Gabriel's Sacrifice (The Scrapman Trilogy Book 2) (28 page)

"You're a really creepy dude, you know that?"

"So I've been told." He lifted the magazine again, spreading its pages. "You know, Vic ... I've killed many men in my lifetime; but not one did I kill over a woman. It's like what my dad used to say ..." He lowered the reading material and focused his eyes toward the ceiling, trying to recall the nugget of wisdom that seemed to be eluding him. "Oh yeah.” He placed his nose back in Times. “Bitches just ain't worth it."

Victoria squinted, truly appalled. "Charming."

The gleam of a flashlight came to cover the window, causing Coda to squint as the click of the unlocking door echoed through his enclosure. He couldn't smell the fecal matter anymore, but based on the hacking and gagging from the man who'd just entered, he knew he was still immersed in it.

"Jesus Christ, someone die in here?!"

"Nah, it's shit," another man answered. "Looks like they kept someone locked up in here for a long fuckin' time."

"Well get him up. I can't have a conversation in here. Look at him, Kid's got puke on the side of his face.”

"Alright." The second flashlight came closer until an arm wrapped him beneath the shoulder, pulling him up. "C'mon, Man."

Coda got to his feet and vacated the pit with the two men at his sides.

“Some place you got here,” the first man said. “Don’t mind if we stay awhile, do ya?”

But Coda didn’t humor him with a response–knew he was in over his head already.

“You’re a lucky piece of shit, you know that?” he asked. “Those three guys you killed on the stairs, turns out I didn’t like them all that much–did me a favor, actually.”

“And I get the feeling he’ll be more useful than all three of those bastards combined,” the other agreed.

They brought him out into the light and released him, Coda resting against the wall as his eyes adjusted.

“Jackson put in a hell of a word for you, Kid. And we could use you.”

“But don’t think we couldn’ta taken this place months ago.” The first man grinned, the whites of his teeth within the blur of his face. “We’re gonna own this city, Kid. So what’s it gonna be?”

The dead faces of a few were staring back at him, expectant of his answer. They were his family after the war … and he’d been unable to protect them. “They’re all dead,” he said, looking back at the fallen assembly. “There was a five year old girl with us,” he whispered. “If you killed her … you can forget about any deal.”

The image of the two men took better focus as his eyes adjusted further. One of them was Caleb, as he’d guessed. But the other … the other seemed familiar, his face one Coda had surely seen before.

“We killed most everyone, you’re right,” Caleb agreed. “But there were some that got away. One man I hear came out the back and took down four of my guys with a baseball bat. That girl and some blonde was with him.”

“And they got away?”

“It’s a weird story, but yes.”

“I’ve gotten used to weird stories.”

“This is my uncle,” Caleb introduced the tall man. “His name’s Antoine.”

Lean and muscular, the man crossed his arms and clenched his jaw, the sun gleaming off the baldness of his head.

Where had Coda seen him? From the hunt? No … more recently than that. But his gut sank within him a moment before he could determine the cause, the heat draining from his head, encasing him in an ice-bound shiver.

Impossible.

It was the same face he’d witnessed through the sight of his rifle, the same man he’d sent a bullet through at two hundred yards–their missing body returning, death on his heels.

“No one calls me Antoine, unless you want a fist in the mouth,” he sternly corrected. “Everyone calls me Crayton.”

Coda fell again upon the wall.

“I like that,” Crayton said, pointing out toward Cider. “What you guys wrote on that wall.
Government
territory.
Government
.” He looked to Caleb. “Got a nice ring to it, huh?”

Mohammad lay within his quarters aboard the Garuda, the fingers of his right hand tracing through the streets of the emerald city, the fingers of his left wrapped around the small pair of Channel-locks he’d earned himself that day. He studied the hologram intently, and interested in any progress to further the hybrid species, he located each active replicant. But the answer was very little, in fact. Still only one pregnancy to report, the crimson speck easily visible within Victoria’s violet hologram, but there was potential in a few others.

The young man whose memories led Mohammad to the hunter had taken refuge with an attractive young woman. But the boy seemed to be striking out in the love department, however.

“I’m rootin’ for ya, Kid,” he encouraged through the hologram. “Just gotta be confidant.”

Of course it was easier said than done as Mohammad recalled his own youthful dealings with the opposite sex, the way his nerves would turn his legs to noodles, the way nothing would ever come out of his mouth quite right. Who was he to give such advice?

But then there was another replicant, one with a far greater chance at procreation … if only his victims might survive the forced exchange.

With a mob of followers at his disposal, the man was currently on a killing spree, the grasp of his group steadily expanding at the heart of the city. Mohammad had asked Gabriel’s permission to end him–perhaps it was a man better left dead; but the Traveler refused such action be taken. So Mohammad could only watch as he went unopposed, a by-product, a freak manifestation of Mohammad’s own vengeance.

