Fletcher (13 page)

I suddenly remembered why I’d gotten involved in the first place: I couldn’t find him. Sixteen corpses. None of them was the boy. I searched the area, hoping he had run away to hide, but there was no such luck. I drew my hunt out as long as I dared, but I knew it wouldn’t be long until others felt safe to investigate the fight. I spoke out loud, to the night.

“If you can hear this... If you can hear this, don’t run from me. I won’t hurt you.”

Nothing. I donned my coat, feeling the breeze through a few more holes, and stalked off into the darkness. The bodies belonged to the gutterage now.

***

I woke to the sounds of a plane above me. It sounded like the same one from yesterday. I wondered who was flying people in and out, and why. Understandably, most airports worldwide had been taken out when they started offering free rides to haemorrhagic viruses. Those with private fields made a killing transporting the rich where they needed to go.

I snaked out of my bed to get to my clothes. The bandages, freshly wrapped before I had retired for the night, had soaked through. My pillows were smeared with red.

Vincent would have made an off-colour comment about that time of the month. I wondered what he was currently doing. My archive had been downloaded by one source, so he was probably spending his time trawling through the data. That, or murdering threats to national security. He wasn’t exactly strapped for choice.

I peeled the bandages off and threw everything into a washing machine. I find that a cold rinse is best for bloodstains. I bit my lip and disinfected the lacerations with alcohol. A large slice of skin peeled back from my left arm, revealing muscle. I hadn’t realized how hard the dive had been until the adrenaline wore off. I re-dressed my injuries after soaking the new wraps in surgical spirits.

The pain was exquisite, crusading through my mind and numbing all my thoughts about the boy. Exhaustion had carried me into sleep despite my troubled reflections, but they now returned with more venom. There was something rotten in the state of Denmark, so to speak.

I’d considered hallucinations, for a brief moment. I threw the idea out almost instantly. I was insane, but I wasn’t crazy. I was angry-insane, sociopath-insane, blooded-and-baying-insane. I wasn’t crazy-insane. The very thought repulsed me. I knew when I was hallucinating.

He was there. He had stared out from the window, eyes narrowed down the sights, firing into the shadows across the road. I hadn’t found his body. He was probably still alive, for now. I half expected to look outside and see his hanging body in the corridor. No such luck.

I checked my bandages just after noon. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, with only the deepest wounds still seeping. It was an improvement. I gathered food and water for Quiz—plants were so much effort—and went to go visit her. A distraction would be most appreciated.

She had finished her water—when, I wasn’t sure. She certainly seemed thirsty. I pushed the bottles within reach and went to go empty her bucket. It seemed like the polite thing to do. She didn’t say a word and avoided making eye contact. It was a curious kind of silence—the type which holds sway the second before someone says something important. I decided to press the issue, whatever it was.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked.

She chewed silently for almost a minute before answering.

“Am I ever going to get out of here?”

I tipped my head to the side and regarded her from the odd angle. “You’re not, Quiz. Quisling. You’re going to die in here. Now, something inside you is going to rebel against that idea. It’s going to fight and struggle and demand that there is always hope.

“There isn’t. You are going to die in here. The sooner you accept that... Actually, I have no idea. Do whatever you want. Live in denial for all I care.”

Her right eye twitched. “Why don’t you just kill me?”

I stared at her silently. She misread my intentions and stumbled upon a new possibility. She paled and shrank back, drawing her hands across her chest. Her legs tensed up and drew together.

I snorted. “No, no, not that. Don’t misunderstand me. You’re attractive enough. But there’s no sport to it. Cheating is pointless when the game is the goal.”

Her voice suddenly bloomed into a full shriek. “I don’t know what you want!”

A shiver went through me; part chill and part thrill (chrill?). I leaned in close and pushed a finger against her forehead.

“
This
is what I want. Conflict, misery. Something interesting.”

