The Supernaturalist Read Online Free

no-sponsors are armed and have already fired cellophane slugs. Can you imagine the lawsuit Clarissa Frayne will be looking at if they wrap a civilian?’
    Fred did not answer for a few moments. Doubtless checking protocol in the security manual.
    ‘OΚ, Redwood. Maybe you could knock them around a bit first; that way we get to test some of the new pharmaceuticals.’
    That was typical of the Institute, always looking for the upside. A new batch of synthetic skin had just come in, but they needed people with wounds to test it.
    Redwood hid the throw-down rod inside his jacket.
    ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
    In the restaurant, patrons were escaping through a side door. Not that they were guilty of anything, but nobody wanted to spend their evening answering questions from private security, state police, insurance agents and lawyers.
    When Redwood clambered through the remains of the escape hatch, people instinctively stepped out of his way. With the marshal’s fierce eyes and pulped mass of a face, it did not seem wise to obstruct him.
    For a man in pursuit of fugitives, Redwood did not seem overly eager, or even anxious. And why wouldhe be? Though the no-sponsors were not aware of it, escape was impossible. Every move they made was being tracked. And these were not the kind of trackers that could be discarded. They were in every pore. Whenever the no-sponsors took a shower, their skin was coated with microbeads of an electronegative halogen solution, which would show up on the Clarissa Frayne scanner. Even if the orphans stopped taking showers, the solution would take months to wear off.
    Redwood keyed the talk button on his communicator.
    ‘Fred. Send the
Hill, C
and
Murphy, F
tracker patterns to my handset.’
    Fred cleared his throat into the mike. ‘Uh… the tracker patterns?’
    Redwood ground his teeth. ‘Dammit, Fred, is Bruce there? Put Bruce on.’
    ‘Bruce got called out for a little situation in D Block. I’m all on my lonesome here.’
    ‘OΚ, Fred. Listen to me carefully. Punch up Cosmo and Ziplock on the tracker file, then e-mail their patterns to my handset. Use the e-mail icon. My number is right there under personnel. All you have to do is drag and drop the folders. Got it?’
    Fred wiped his sweating brow. Over the radio it sounded like sandpaper on soft wood.
    ‘I got it. Drag the folders. No problem. Here they come.’
    ‘They better be coming. Or I’m coming for you.’
    It was Redwood’s habit to turn statements into threats. In sim-coffee shops he was known to say,
It better be hot, or I’ll make it hot for you.
Redwood thought this was extremely clever.
    Five seconds later, two moving icons appeared on the small screen on Redwood’s communicator, placing the fugitives on a fire escape outside the building. Going up too, the idiots. What were they going to do? Fly off the roof?
    Redwood grinned, the action bringing tears of pain to his eyes.
    Fly off the roof. That wasn’t such a bad idea.
    In Satellite City, raindrops could take a person’s eye out if he was foolish enough to look up during a storm. Reaction with certain toxic fumes caused the water molecules to bond more efficiently until they fell to earth like missiles. Traditional umbrellas were no longer sufficient, and new rigid plastic models were becoming popular in the Big Pig.
    Ziplock and Cosmo did not have the luxury of umbrellas to help them through the current downpour, and had to make do with keeping their eyes down and shoulders hunched. Raindrops battered their necks and backs, but the boys were so cold that they barely felt any pain.
    Ziplock was thrown against the fire escape bars by a flurry of drops.
    ‘I can see the city. I always wanted to see the city without shackles on my wrist. Maybe we can do that soon, Cosmo. Just walk around without shackles.’
    Cosmo saved his energy for flight. The roof was still one floor up. After that they were banking on good fortune. Maybe they could make the jump to the next