But his mission belonged to Alice and Victoria; and until the replicant came close to harming either, he’d remain free to terrorize the city.

“Mohammad,” Gabriel spoke suddenly into his cortex.

“Yes?”

“I need you to create a door.”

He sat up. “Where?”

“Miles will be blocking the entrance to their home in the morning. We need to create a door within it.”

A flutter of excitement welled in his chest. Outside of the emerald city, Mohammad had yet to witness Alice with his own eyes. Tonight it seemed he’d be getting his chance.

“You must be quick,” the Traveler added, perhaps recognizing that Mohammad’s curiosity might lead to a desire to linger. “Alice is incredibly keen, more observant than any you might have eluded thus far. You must not let her detect you, understand?”

The Fijian nodded, however needlessly. “Yes.”

“Good. Then ready yourself, Mohammad. You move now.”

Once upon the main deck, he released the silver liquid, letting it slip across him as he summoned the junkyard hologram. His closest door resided on the interior fence, the one through which he’d delivered Dinah months prior. He selected it, observing the two violet bodies as they dwelled within their cozy crater, and stepped out into the darkness of night.

The moon was sliced to a yellow sliver above, the clouds gathering in gray and lazy masses to smother it; and he found the aroma of oxidized metal semi nostalgic, bringing him once again to the factory’s boneyard–the accented stench of pigeon hunting. Weaving with silence through the glistening muck, it clung fast to the back of his sinuses. Miles’ voice trailed out to meet him, his words acting cover for the softened thuds of Mohammad’s boots.

The skeletal remains of flattened automotives towered three layers high. Beyond that wall, Mohammad took his first step into the pit, cautious not to tumble the ten feet down.

“Sorry to say it, but I think you’re wasting your time there, Kid.”

“We’ll see,” she answered.

Mohammad crossed a narrow corridor, discovering the hybrid on the other end of the room he entered thereafter. She was sitting on a set of crudely fashioned steps, apparent that her caretaker might have been a mechanic, but certainly not a carpenter. Still they seemed sturdy enough, lending the two a less precarious path to higher ground.

It seemed Miles had many plans for their home. Random projects were scattered throughout, some completed enough that Mohammad could distinguish what purpose they were meant to serve. Miles sure seemed to be the ambitious type, managing to keep himself quite busy in the aftermath.

Alice sat there before him, unaware of Mohammad’s presence as she reached down to pluck the apple by her feet. With the white center plainly visible, several bites had already been removed from it. She took another, her teeth piercing the redness of its skin, the juice dripping from her lips. She wiped it away, lowering the apple again as the gloss of her black hair fell to her shoulder, held in place by the edge of her left ear.

Something was nestled snug in her lap. Dismantled and dilapidated, the object’s wires were visible at multiple points beyond its broken plastic; and with the red and black prongs of a voltmeter poised between her fingers, Alice appeared to be checking the device for faults in resistance.

“Open line,” she announced, marking a note of the broken wire on a small pad of lined paper.

“Bet you find a dozen more.” Miles nodded. “You’ll die of old age before you get that thing tickin’ again.”

Let her try, you Shithead.

Alice looked up suddenly, her irises igniting beneath the light of the moon, and smiled at Miles. But he was busy elsewhere, missing the glance of the hybrid as he struggled to bend a run of conduit.

“Enjoy that sky while you can, Alice,” he said. “No more tarps. Gonna have this place an actual roof by morning.”

But she was already focused again on the task before her, drawn to the damaged digital clock just as Radia had been drawn to the strings of his guitar, her slender fingers manipulating the device with such precision.

Mohammad studied her, losing himself until Dinah came to brush along his ankle; but the feline, paying little mind to his invisibility, continued on her soft-pawed journey to rest aside Alice’s feet. And there the hand of the hybrid faltered for a moment, coming to tussle the orange fur atop Dinah’s head.

“You have wasted enough time there, Mohammad,” Gabriel penetrated his consciousness. “Make the door now and leave.”

He inspected the walls surrounding him, best to use a surface that would more than likely remain clear in the future. The wall to his left was by far the flattest, but pieces of machinery was strewn about the floor–might fall flat on his face the first time he stepped through it. But there was a narrow hallway behind him, void of debris. He graced it with his glove, the brightness of the hologram leaping from it, but it remained as invisible to the human and hybrid as he was, for they never raised an eye upon him. Even Dinah wasn't swayed by it, never leaving her place on the stairs. So Mohammad looked lastly to Alice, admiring her concentration, the way her bottom lip was pinched between her teeth, then turned and left them.