Still fuelled by her outburst, she lashed out at me. It was futile. I laughed and pounded her head into the side of a desk. The force pushed a drawer out the other side, and stationery scattered over the tiles. Energy sloughed out of Quiz and she folded.

“Don’t let me get bored of you.”

I left her to mumble to herself. As an afterthought, I threw a blanket over her tiny form. I was curious as to where the barrage of mixed signals would take us.

#0333

“Valerie.

I think that you’re a heartless bitch
I should have left you in a ditch.
But, instead, I’ve drugged your wine.
Won’t you be my Valentine?

Love, K

“PS. Mr I-Can’t-Handle-My-Arsenic puked all over my carpet. Thanks for the heads-up.”

16: Assault in the Wound

Dante waved at me as I stepped inside. The air-conditioner had been turned up and the Midnight Hour was refreshingly cool. The tense spot in my gut faded as he poured me a drink.

“Slow night?” I asked.

“You’re early,” he countered.

“Not unusually so.”

“There were perimeter issues today, so no one’s coming in from the city. Most of the patrons who arrive later live closer by, on this side of the fence.”

I sipped—Christ, Dante wasn’t pulling punches tonight—and leaned against the bar.

“Valerie in?”

“Yeah. You might want to check on her. More
witchery
came through.”

That would explain why she wasn’t on the main floor. Too cold. I nodded at him and skipped up the stairs, two at a time. The Wasp Gallery was more populated, with a large circle of
hypno
users getting warmed up on the bean bags, just like every other night.

I moved into the back corridors, past an empty ward and into the bedroom. The heater had been dialled up to eleven, and I felt myself breaking into sweat.

This can’t be good for your skin.

Valerie was splayed over her covers. A cigarette lingered in her fingers, smouldering lightly. I placed it on the windowsill before it started a fire. Her shirt lay on the ground, next to a set of spent lighter cartridges. Her torso was spotted with burns.

I sat down next to her and stroked the hair out of her face. The tip of her nose was a smarting red. I flicked it and watched the instinctive wince.

“Wakey-wakey. Witching hour is over.”

She was out of it. Her breathing was slow and steady, but her eyes were unfocused and never more than half-open. I took a cube of ice from my glass and slid it down her chest. A slurred giggle burst from her throat and she rolled onto her side, faintly batting my hand away.

“Valerie? Paging Doctor Gravewood. Wakey-wakey!”

I drew the last two words out with a sing-song voice. She mumbled something, but I missed the words. I leaned in closer.

“Hurts.”

I wasn’t really surprised. She seemed to be coming down. The first thing that faded from
witchery
use was the sensory switch. I tapped her head.

“Of course it does. Shall I get some burn cream?”

She didn’t speak, but nodded into the blankets. While getting the cream I scanned her lab for her notebook, but I couldn’t see it anywhere. I clicked my tongue, annoyed. I’d have to do this the long way.

When I returned, Valerie had rolled onto her back once more. Her chest rose and fell, the shiny burn tissue catching the light in strange patterns. I applied the cream over her arms and chest, and a light dab on her nose. The connective skin between her fingers had been badly scorched too. The rest of her body seemed intact. Initially she had twitched and groaned as I made contact, but by the end she had grown used to it. Her eyelids slid open and she regarded me with a shaky gaze.

“Thanks.”

“Feeling a little rough?”

“Mmhmm. Strong... Strong stuff.”

She rolled back onto her side—wince—and tried to drape her free arm around my waist. I shifted myself and placed her head on my lap, taking a few minutes to stroke her hair.

“Valerie?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you read the RailTech files?”

“Mmm.”

“Want to talk about them?”

“Mmmnuh. Tired.”

She wasn’t doing too well. I patted her head and tried a different approach.

“Did you write things in your notebook?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you know where it is?”

Her hand flapped towards the corner of the room. I stood up, dropping her head back onto the blankets. There was a muffled moan of indignation. I searched the desk and drawers, but no notebook could be found.

“Valerie.” I drew out the first syllable, half-playfully and half-warningly.

“It’s not here.”

