Ruins of the Fall (The Remants Trilogy #2) (8 page)

Two days later, we roll through what used to be South Dakota without any problems. Unlike my last trip through the Lost Plains, this one has been uneventful—although calling it pleasant would be inaccurate. The temperatures at night are sub-zero, and black-ice slows our journey. But our convoy moves on without much trouble. A couple vehicles break down beyond repair, reminding everyone that traveling without backup isn’t where you want to be.

I’ve been out of HIVE for all of a week, and I can’t say that I’ve enjoyed coming back to reality.

I pull into an abandoned waystation—the last one in the Lost Plains, about three-hundred miles from the border of the Gray Desert—and cut the truck’s engine. With the heater off, a bone-chilling frost settles into the cab within minutes. I check my rifle as Jana slowly wakes up.

“Why’s it so damn cold?”

“We’re at the last waystation,” I say.

“Anyone here?” But the words are said without much hope, and don’t require any answer. The convoy stops behind us, spread out in a haphazard fashion. The tight circles and night watches that marked our early journey have yielded to a weary complacency.

I adjust the knife hanging from my belt. Jana gave it to me without explanation. Her pained expression said enough. Maybe carrying it on my person will be some sort of penance. But I don’t feel regret for what I did. Even if I was as selfish as I used to be—an open question, although one I’m not qualified to answer in full—this new world is about survival. And I didn’t kill someone building hospitals for the poor.

I killed a man who ambushed travelers in the Lost Plains, stripped the lucky ones only of their vehicles and belongings. I don’t believe in karma, but it’s hard to conclude anything but the inevitable: Vlad Rose got what was coming. A murderous existence usually ends with the knife pointed the wrong way.

“They’re getting lazy,” Jana says, shielding her eyes from the glow of high-beams as she surveys her people.

“Everyone’s tired.”

“We didn’t survive by doing this shit.” She walks off, leaving me alone. I shrug and turn my attention towards the empty waystation. This one is a strange beast—it’s a fifteen story building surrounded by nothing but empty road and frozen grass.

A nano-builder bot must’ve built this tiny skyscraper. It looks funny, like a giant accidentally dropped it in the landscape. The gate is open, so I walk through. I crane my head to look at the abandoned sniper’s nest.

Two of them, in fact, framing the gate.

Years ago, waltzing through the gate would’ve been impossible. It’s well-fortified enough to hold off attackers for days. But nothing stops me as I walk towards the entrance and wait for the motion sensing mechanism to let me in.

The sliding doors don’t open, and I’m left staring at my reflection. It’s the first time I’ve seen myself since HIVE. I don’t remember if I was better looking in the simulation. Probably. Three years and a load of shit have worn on my features. My black hair is longer, the ragged tips frosted by ashen dust.

“Who are you, Luke?” I say to the man I’ve become. I don’t have an answer. The hardest man to know is yourself.

Then I rear back and send my boot through the reflection, shattering the glass. I brush away the jagged edges and step inside. The carpet smells fresh. Whoever ran this place was a neat freak. Not a bad place to catch a few winks, maybe even take a shower. A week ago, this would’ve been like an oasis. The bone-crushing weariness of those first few days out of HIVE were almost unbearable. But a man finds that he can bear almost anything, so long as he has enough time to adapt.

I’m still tired—it’s just that I’ve become better at handling it. And I don’t want to stay at this waystation any longer than necessary. I walk over the tan carpet in the lobby, approaching the desk. It’s faux-cherry and granite. From afar, it looks real, but up close you see the truth. I brush my hand over the clean surface. No dust.

It’s only been a few days since the Remnants abandoned the waystations, throwing their lot in with either Jana or Mirko. Not beyond the realm of possibility that this little high-rise hasn’t been reclaimed by nature, yet.

Clattering footsteps draw my attention to a dimly lit corner of the lobby.

“Hello?” I call into the darkness. No response. I reach for the rifle hanging off my back.

