in the middle of the Yucatán and used to be dependent upon the tourist trade before the rebellion heated up. Now the streets are filled with soldiers, patrolling in jeeps, standing guard outside key buildings, watching everyone who goes by.

We reached Izamal about three hours after our meeting with Soñador, and it was already getting dark. The motorcycle was loud—its muffler was strictly decorative after the confrontation at the checkpoint. Exhaust poured through the bullet holes in it, making it roar like a tank. Soldiers gave us surly looks as we roared past, and I prayed that they wouldn’t stop us, just out of spite.

Several of the buildings in Izamal bore telltale pockmarks where bullets had struck their pastel-painted walls. Citizens scurried along the sidewalks, heads down to avoid making eye contact with the patrolling soldiers. In one jeep we passed, a cage in the back held a bird as big as a human, with a nasty-looking beak and lashing tail. I’d never seen a cockatrice before—it looked like an oversized rooster. Magically active, the bird could paralyze with a flick of its tail. I should have guessed that the Azzie troops would be making use of Awakened beings.

We were looking for a hotel or posada—somewhere to spend the night. But everyone seemed to be closing up shop. Merchants rolled down and padlocked the corrugated metal doors that fronted their stores, apartment block residents swung heavy wooden doors shut, and windows were being shuttered against the night. Hotels were few and far between, and those we did pass had “Closed” signs hanging in their windows.

As the gloom deepened, a helicopter gunship flew low overhead. A speaker mounted on the belly of it blared a warning down to the streets below. “Atención! Atención! Curfew will be in effect in fifteen minutes. Clear the street, por favor. Please clear the streets.”

I tapped Rafael on the shoulder and shouted in his ear. “We’re fragged if we don’t find somewhere to doss down soon.”

He let the motorcycle glide to a halt at an intersection. The building beside us had been painted a pastel pink with green trim around the doors. Graffiti splashed across it in red paint showed through a patch of whitewash that had been unsuccessful in covering it up. “Cristeros!” it proclaimed. I wondered who Christ’s warriors might be.

“Do you want to try and get out of town?” he shouted back over the muffler roar.

“We’d never make it.” I glanced over at two soldiers who had pulled up beside us in their jeep. Both were well-armored, and the one in the passenger seat wore night-vision goggles and carried a lethal-looking assault rifle. I made the mistake of flashing him what I’d intended as a reassuring smile.

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