The Red Light Princess by James Bodden

Author:James Bodden [Bodden, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montag Press
Published: 2015-01-06T11:00:00+00:00

A magnetic pulse blasts from my launchers. The wave scatters through the atmosphere. It measures the distance between the buildings, gives me a sense of the obstacles and traffic conditions: a spatial schematic of the jump to the next roof.

I dive off and barely make it to the other side. My body half hangs from the edge of the building. I pull myself over and get back on my feet.

I work a light sweat, trotting past the exhaust vents on the roof. My rattail beats behind me. The obstacles keep me sharp. I sidestep a couple of firework stands, break through a prayer circle of nuns with my elbows.

I’m after him, moving quickly and gaining ground. My needs are basic: pouncing on my catch and having my fill. The hunt keeps me going. It’s all about the chase. I have to forget everything else, zero in and track the preacher down.

The thrill of the chase brings out something primal in me. My hairs stand up. I don’t want to look back. All there is lays in front of me. I’m single-minded; move forward, keep going, one foot in front of the other.

Hannibal free jumps bareback. He’s clean. The preacher’s got nothing on him. No magnetic perception implants, augmentations, hydraulic-stilts or gliders. The old man flies on a prayer. That fucker is fearless.

He dives into a spider web of skywalks ten stories down. I jump right after him.

My heart beats against my ribcage. I swoop down, coming up behind him.

Electric prickles spark at my nerve endings. Senses heightened, I can smell the trail of his sweat in the air, almost taste the salt off his skin. My mouth sops with saliva. Hunger has set in.

I reach out and catch his tunic. Luck is with me. He’s in my grip.

Hannibal turns around and bashes his head against mine. I jerk back but manage to keep my hold on his tunic. We drop fast and whirl out of control.

We crash-land on a skywalk and roll around on the deck. I kick-start my crampons and stab the spikes into his leg, slicing deep into the muscle.

The preacher falls back. A flap of meat hangs from his calf. He grips at the sliver and tears it off.

Hannibal tosses the piece of meat over the rails, “You think you’re on the prowl, little cub? But you got it all wrong. I’m not your dinner. You have it the other way around. Beat it and run back to your pack mama’s side. We will have our moment, you and I.”

I’m supposed to be the one on the chase here, tracking down my catch. But it doesn’t feel like it. We’re finally face-to-face, and all I can do is freeze. A deer in the headlights, hypnotized by the lights. I suddenly realize he’s right. I’m not the hunter here at all.

“We need to talk,” I pull back my hood.

“You don’t look like a man-eater.” His milky eyes look me up and down. “But you’ve sure tasted the flesh.”

“Come with me.

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