Manifest (The Darkening Trilogy) (11 page)

N
eo Gothica is only a stone’s throw from the safe house, but I still manage a good day dream before my eyes fall upon the iconic black fence and emerald rim.  Every supernatural in Gothica knows about the fence.  It’s about waist high, iron, and spiked; similar to a fence that would encircle the cemetery behind a church.  A fence is only ever a deterrent, but this one carries with it a death sentence that makes it nearly a barrier.  If you’re not an ilk or a sentiner, crossing this barrier means death. 

I push my way through the crowds to the outer street which encompasses the perimeter of Neo Square.  Within is the capital of Gothica, where the tallest and most modern skyscrapers, and both the Hyperion’s and Cynthecorp’s headquarters reside.

I walk up to the innocuous looking checkpoint, what looks like a cow pen, funneling people and cars inside in different lanes.  There are several hundred pounds of explosives in this pen alone, along with several sniper rifles trained on me and several agents approaching.  We sentiners know we set off the alarms and so we step aside and talk to them before being allowed to enter, no one in the crowd any the wiser. 

Once inside, I can relax and enjoy the scenery.  Despite the grayness of the day, Neo Gothica is one of the nicest places in the entire city.  It has huge sidewalks the breadth of streets, benches for sitting, not sleeping, lampposts with working lights and not a single wall has any blood-stains, graffiti, or bullet holes.  There are colorful shops and apartments which light up in the night.  Trees grow in small square gorges in the sidewalk and provide shade.  People here walk around for no other reason than to sport new fashions or window shop.  The ilk unwittingly know they are safe here and the result is a permeating air of privileged, yuppie, coffee-shop kharma, and I love it.

The parking garage I’m heading for is only a few blocks away and it’s nearly ten now.  They should be there soon.

I
go into the main entrance of the garage and pass the gate and parking lot attendants.  I head into a small foyer with a suite of elevators and take one up to the sixth floor.  I can already sense their presences.

Corbin is a sentiner, the Captain of North Gothica, and an old friend of mine.  He’s about as eccentric and conspicuous as we come in the Hyperion and I hate to say it, but he’s just as good-looking as I am.  Corbin is a little shorter than me with a bright dyed-blonde crew cut and several ripped band t-shirts under an acid-wash bomber jacket full of patches and chains.  He wears thread-worn blue sneakers and baggy, ripped cargo pants.  A nose, eyebrow, labret and multiple ear piercings complete his rock star-esque appearance. 

Corbin is a good sentiner because he fears interfering – without me to lead him.  Life is very much a game to him and for many, many years he has been the same person.  He doesn’t have ups or downs, gradual philosophical drifts, or even changes in taste.  He is the Corbin I nominated to take my place as Captain of North Gothica when I became the Captain of Central.  It’s kind of reassuring.

Corbin’s auxilia is a very talented and powerful crafter named Roger, a darkened granted the rare gift/curse of immortality by the Hyperion long ago.  Physically, Roger is the opposite of his sentiner counterpart.  He is short and stout with a round midsection but muscular arms and legs.  He has thick black facial hair and eyebrows and deep round coals for eyes.  From under his wool cap, wavy, black, shoulder length hair emerges, framing a
bulbous nose on an otherwise honest and jovial face.  While sometimes lost in a reflective state of silence, Roger is for the most part as mischievous and good natured as Corbin.

The elevator doors open and the two familiar figures stand nearby at a cement pillar, waiting.  Roger, wearing his standard black wool cap, dark wool, double breasted trench coat, and unlaced combat boots speaks from within a rim of scruffy facial hair, “What, too cheap to meet in a decent coffee shop?”

I smile.  “I was hoping if I left you guys up here long enough you’d boost a new car.”

Corbin lifts a finger, warningly.  “Hey, don’t shit on my van.  We both know that you just can’t stand to be seen with a couple homeless bums like us.”

Roger strolls over to me and opens his arms for a hug.  I feign disgust but he grabs me anyway.  I shake Corbin’s hand and pull him into an embrace slapping him on the back a few times.  “So what’s happened?” he asks me.  “Roger said it was important.”

