Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis

A Division of
Whampa, LLC
P.O. Box 2160
Reston, VA 20195
Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509
http://curiosityquills.com

© 2014
Matthew Cox
http://www.matthewcoxbooks.com

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at
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, or visit
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ISBN 978-1-62007-602-6 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-62007-603-3 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-62007-604-0 (hardcover)

1. Start Reading
   
2. A Taste of
   Caller 107
   , by
   Matthew Cox
   
3. About the Author
   
4. More Books from
   Curiosity Quills Press
   
5. Full Table of Contents
   

minous shadows hung in windows, squares of infinity amid flashing chaos. A vibrating nimbus of red and blue glowed upon the face of a freestanding house, perhaps white during the day. Two Division 1 patrol craft and a MedVan sat at the edge of a cul-de-sac, invading the lawn. Kirsten guided the hovercar to a landing just behind the blue-and-whites. The cobalt blue of her bar lights added to the veneer of color on the house, turning it purple in snap flashes. Cold air brought a creaking groan from the wheels as its mass settled in. Her breath frosted as she climbed out of the car, squinting at suburban houses offering a glimpse of the pre-war world.

If not for the paranoia of the Badlands and what dwelled there, only the rich would live at the northeast edge of West City. As it were, bioengineered horrors and rogue cyborgs were expected; what had befallen this house, no one believed. This far into the northeastern edge of the sector map, her Division 0 blacks were far too thin for comfort. She glanced at her left armband display: thirty-six degrees Fahrenheit. The two innocuous digits made the wind on her thighs feel colder. Kirsten let go of the door, which sank closed behind her, taking a step as she surveyed the scene. Dorian coalesced at her side.

This two-story dwelling built on actual ground lay far north of the line where the city plates stopped. At least with the ever-present danger of Badlands wanderers, there were no street gangs. Humanity’s need for violence channeled itself out in local militias, non-governmental groups who patrolled the border against whatever might wander in.

“Funny how that works,” said Dorian. Kirsten lifted an eyebrow, lips parting as if to ask. “In Badlands towns; they man the walls with guns. We’re not as far removed as we think.”

She exhaled into her hands, trying to feel her fingers. The house pulled her gaze away from the northeast. “Nice houses, though, except for that one.”

Distant wails of a panicking child joined the trace of a howl in the air. The windows darkened as if something did not want her to see inside.

The house
stared
at her

One patrol officer at the end of a walkway leading to the front door assisted a disheveled woman in a plain white sleep suit. Amid the dusk, the fabric appeared to glow azure as it reflected the emergency lights. The effect left its wearer looking apparitional, the exposed dark skin below her elbows and knees faded into the night. Kirsten calmed, realizing she did not stare at a disembodied torso; it was a trick of the light. Little, bloody handprints walked among droplets soaked into her chest. A tiny square of light crept over her face, revealing jagged scratches on her cheek. The medtech at her side maneuvered a hand-held device over one such rip, repairing them one at a time.

Kirsten approached, with one hand on her stunrod to keep it from tapping her thigh. The woman continued pleading in Spanish: with the police, with God, with nothing in particular, for an explanation of why her daughter went crazy. The patrol officer’s confidence shrank as soon as he saw Kirsten’s black uniform.

“What’s the situation?” Kirsten switched to Spanish. “Calm down, ma’am. I am here to help.”

“Got a juvenile female, age six, in the MedVan. The techs are checking her out now, looks like she flipped out and did a number on her mother’s face.”

The woman gathered herself, answering in English. “Something’s gotten into my daughter, Maia. I don’t think the police can help us. Are you a priest?”

Kirsten glanced at the house. “Priests can’t help anyone. Can you tell me what happened?”

“We moved here a few weeks ago to get away from the city. Maia right away started fussing. Whenever we were inside the house, she was quiet, moody, and later, angry. Outside, she was happy like she normally is. The bad dreams started the first night. These past weeks, she has gotten worse every night. Tonight, she woke up screaming and ran out of the house.” The woman pointed in the direction of the road. “She went down the street; I found her in a neighbor’s yard. When I tried to take her inside, the crazy took her.”

“Kid went ballistic, kicking and slapping. She scratched her mother’s face bloody to get away. She did
not
want to go back in that house.” The officer gestured with his head toward the MedVan. “The kid seems calm now; the medtechs were going to sedate her. Seems like she’s able to keep it together as long as no one tries to bring her close to the house. All the brain scans came back clean. Kid just keeps yelling ‘El diablo está ahí.’ That’s why we called you in.”

The mother pointed at the last of the scratches, vanishing under the creeping light. When the last of it sealed, the medtech squeezed the handle of the toothbrush-sized wand and the glowing light at the narrow end went dark. He twirled it over his finger and clipped it to his belt, dabbed the woman’s cheek clean with a sterile cloth, and walked off toward the glittering white hover-van emblazoned with a red cross.

“Officer, stay with her, don’t let anyone go inside. I’m going to see what the child remembers.”

Kirsten jogged after the medtech, trying to get some heat back in her limbs. The rear doors of the flying ambulance hung open, the interior flooded with stark light from LED bulbs. Another Division 1 officer and a medtech flanked a thin girl. Streaks of blood, grass, and dirt stained her pink nightgown. One bare shoulder peeked out from where the garment ripped during her struggle to flee her mother’s grasp. She kicked her feet idly while a tech tended to her left hand. As Kirsten climbed in, the child looked at her, all innocence. Thick brown hair, long enough to touch the gurney, slipped off her shoulder. A small, rubberized thimble sat over one finger, connected by thin tubes to a device mounted in the wall.

“Agent Wren, Division 0. Is she okay?”

Maia looked down, leaned back, and sniffled. Her eyes reddened as a faint tremble manifested. Being stuck between a wall and three adults seemed to frighten her. The medtech, a short, stocky woman with a touch of grey in her hair, smiled as she continued to remove bits of skin and blood from under the child’s fingernails.

“This lady will make the bad spirit go away. She’s a special kind of cop.” The tech spoke in soothing Spanish as she removed the finger shroud, appraising a shiny new nail.

“Was she hurt?” Kirsten reached over and tugged the blanket tighter around the child.

“She detached two fingernails and broke a toe. Nothing I can’t fix,” said the tech, winking.

Dorian came through the wall behind Kirsten. “There is definitely something in that house. As soon as I went through the wall, I started getting pissed, wanted to kill someone.”

She turned. “Think you can hold it together, or should I go in alone?”

“Well, if it’s what I think it is, it turns inner darkness outward. I don’t think it will do a damn thing to you.” Dorian winked. “You’re packed full of fluffy white bunnies.”

Kirsten rolled her eyes.

“All you Zeroes talk to yourselves?” The Division 1 officer waved a hand over Kirsten’s face.

“My partner’s right there.”

The patrolman stumbled into the gurney; Maia grabbed the cushion to steady herself.

Kirsten squatted in front of the girl and took her hand, mimicking the medic’s calming Spanish. “Hello, Maia. I’m Kirsten. I am going to get the bad thing out of your house. No one will make you go back inside until it’s gone. Can you tell me what you saw?”