I’d lost her. She burrowed her head into the sheets and made tiny sounds that straddled the gap between discomfort and contentedness. I clenched my fist and breathed out, deeply, then picked up her cigarette and took a drag. Several seconds later, I stubbed it out on her wrist. This elicited another strangemoan. It wasn’t particularly satisfying.

I spent a while longer scrummaging through her desk before checking out the ward instead. Her computer was unlocked, but Valerie didn’t keep her notes in a digital format. She was annoyingly old-fashioned in some regards. The screensaver froze, colourful squares stuck at a jaunty angle, before disappearing.

A molecular diagram sat in the centre of her screen. I opened her browser and reloaded the history, instantly getting lost in the scientific tools that popped up. She seemed to be investigating protein form and function. I tried understanding the jargon onscreen, before turning it off with an angry jab of the finger. I had pulled Valerie into this so I wouldn’t have to dredge through it myself, not to find myself stuck on another layer of abstraction. I stalked downstairs and got another drink from the bar. Dante raised his eyebrow at me, but wisely stopped himself from questioning my sour mood.

I might as well have some fun tonight.

***

One drink. Several drinks. Blue eyes, Clarice, twirling in the lasers. Checking on Valerie once, several times. Another drink. What’s with the molecule? 429 sounds like a challenge. Might be fun. No, not interested in hook-play, for now. Thanks for offering, though, you’re beyond attractive.

I left the man and his hooks and went to check on Valerie again. Her bed was empty. I froze for a second, uncertain and slightly sick-drunk, but the sounds of the shower reached me. I knocked on the door and walked in.

Shower scenes are overdone, right? I’ll summarise. She was strangely beautiful. There was no steam; she was running cold water for her burns, which dappled her body attractively. She reacted to my entrance, drawing an arm across her chest, but relaxed when she recognised me.

“Feeling better?”

She nodded.

“Good. I was a few drinks away from coming up and putting you in a shower myself.”

“Sorry,” she mouthed, but the words were lost to the sound of water on glass.

“You’d better be.”

She still looked a bit fragile.

“How long do you need?” I asked. She turned the water down before responding.

“Give me an hour. Sober up too. Got some cool stuff to show you.”

Sober up: uncommon words from Valerie Gravewood.

“Alright,” I said, finishing my glass. “Last one.”

***

Lasers skirted the face in front of me, eclipsed by my silhouette. The tips of our noses brushed, lightly, before I twisted and brought my teeth to his neck. His hands wrapped around my waist, and I felt the rasp of nails on my skin. My breath came quick and heavy, sluicing through the gap between my lips. My spare hand crawled under his shirt. I felt his heartbeat through my fingertips, up to my elbow.

I drew back slightly and eyeballed him. He was wearing coloured lenses. The deep purple was entrancing. I leaned in closer, teeth unsheathed, and...

You really need to switch to silent.

My phone rang. I sighed, seeping annoyance, and pulled it out. My finger hovered above the ‘Reject’ key.

Unknown caller.

Vincent needed to piss off and give me some space. It was a little claustrophobic. I accepted the call and hissed down the line.

“I’m about to close with an underwear model, V. I could sharpen my teeth on him. Something had better be on fire.”

Not-Vincent responded. “Save your energy, K. You might need it.”

Chrills reverberated through my body.

“Eric.”

“We’ve both done our homework. Auf Wiedersehen
.”

The music cut, along with the call. The lights flicked on. A silence spread through the floor and made its way to the Wasp Gallery. I slid off the firm chest and raised my gaze over the railings.

Nine figures stood at the entrance, matte-black weapons at the ready. Their armour was a similar colour. The helmets masked their faces entirely. A red logo was visible on their chests.

RailTech had decided to join the party.

An ugly mood infused the club. The silence drew out as one of the figures approached Dante. I heard the hiss of speech through a gas mask, but couldn’t make out the words.

