Atomic Underworld: Part One by Jack Conner

foul. He plowed into the fog, hoping it would hide him from
his pursuers. Another gunshot rang out, but he didn’t know where the round
went. The sound of the other boat’s engine grew even louder, a beehive
screaming in his ears.
    Through
the fog a cluster of lights materialized. He aimed for it.
    The
lights drew closer, closer ...
    A
dark shape ahead. He saw a boat, figures hunched over the gunwales, lines
leading into the water. Early risers. Fishermen eager for a nighttime haul,
when the big fish were about. Such creatures were dangerous, but lucrative.
Even as Tavlin watched, one of the mutants cried out, his line jerked, and the
two others in the boat leapt to assist him before his catch could drag him
overboard.
    Despite
the severity of their situation, they glanced up in startlement as Tavlin roared in out of the fog, and he could only imagine the taut
expression on his face.
    Another
gunshot cracked behind him. Fire lanced up his left arm, and he thought he
cried out but wasn’t sure. Ignoring the pain, he steered around the fishermen
who were directly in his path.
    Still
watching him, they clung onto the hooked line, but at the sound of another
gunshot one of them dove down and came up with a shotgun, probably used as a
last resort to subdue any catch that threatened to eat them or capsize them.
Tavlin ducked even further down, but the fisherman didn’t aim at him but at the
boat that must be behind him, just an approaching shadow in the fog.
    Tavlin
raced toward the docks, which he could see now, a line of shabby wooden peers
and juts, boats bobbing in the vague swells, mist coiling between them.
Alchemical lamps of glowing red helped drive back the stink of the sewers. A
few guards strolled along the docks, paid by the city to prevent boat-theft.
Something about the city beyond told Tavlin this wasn’t Muscud. Its towers were
too tall, too thick. Lights strung from them stretched all the way up to the
cistern ceiling, nestled between stalactites limned in red light.
    Tavlin
reached the docks just as the shotgun roared behind him. More gunshots split
the silence. The shotgun boomed again. He heard cursing, a grunt, a splash,
more shots, then silence save for the motor of the boat growing louder. Damn .
    He
clambered onto the docks, blood cascading down his arm. Rotten wood groaned
under his heel. One of the guards rushed over clutching at his sidearm. He was
a stocky, thick- chested fellow with a crest on his
head and gills on his neck.
    “Hold
there! Hold !”
    Tavlin
ignored him and bent over the boat to retrieve the suitcase. When he came up,
the guard was pointing a gun at his chest, perhaps fearing he’d gone for a
weapon.
    “Stop
right there!”
    Tavlin
stabbed a finger toward the open water with the hand not holding the briefcase.
At the motion, the guard flinched, and Tavlin half-thought he would shoot him,
but the blast didn’t come.
    “Hear
that?” Tavlin said, meaning the sound of the approaching boat.
    The
guard cocked an ear. The other three guards were rushing over, too. Likely they
had all heard the gunshots.
    “They’re
armed,” Tavlin said. “They tried to mug me in the passages. I came here from
Muscud.”
    The
guard glanced him over, suddenly realizing he wasn’t a mutant. “You live
Muscud-way?”
    Time
to use his ace in the hole. “I work for Boss Vassas. He’ll vouch for me.
Listen, there’s no time. Those bastards just killed three of your fishermen,
and they’re coming for me next.”
    But,
as soon as he said it, he realized it wasn’t true. The sound of the engine was
fading now, not growing.
    “They
must have seen you,” he said, to the congregation of guards. The first guard
exchanged glances with the others.
    “Boss
Vassas, huh?” said one.
    “That’s
right.”
    “Three?”
said another. He appeared pained.
    “That’s
right.” Tavlin wished he’d had the presence of mind to throw his gun overboard.
When they searched the boat they would find it, and it