“Wouldn’t do that,” a craggy voice replies. A warning shot flies into the ceiling, and I dive behind the desk.

I take my hand off the rifle and peer into the black. “Who’s there?” I can’t see the glow of radioactive eyes, which means that the current proprietor of this establishment isn’t a member of the Remnants.

“No one at all.” I hear movement, then nothing. An elevator chimes, and I wait for an army to rush out. But no one comes.

My heart pounds as I race outside. The cold whips against my face. A light on the top floor comes on, and I hear a hush pass over the Remnants’ makeshift camp a few hundred yards away.

At least this isn’t a hallucination. I reach for my rifle and stare down the scope, trying to get a better look at the top floor. It’s a penthouse, seamless glass—which is a funny perk, given the view—but no one seems to be present.

Jana appears behind me, her own rifle clattering. “You do that?”

“Why would I do that,” I say. “To fuck with you?”

“Could be Circle,” Jana says, still not quite adjusting to the reality of the New Allied States.

“It’s the NAS, now,” I say.

“This is what happens when you get lazy.”

“I talked with…” I’m not sure if the indistinct voice was a him or her. “A single person. Probably not working with Blackstone.”

Jana brings her head down from her own rifle scope and punches me in the arm. “You could lead with that.”

I do a final scan with my rifle, but still see no sign of human movement on the top floor. It’s sleight of hand—pure distraction.

“We’re not gonna find anything,” I say. “We can’t stay.”

“Everyone’s exhausted,” Jana says. “The black ice, the roads…”

“You don’t need to explain,” I say. “Just like I don’t need to explain why staying here is a bad idea.”

“It hasn’t been abandoned long,” Jana says. “Who could be inside?”

“I don’t know.” I don’t want to find out, more importantly. But she has a point: pushing the Remnants further could result in mutiny, shattering whatever tenuous trust they have in Jana. It’s already midnight, and we need supplies. A thousand people don’t feed themselves.

I rub feeling into my cheeks with my gloved hands. “What’s the worst case scenario?”

“You’re the one who actually saw them.”

“I didn’t see anything.” I look up at the sky, towards the glowing penthouse. My heart skips a beat when I squint into the starless night. “Up there.”

“I already looked.”

“Maybe we weren’t looking for the right thing.” I jab my finger at the top of the high-rise. “You see?”

Jana begrudgingly follows my finger, using her rifle scope as a visual aid. Then she lowers it slowly, a low murmur of assent rumbling in her throat. “Goddamn.”

“Satellite dish,” I say. “You know what that means.”

“It’s a longshot.”

“We need to know who’s chasing us,” I say. “And where the NAS is headed. We’re flying blind.” I kick the dirt and adjust my rifle strap. Looking over my shoulder, I can sense a nervous thrum from the camp. “This is a chance to prove you’re a leader.”

“By flying blind?”

“Shows them you’re not afraid,” I say. “That we can actually win a battle.”

“Now’s not the time, Luke. We’re weak, we’re tired—”

“Consider it a bonding experience,” I say, walking towards the gates. I’m not sure where this sudden burst of insane courage has come from, considering that ten minutes ago I was ready to tear ass across the plains. But Jana’s right about one thing: you can’t spend all your time running.

And if I can get any intel at all on what Blackstone’s end game is, that can only help. Flying blind, it’s only a matter of time before I’m dead anyway. I walk through the gates again, heading towards the broken entrance.

I hear boots pad across the frozen ground, and I crack a smile.

“No backup?”

“You’re the one talking about morale,” Jana says. She slides a clip into her rifle and checks the chamber. “Sounds like there’s only one in here.”

“So what were you so afraid of?”

Jana shakes her head and gives me a sad look. “The ambush. Whole place could be rigged to blow. Maybe there’s a drone strike painted on this position.”

“You’ve got a creative imagination,” I say.

