Legacy, page 10
Not a threat then – fear?
Yuri stepped away. ‘Come – I have something else to show you.’
Further along the boulevard, they came to a strip of derelict properties. There were no signs or hints of any kind as to what purposes they might once have served. The walls of the buildings were the lustreless metallic grey of naked spidersteel, but instead of the usual, perfectly smooth surface, they had instead a rough nodular texture of slightly different hue. It looked not unlike a scab covering a wound as it cut up through the corner of the building.
‘The sprites don’t make such a good job of their repairs as they do their original constructions. A bit like our own bodies, they cannot know the greater plan of what the building is supposed to look like, so they simply guess and patch it up as best they can.’
Jacob tentatively placed a hand on the damaged wall. ‘This is where the aircar crashed?’
‘Exactly – and…’ Yuri started retracing his steps, his eyes searching the neighbouring buildings. He stopped. ‘As best I can tell from your video, this is where the van crashed. And the protectionists were approaching from…’ He cast an arm back across the boulevard. ‘Over in that direction.’
‘So it wasn’t the van that exploded?’
‘No – there must have been another vehicle.’
‘Two crashes… It doesn’t sound much like an accident?’
‘It wasn’t. I enhanced the images of the “Protectionists” in your footage. One of them was carrying a missile launcher like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And whatever it was, it had to have been a very sophisticated… and restricted… piece of technology. Not the kind of thing that Protectionists usually carry in their inventory.’
Jacob had examined the video clips thoroughly and had also noted the tube-like device carried by one of them, but having never seen anything like it, he’d not considered that it might be a weapon. The guns were instantly recognisable as such, though they were also of an unfamiliar design. He asked Yuri about them.
‘Micro-fusion rifles,’ Yuri explained. ‘They’re AEREs corp.’
Jacob gawped at him, though he had no idea that his face was now showing a look of such abject surprise. ‘What would they be doing with AEREs tech?’
Yuri looked at him with something that could have been mistaken for sympathy. But Jacob was neither innocent nor naïve, and the reasons Yuri gave were no different from those that had already occurred to him. ‘I can think of two reasons,’ he said. ‘Either they were Protectionists, and the rumours about the WMC stealing tech happen to be true, or they weren’t Protectionists at all…’
‘Imposters?’
‘They were wearing body armour… so who could tell?’ Yuri shrugged. ‘I think it is perhaps the only logical explanation. But what were they doing in The Capitol?’
14
‘Thirteen slips! Eight days in The Junk and all we get for it is a pissing thirteen slips apiece!’ Scar slapped a few badly soiled pieces of paper onto the bedside dresser. Tammy was lying on the bed with her hands and ankles roped securely to the frame. He gave her a baleful stare. ‘God help me, you’d better bring me more than thirteen slips or...’ He didn’t elaborate. He just screwed his hand around the tatty bits of paper, crumpling them in his fist, and then discarded them in disgust. ‘I’m going out. See if I can’t find us a buyer.’
He marched towards the door and flung it open.
‘And get her to clean herself up. We won’t get much for her if she looks like that. You can find her something more presentable to wear in the saddlebags.’ He pointed to the bags on the floor. ‘And keep your hands off the merchandise. We won’t get anything for soiled goods.’
He slammed the door behind him.
‘You heard him. I’m not much good to you like this.’ Tammy’s words were filled with loathing. Dog’s hands had wandered freely as he’d lashed her to the bed. He’d pressed right up against her so that she could feel him stiffening against her thigh. She’d tried to fight back, raking her fingernails across his face to leave the three scarlet lines that now ran down his cheek. But Dog was stronger than she’d anticipated, and he’d quickly wrestled her into submission.
Dog drew the knife from his belt, and turning it over in his hands, he eyed her with a dark expression on his face. ‘Keep singing little canary and I might just gut you…’ He sat on the mattress next to her head and clamped his hand down over her mouth. Then, placing the tip of the knife just beneath her left breast, he held it there for a moment, applying just enough pressure for her to feel it cutting against her skin. He grinned, and turning the blade flat, he slipped the point beneath the upper two buttons of her blouse and drew it upwards, cutting them free.
As the last button came away, he slipped his other hand between the parted edges and up over her breast, and squeezed, his breath quickening. The edge of his knife now rested up beneath her jaw, stifling any protest. He then dropped it again, between her wrists and cut her bonds.
‘Get off me you bastard!’ said Tammy, slapping him just as soon as her hands were free.
Dog snarled and grabbed her by the hair. Slamming her back into the pillow, he brought his knife back to her throat. ‘Go on – I dare you!’ he said, showering her with flecks of spittle.
‘I won’t be worth anything to you dead,’ she wheezed.
‘And suppose I don’t care!’
‘I’m sure your friend will.’
Dog released his grip. ‘Try that again and I will kill you.’ He backed up, leaving her to untie her own ankles.
Having freed herself, Tammy retreated to the bathroom, keeping a wary eye on him as she did so.
She pulled the door shut behind her, while cursing the absence of a lock, though she doubted that the door would have stood up to much, had Dog decided to make an entrance.