The smile on my face disappears and in response, they instantly look worried.  “Someone is trying to kill me,” I begin but it’s not quite what I wanted to say.  Nevertheless I push on, “and it is my suspicion that they are trying to get my secretary and others in my borough as well.”

“Is Nigel okay?” Roger asks, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag.

I nod, but Corbin is already apprehensive. “You first,” he says obviously having something important to say when I’m done.  I recount the tale of the break-in and the battle in the subway, then Nigel’s incident and his findings.

“Six other cyperas?” Roger asks, unnerved.

“That we know of, and that was just in a one night period.  I’ll bet my life if we did the rounds today, the number of my guys who were attacked would have grown.”

“Yeah.  But by how much?” Roger ponders nervously.

“I don’t want to risk being wrong on this one,” I say and they both nod in agreement. 

“We hear you,” Corbin begins. “We were up north visiting…” he hesitates, “…visiting the Anatheas.  I thought we were just too close to the Cell – you know how fucked up the woods are up there. Well, something attacked us, something really nasty – you know,
kharma-wise
.  But that fear, I know what you’re talking about.”  He recalls the incident as if watching the scene replay before his eyes.  After a second, he looks up at me. “What do you think it means?”

“Anyone else in your borough get attacked?” I ask quickly.

“Not that we know of,” Corbin says.

I shake my head, still unable to voice what I really think.  There is a tense, silent moment as we all look around the desolate garage.  Rush hour is long over and while full of cars, the only other life within the cold concrete structure is a cyncurity officer roaming one level below and a janitor eating breakfast in a booth with the
gateman.  Roger exhales some smoke while humming a horror movie tune to break the tension.

“Who’s capable of this?” Corbin asks.

We’re still avoiding the obvious answer.  “If there is a plot against the sentiners, we need to warn the others.”

Corbin is eager to jump on the denial wagon.  “What, you mean a reckoning?  This soon?  The council would shit itself, pissed,” he chuckles.

“Well I’m not gonna wait around till something stronger comes my way.”  No sooner do I speak the words then we all sense a surge of foul kharma.  Even Roger can sense it and he back hands my arm angrily.  “Are you trying to kill us with that shit?  Corbin, did you hear what he just said?  He’s
trying
to kill us.”

But I’m already looking for the exit.  Unfortunately, that means the elevator.  Most buildings in Neo Square don’t even have stairs.  There has simply never been that first catastrophe where unneeded scores died, and in the aftermath of public outcries, architects were forced to waste salable retail space to comply with worker safety. 

Behind us, over the horizon of the ramp leading below, comes the loan Cyncurity officer.  He is fully uniformed in black pants, boots, and a jacket with a gold badge, yellow shirt, and yellow stripes around the shoulder and left breast.  An assault pistol is clutched in his hands as he runs for his life.  Before he sees us we’re already in the elevator.  He screams in desperation, yelling “Hey!” over and over again. 

The fear suddenly starts to surface.  But it’s different now, more like a pain in my chest. Corbin and I make eye contact as we both lean on the hand rails for support.  I catch a glimpse of shifting and morphing shadows coming up the ramp but can’t make out the true form of whatever
casts them.  Pulses of kharma are surging through the whole building.  The Cyncurity officer is just too damn far away to make it in time.  The doors close between us.

He’ll buy us a precious second in his death, or be ignored completely and live.  Better odds than following us into this death trap. 
With a ding and the elevator descends.  In the sudden silence, only the soft humming of the elevator motor can be heard.  But the moment ends as the display dings
five
.  The guard above us screams and trips, writhing on the ground for a moment.  He is surrounded by dark, entropic kharma.  Then, as if nothing has happened he stops screaming, stands up, and walks over to the doors. 
Four.
  He pulls out a ring of keys, puts one in the fire panel and then pries the doors open.

Three
.  The elevator comes to a shuddering stop, then the motor reverses and we start heading upwards.