“Hell of a New Year’s Eve, huh,” Jana says. The glass crinkles as I step back into the lobby. The elevator is still open.

“Just let me know when the ball drops,” I say as we enter the car.

“Why’s that?”

“You know why,” I say with a wink.

I’m not sure she gets it.

But I’ll definitely kiss her if we’re about to die.

The elevator grinds to a halt. A flickering touchscreen in the corner indicates we’re on the twelfth floor.

“Should’ve taken the stairs.” I tap the plastic with my knuckle, but the screen doesn’t respond. Above us, the pulleys and gears moan.

“Our friend must’ve blocked the shaft,” Jana says, pointing at the ceiling. “Could drop hot oil on us, if they wanted. I’ve heard about this happening.”

I glance at the tiles. There are no holes prepared for medieval style defensive measures. Still, the fact remains, we’re stuck hanging over a hundred feet off the ground. The elevator continues to push upwards, fighting its way through the blockade.

Pressing the button for the lobby, I discover that the car won’t reverse its direction mid-trip.

I grind my teeth and listen to the loud scraping. “That can’t be good.”

“Incredible assessment.”

“Help me with the door,” I say, gesturing towards the tiny crack. “You got something we can use?”

“I packed a crowbar specifically for this.”

“You’re the one who said this is a common occurrence.” I try to snake my fingertips into the crevice, but it’s too narrow to gain purchase. My sweaty fingers just slip over the brass finish. Above, the elevator bangs against a large obstacle, causing the entire cab to sway and shake. I’m sent against the wall as the interior lights flicker.

Then the touchscreen goes out, plunging the cab into darkness. But I can still see Jana’s eyes glowing dimly in the black.

“You know,” I say, “if the military was trying to build the ultimate soldier, they did a shit job with stealth.”

“I’ll take it up with my creator,” Jana says. Don’t know if she’s talking about Vlad, or whoever helmed the project. But I drop the line of conversation, seeing as how it’s not pertinent to our immediate survival. Our surroundings shake again, and my head bounces lightly off the padded wall.

“You can see, though,” I say, reaching out into the blackness.

“Same as before,” she says. “Stuck in purgatory.”

“Try this.” I reach into my waistband and extract the sharp blade from its scabbard. Trusting that she can indeed see in the darkness, I hold it out. My hand hangs in the empty space for a few seconds. Then I feel her take the knife with a sigh. In a world of drones, potentially super-human artificial intelligence and incredible virtual realities, a technology over 10,000-years-old keeps saving my ass.

The blade scratches against the metal with a spine-tingling dissonance before Jana manages to wedge it between the doors. I hear her massage it back and forth, using the knife as a lever.

“Working?”

“Come here.” Her arm shoots out in the darkness and pulls me over. I feel her hand guide mine towards the right area. “Pull when I do.” I can tell that the doors are ajar. How far is anyone’s guess.

“Are we on a floor?”

“Close enough,” she says. “Pull.”

All the muscles in my arms fire at once as I lean backwards. The doors groan and heave, fighting our manual labor. But they open. To where, I can’t tell. Everything is still black. I hear Jana move, what sounds like a jump.

“Your turn,” she says.

“I can’t see shit.”

“Just jump and I’ll make sure land okay.”

“I don’t even know if I’m facing the right way.” Above, a cable snaps, and the elevator lurches, throwing me against the side. Even with the padding, it knocks the wind out of me.

“It’s about to fall,” Jana says, her tone surprisingly cool. “Let’s go, Luke.”

On my hands and knees, I start crawling towards what I think is the door. I butt up against the back of the elevator as it sways precariously. The remaining steel cables unravel with an ominous hiss.

I reorient myself towards the front and stagger to my feet, taking careful steps. It’s odd, because this blackness before me is the same as the rest. Except it’s not—because a few steps too far, and I’ll plummet to my death.

“Now,” Jana says. “Jump now.”

The elevator rocks and shakes.