The bathroom was rudimentary. It had a sink, a bath, and a toilet, all made of tarnished metal and gilded with a few tatters of white paint. She approached the bath and turned on the taps. They sputtered, then spewed out streams of tainted brown water. She tested it warily with her hand and discovered that, despite its thin colouration, it did not leave a stain or otherwise defile her skin.
Having left the bath to fill, she started peeling off her clothes. The mirror above the sink showed a new and leaner woman, with hollows for cheeks and an angry red complexion where the harsh chemical mists had burned her skin. Velvety grey hairs sprouted from her hips and shoulders. They were lighter than she was used to, and dappled with patches of darker brown. The flaming orange locks on her head had also suffered, having become like trampled autumn leaves; yellow, russet, and brown, depending on how thickly matted in dust they were. She cringed as she ran her fingers between them, until her fingertips discovered a nub of bone protruding behind her ear.
Her heart was pounding.
Cancer – so soon! Without the permanency drug, the transplanted tissues had begun to mutate.
But why there? They’d transplanted the biomimetic gels into her heart and lungs. Not into her skull…
Feeling sick with anticipation, she trembled as she inspected the rest of her scalp. There was another nub of bone behind her other ear; a short corniform stub as long as her thumb from knuckle to tip. It was some kind of horn. A reminder of this descent into Hell? She shuddered.
And Dog had the drug!
She’d almost forgotten about it.
She needed it.
If it wasn’t already too late…
The water steamed hotly in the bath.
She got in, hoping that the hot water would perhaps scour away the memory of Dog’s filthy, calloused hands.
*******
‘What are you doing in there?’
The water had cooled…
Tammy had been dozing.
It had been days since she’d last slept properly.
Dog growled impatiently. ‘I’m coming in!’
‘No – I’m fine. Just finishing...’ Clambering to her feet, she sent water sloshing noisily. She hopped out of the bath, grabbing the one and only towel from the rail as she did so.
The door flew open and Dog burst into the room. The towel covered very little. He gawped at her. He had his knife in hand, but at the sight of her half-naked body, he hesitated.
He placed his knife on the narrow shelf beneath the mirror.
Then, thrusting out one hand, he tore the towel from her grip while the other fumbled for the clasp of his belt.
‘Don’t do it,’ Tammy warned. ‘Scar doesn’t want you messing with the merchandise remember.’
‘Bollocks to Scar. Let’s hear you sing little songbird.’
Tammy tensed. The cryogens in her blood had been dwindling, leaving her with a feeling of renewed vitality. Her body felt as if it had been tuned in ways she could not imagine. Her senses dissected every sight and smell, and her muscles resonated with energy.
Transferring her weight onto the balls of her feet, she exploded forward, bringing her knee up into his crotch and both fists up under his chin.
As he reeled backward, she snatched up the knife and plunged it between his ribs.
Dog gasped.
Doubling forward, he slumped to the floor, blood pouring from what could only have been a mortal wound.
Tammy stepped back, horrified by what she’d done. When Scar discovered the body, he would kill her.
She checked Dog’s pockets and was relieved to find that the dermaspray was present and undamaged. She administered the dose immediately and discarded the spent device on the floor. Then, stepping around the body, she entered the bedroom. Scar had deposited his saddlebags next to the bed. She discovered the blouse, pants, and the mismatched underwear he’d promised inside. Though the clothes were far from pristine, they were a significant improvement on the ones she’d been wearing.
She changed quickly.
Dog’s trench coat lay next to the bed. Overcoming her distaste for its former owner, she pulled it on. The weather outside promised to be wet and cold, and besides – it might help conceal her from those who’d seen her come in?
The bags had also contained a selection of vegetables, bread, and pieces of meat wrapped in paper, and a flask of water. She threw out the meat but kept the bread, flask, and a selection of vegetables that could be eaten raw. Then, having pocketed the thirteen slips Scar had abandoned in disgust, she opened the door and gingerly checked up and down the hallway.
Sounds of drunken carousing wafted up from the bar downstairs.
With luck, the majority of the bar’s patrons would have been too drunk to recognise her. Nevertheless, given the option, she would not have wished to risk her freedom on such a random chance, and besides, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t run into Scar, returning from whatever deal he’d been trying to arrange.
A fire-escape at the far end of the hallway promised salvation.
She slipped into the hallway and silently padded towards it.
Then froze… having been startled by a sudden burst of raucous laughter.
The sounds had come from the bar.
Having taken a moment to confirm that no one had overheard her confrontation with dog, she continued to the fire-escape and made her exit… down the ladder and onto the street… past a pair of glassy-eyed youths insensible on whatever drug they’d been smoking.
Then, keeping the lake on her right-hand side, she followed what passed for a road north towards the rim. She had no idea where she was going, just the desire to put as much distance between herself and the ruins of Old Chicago as possible.
And when the first shouts of outrage exploded behind her, sending curses like shrapnel into the night sky, she doubled her pace. Her strides seemed effortless, her energy unbounded, and she was soon well ahead of the hubbub. The blood burned hotly in her muscles and the breath flowed easily through her lungs.