“What the fuck is going on?” Roger asks.  “What are we fighting?”

Corbin looks at me. “The
guard
?”

“He’s possessed by something,” I say hitting the emergency stop button to no avail.

Roger opens his coat and from an inside pocket retrieves, what we all refer to lovingly as his “sack of rocks,” a black velvet pouch.  It’s filled with artifacts, previously imbued rune stones that allow Roger to perform quick and simple crafts like explosions or telekinetics. 

Back to
four.

“He’s jumping.” I say as the guard holds his hands out to his side and leans over the edge.  He falls straight down, his body rigid.  Corbin puts his hand on the back of Roger’s head and folds him over as the body lands on top of the elevator and knocks all the lights out of the ceiling in a spray of sparks and glass.  We’re enveloped in darkness.  I look up at the body which is broken and bleeding, but still struggling to move towards the hatch.  With a dying effort, the guard reaches for the service door and unlocks the padlock.  I hold it shut but he has nothing left in him to pull it open.  As the life leaves him, the kharma possessing his body escapes like a puff of gas and sweeps over the elevator.

Five
.

“
Roger, light,” Corbin says.

“No,” I say.  “Blow the doors off.  Now!”

Roger pulls out a rune stone, pushes Corbin behind him and presses it against the elevator doors with his palm.  There is a deafening crack followed by a resounding explosion, ripping the metal doors apart and tearing through several feet of reinforced concrete.  The elevator is halfway between level five and six, with a small opening from the explosion leading to the lower of the two floors.  The elevator, despite the shockwave, continues to rise.

“Out!” I yell to Roger as Corbin and I grab onto the concrete and metal beams and begin to push down against the elevator’s motor with our legs.  Together we exert enough force to match the 4,000 lb. weight limit and cause the emergency brakes to engage.  At the same time though, the entropic kharma outside begins to swirl inside.  It’s visible, in the form of smoky shadows, and a form – a source – is somewhere within it, but too small or too fast for me to pinpoint.  Roger slides out onto the fifth floor and rolls to his feet, followed by Corbin.  Behind me, the shadows begin to take a form.  They creep down across the back wall and then suddenly, over me.  It’s hot, like an intense fire is at my back, yet I feel strangely calm and wonder if this thing isn’t trying to help me in some way – if it’s not trying to tell me something.  Suddenly hands reach through the film of blackness and grab me by the collar.

I am pulled from the shadow by Corbin and the act is intensely painful.  Doubt and fear fill me along with an intense longing to return to the shadow.  It’s an urge so strong that I’m alarmed.  “Stay out of the shadows!” I yell over the ringing in my ears.  “No shit,” Corbin mumbles as he helps me away from the elevator.  I hear Roger next to me, yelling, “I have a plan!  We have to get outside!” Corbin points to the nearest exterior half-wall where we can see our reflections in a glass office building across the street.  We start running, the smoky shadows spilling out of the elevator shaft behind us.  They hiss loudly as little threads connect shadows within the garage together and the energy moves between the dark spots.  We near the fifth story edge as I sense Roger begin to hesitate.  “How high to the roof?” he gasps between breaths.

We don’t bother to answer – we need to get to the roof, we’ll get to the roof.  Corbin and I grab Roger under his arms and lift him up as we get to the edge and leap onto the railing.  Roger dangles out over the edge before Corbin tosses him around and holds him by the back of his coat like a cat by the scruff of his neck.  I make the jump to the sixth floor and hook my legs into the guard rail before leaning back, upside down, to help Corbin and Roger up.  We repeat the process and find ourselves on the flat gravel covered roof, surrounded on all sides by sky scrapers.

“Now what?”  Corbin demands.

Roger seems slighted.  “We’re outside, aren’t we?”

“This was your plan?” I yell.

He points hesitantly upwards towards the overcast sky.  “It’s daytime.  No shadows.”

Corbin looks to me.  He senses nothing. “Did it follow us?”

I look around but don’t see or feel anything either.