The final cable snaps.

And I jump into the ether, relying on nothing but trust and faith.

Not sure what I was expecting, but the slight drop throws me off. I crash into Jana and we tumble to the ground. We fall against the wall, drywall crumbling around us. The elevator car crashes to the ground, shaking the entire building.

I’m breathing heavily, still disoriented in the darkness.

“Get off,” Jana says.

Low wattage lights burst on, the dim orange glow feeling like a searchlight. I roll onto the plush carpet. My eyes adjust after a couple minutes. There’s a big sign with
12
etched into the metal. It sits next to the empty elevator shaft.

Jana checks herself for scrapes and bruises. Apparently satisfied that everything is in order, she does a quick scan of the hall.

Before I can comment, the voice from downstairs crackles over the intercom. “Hello again.”

Jana and I share a glance. Her face tattoo crinkles as the gears inside her mind turn. The tiniest sound of a camera focusing draws my attention above the sign. A red light blinks as the lens stares at me.

I reach over to rip it off the wall, but a racking cough makes me stop. When it’s done coughing, the intercom voice says, “It’s been too long, Luke. Didn’t recognize you downstairs, old buddy.”

“You know this asshole?” Jana says.

I shake my head, unable to place the voice. “How do you know my name?”

“You don’t remember?” More coughs. The camera zooms in closer, to what I imagine is right up on my face. “What’d you tell this broad to get her eating out of your hand?”

“He told me
nothing
,” Jana says, her voice heavy with electric tension. “I’m the one in charge.”

“Sure you are honey,” the voice says. “That’s what they all said.”

“So you don’t like me very much,” I say. “That’s fine.”

“On the contrary, Luke,” the voice says. “I’m your best friend.”

Everything clicks together. “Sid?” He sounds nothing like he used to. Gave him shit all the time about his high-pitched voice. Now it sounds like he’s picked up a ten-packs-a-day habit and started gargling battery acid. “You almost killed us, you son of a bitch.”

There’s a pause, punctuated by thin, gravelly laugh. “Can’t be too careful, Luke. Didn’t recognize you, and you brought the cavalry.”

“Where are you?”

“14
th
floor,” Sid says, coughing violently. “Leave the woman.”

“I’m not staying here,” Jana says.

“Take the stairs,” Sid says, ignoring her. “I need some painkillers. You do that, honey, I’ll tell your boyfriend everything he needs to know.”

“I’m not your errand girl,” Jana says. She racks the rifle and aims it at the camera. “How ‘bout I just shoot you, instead?”

“I wired the bottom of the building,” Sid says. “What I was doing when Luke interrupted me.” There’s a long cough. “You play by my terms, or you don’t play at all.
Kaboom
.”

I raise my hands to indicate that we’re backing off. “It’s all cool, man. It’s Luke. Remember?”

“I know who you are,” he says with a bitter snort. “Don’t think I’m not watching your ass, just ‘cause you never fucked me over.”

“I’ll come alone,” I say.

“End of the hall,” Sid says. The intercom shuts off, but I’m sure he’s still listening and watching. I nod towards Jana. She’s reticent to come over, as if resisting me will prove that she’s the lead. But right now we’re playing by someone else’s rules.

With more emphasis, I jerk my thumb towards the stairwell. She walks over with a sullen expression. As she passes, I whisper, “I know Sid. Get him the meds and he’ll play ball.”

“If he blows up this building—”

“And move your people back, okay,” I say. “Get Evelyn to help.”

Jana doesn’t nod, but she does head towards the stairwell. I walk down the hall, in the opposite direction.

Hopefully fourteen is my lucky number.

Four knocks, spaced just so. Our old secret signal, from when we were young and believed stupid shit like that was cool. 

“It’s unlocked,” Sid calls. I try the knob to the apartment and step inside. It’s dark, but not pitch black. Not quite a penthouse, but on the rung directly below. A vast, loft-like space stretches out. One room, sections merging together seamlessly. Faux aged brick, leather furniture.