Dante’s eyes flickered towards the Wasp Gallery for a second. I eased from my knees onto my haunches. Something compelled me to stay where I was. The squad started advancing through the club as my anger intensified. A howl started up from my right and a figure dived off the balcony.

The RailTech mercenaries were fast, but they hadn’t been expecting an aerial assault. A heavy hook swung through the air and made contact with a helmet. A metallic yell could be heard, and the rest of the squad turned in and opened fire. The diver didn’t stand a chance.

Multiple shrieks responded to the muted
ta-ta-tat
of automatic guns. The patrons had no fear, only rage, and swamped the men on the floor. Somehow, through the din, I heard the distinctive sound of a pin getting pulled. The flash grenade pitched in the air, a sexy, dangerous blur, giving me a second to spin around and close my eyes.

My hands didn’t make it to my ears. I retained my sight, but the deafening blast brought me to my knees and made me teeter on the verge of outright nausea. Anger forced the weakness down and brought me bounding to my feet.

The dance floor was no longer a mêlée. The dancers had taken the blast head-on and lay in shuddering piles. Most of the gunmen carried on undeterred, protected by their fancy helmets. Two of them limped onwards. One twitched on the floor, bloody face poking out from a hole in the visor. I didn’t have time to waste.

I sprinted into the private quarters and locked the connecting door. Where was Valerie? I hurtled through the passageways and tumbled into her room. Empty. I dug out my coat from behind her bed, threw it on, and pulled my weapon out from its folds. The weight of the pistol was intensely reassuring. I cloaked myself in the shadows and waited by the door.

Steel breaths hissed through the opening, and I stilled myself. The moonlight bounced from the visor as he walked into the room. I waited two breaths to make sure he was the only one—he was. They were spreading out.

I slid behind him, keeping out of his torchlight. If I wasn’t quiet, I’d die in a hail of bullets. With one hand I grabbed the base of his visor and jerked his head to the left. With the other I jammed the pistol in the crack between the helmet and the torso and fired three times, hoping it was a weak spot. It was: the flesh assisted the silencer and he went down without a sound. That made seven, with two injured.

I tried to take off the suit, but there were no obvious detaching points. I’d have to rely on stealth over a disguise.

I entered the corridor. My luck held, and I found myself between two figures. Both faced away from me. I repeated my manoeuvre on the first, but a scream escaped his mask and his partner spun around. I was caught behind the body, weapon stuck in the weak point. A burst of gunfire impacted the corpse as I pushed it away from me and into the second hostile.

Six to go.

He recovered quickly, but I closed in and slammed his gun to the side with an open palm. Bullets shredded the brickwork. I pulled out a knife as my vision exploded into stars. I hadn’t been expecting the head-butt. I staggered backwards, stunned.

The white spots persisted for a second. When they faded, I was looking into the darkness of a barrel. A maddeningly relaxed tone pierced the ringing in my ears.

“Fletcher neutralised. Target down.”

I leaned forward and bit the barrel, seductively, trying to buy a second or two of pure confusion. Rage fought with my desire to survive, incapacitating me utterly. White noise filled my head.

A pale hand swept under the helmet and the gun clattered to the floor. His head lolled back, throat slashed into a fleshy grin. He tumbled forwards, revealing Valerie.

She was
livid
. Blood ran from the side of her face. Her eyes were little more than malicious slits. She tossed the scalpel over her shoulder, picked up the gun and left the private quarters. I heard her screaming in between shots.

“You come into my fucking establishment,”—
ta-ta-tat
—“shoot my fucking patrons, threaten my fucking friends”—
ta-ta-tat
—“and expect to fucking get away with it?”

Her language snapped me out of my dissociation. I’d never heard her like this. She was out-gunned. She needed help. I sprinted back towards the Wasp Gallery. Valerie was still screaming.

Three bursts of gunfire. One attacker left?

I threw the door open, revealing Valerie. Three RailTech fighters lay in bloody heaps. A third one levelled his gun directly at Valerie. Two barrels spoke out at once, and my vision went red.