Three men stood huddled around a glowing brazier ahead of her. Though they were still some distance away, she was surprised to find that she could discern the smell of wood-smoke and dank soiled clothes as if standing next to them.
Forewarned, she ducked out of sight amongst the ruins, her feet barely whispers on the ground as she ran towards them using the broken walls for cover. Then, breaking into the open at the last moment, she launched herself up the sloping bank that had been sheltering the men from the wind and rain, and sailed into the air above their heads, assailed by a biting cloud of wood-smoke and embers.
Landing deftly on the other side, she carried on running, and didn’t stop until the limits of Old Chicago were a memory behind her.
15
Jericho…
Antoine’s words compelled him.
The imperative burned in his brain.
Bring her back to me.
There was a blinding flash of pain behind his eyes; a fist tightening about his temples.
He steadied himself against the tunnel wall: a cold, dry, dusty wall, deep within the roots of New Chicago. The subdued half-light was just adequate – a small mercy when it came to the migraines.
He took a bottle of painkillers from his pocket and poured a confectioner’s assortment of pills and capsules into his hand. He took two of the red ones along with one of the green and yellow capsules and replaced the rest. The reds could subdue a horse and the green and yellow capsules were stronger still. He couldn’t remember the names. He didn’t care, just as long as they took away the pain.
He found the filter mask and jacket bundled behind the pipes, just inside the doorway, where he had left them upon first entering the city. He was surprised to see that no one had taken them.
He put them on, careful to ensure that no piece of skin remained uncovered, then opened the door. It was stiff, having been gummed into place by the lichenous residues that had grown back to consume it, nevertheless, after a few efforts they had fallen away in flakes of yellow and orange – like the moultings from a diseased scalp.
Cursing, he started back towards the sprawl, stopping every few kilometres to pop more pills or sleep off their side-effects. He resented Tammy for bringing him back to this surreal landscape of pastel lights and misty vapours.
Upon reaching his destination, he made his way straight towards The Wayfarer Inn. If he’d not been so dulled with drugs, he might have avoided the place. It had not gone so well the last time he was here. A fight had broken out when a number of the establishment’s patrons had questioned his luck at cards, and a few of them had ended up dead.
The proprietor was a greasy unwashed slob of a man, massively overweight, and with one of those guts that poked out between his shirt and belt line. He didn’t seem to recognise Elijah, who had been reduced to a gaunt and wasted spectre through the ravages of drugs and cancer.
He found a table in one of the darker corners of the room and sat down.
‘Can I get you something?’
Elijah did not recognise the girl. Once upon a time, he’d have recognised every girl here – intimately. But this one was new. She was young – barely seventeen – though her manner aged her by many years. Her hair was long and black, and unlike many of the bodies hereabouts, it smelled fragrantly of soap and water.
‘Get me an amber. And don’t cheat on the measures,’ he said, ordering a glass of the local honey-sweetened moonshine. He withdrew a handful of slips from his pocket. They’d not been touched since his last visit here. He put three on the table. ‘And something to eat… Whatever’s new on the menu.’ He knew from past experience that only the newest dishes were freshly prepared.
‘You know for two Slips more I could get you something for dessert…’ she said salaciously.
‘Not today,’ he assured her, without even a hint of regret.
The girl pocketed the pieces of paper and withdrew to the bar.
He was dismayed to see the inn’s obese proprietor returning with his drink. Perhaps the girl had imagined she’d have better luck elsewhere. The man’s son walked just a few steps behind his shoulder. He was barely twenty years of age and rakishly thin –
quite the contrast to his father’s generous proportions, though he still retained the family’s not-so-good looks.
The proprietor slammed the glass of amber down on the table. ‘I know you.’
Elijah reached for his drink.
‘The man placed one of his sweaty hands over the mouth of the glass, holding it firmly against the table. ‘You haven’t paid for this yet.’
‘I beg to disagree.’
‘Three slips don’t cover the damage you done last time you were here. And I hear Tighes’s none too happy with you either. Perhaps I should give him a heads up to the fact that you’re back in town. Killed two of his friends last time you were here...’
‘They had it coming,’ Elijah replied, baring his teeth.
‘No… From what I hear – you’s the one who had it coming.’
Elijah scowled at the foul slob of a man. ‘Give me the drink – I’m not in the mood!’
‘Not until I receive what’s coming to me. I think twenty slips should cover it... And perhaps another two in gratitude for my being so amiable?’
Elijah kicked back his chair and was on his feet, gun in hand, before it hit the floor. One hand went up behind the fat man’s neck to stop him backing away as the other shoved the barrel of his Glock e-mag pistol firmly into the flabby folds of the man’s belly. ‘Just one more word I don’t like, and I’ll splatter your guts about this room.’
The boy hesitated, uncertain which – his father or the gun – posed the greatest threat.
‘And I suggest you just take a seat son,’ said Elijah. It was more of a threat than a suggestion
The scrawny young man obliged.
‘Good. Now I’m going to tell you why I’m here. And once I get what I want, I’m going to walk out of here – untouched – you hear?’
The proprietor nodded.
‘I’m looking for a girl – a redhead. She’s not from around here, and I’m wondering if you’ve seen her?’