I spot movement in the kitchen, behind the stainless steel island. Sid limps into view, carrying a drink.

“I’m all out,” he says with a warped grin. “Otherwise I’d offer you one.”

I don’t answer. I’m too busy taking stock of what my old friend has become. The skin is tight around his cheeks, a sickly shade of grayish white. His shirt is spattered with blood, his eyes sunken deep inside his skull. Once thick black hair has turned into just a few wisps.

He was never a big guy, which is why we got along. Kind of cut from the same mold—had to talk fast, move quick, stay out of the direct line of fire. But now, he can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.

“I know, I know,” Sid says. “I’m still a handsome son of a bitch.”

Only ten feet separate us, but it’s more like an entire lifetime. At one point, our paths ran parallel. But now, after three years, those roads have diverged in wild fashion. I spot Ramses panting in the corner, whining.

However bad these hallucinations are, they’re a gift compared to whatever happened to Sid.

Eventually, I gather the wherewithal to move across the room. Afraid that I’ll crush him with a hug, and not eager to feel his feeble bones against mine, I offer him a handshake.

“All business,” Sid says. “Or maybe we grew up, right buddy?” He still takes my hand and gives it a weak shake.

“Slick said you all died. The whole crew.”

“So you seen Slick?” Sid’s eyes get a little fire in them for a moment. He drains the rest of his beverage—vodka, judging from the rubbing alcohol aroma. “That what he told you, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess that’s what you can expect from a liar.” Sid staggers around the island and takes the bottle. “See, I was lying when you came in.”

He hands me the cheap vodka, and I take a swig. “We all had a lot of practice.”

“You wanna know what Slick did?”

“You wanna tell me?” I pass the bottle back, studying his expression.

“I’m not a mark,” Sid says. “Look around. There’s nothing of value. You don’t have to play that shit that with me.” He can barely raise his hand above his chest. I’m sure being half-wasted on shitty liquor isn’t helping, but it’s clear he doesn’t have much time left.

“Old habits,” I say. “Make ‘em feel comfortable. Like your friend. Isn’t that what Slick used to say?”

“One of his rules,” Sid says with a bitter laugh. “Guess that list didn’t include helping us escape.”

I wait until he’s ready to share. Then Sid says, “We were across town, running a grift. Trying to steal a shipment of HoloBands off a truck. Planned this shit for weeks. Me, Jay, Manny, a few of the others, some hired guns, we were about to do it. Radio silence the whole time, so that none of the guards could pick up our frequencies. That’s when it happened.”

“What happened?”

“The damn quake.” Sid spits on the ground. “He could’ve told us. Early warning systems told everyone with a HoloBand about it.” He takes a long swig. “But we didn’t have them installed, and he didn’t radio to warn us. That fifteen minutes allowed his ass to get out. Far enough to find shelter, at least.”

“How do you know Slick boned you guys?”

“Because Mariah was with him,” Sid says. He laughs when he sees my expression. “Yeah, they were back together.”

“Jesus.”

“And she warned us a couple minutes before. But by that time, we were fucked. The others died in the quake. They were lucky.” Sid tosses the bottle across the room, and it breaks with a loud crack. “We heard him shoot Mariah for warning us. Potentially alerting the Circle and all that.”

Folding his hand into a pistol shape, he cocks the imaginary trigger, lines up the shot, and fires into the dim loft.

I stroke my chin, unsure what to say. Slick wasn’t a good Samaritan, but damn.

“Yeah, I guess your daddy wasn’t all you thought he was,” Sid says.

“He wasn’t my father.”

“Might as well have been,” Sid says.

“That all you have to tell me?”

“Aw, hell, Stokes,” Sid says. “You’re not gonna ask me about my cough? How the hell I got here?”

“I don’t really care,” I say, dropping any pretense. “You’re an asshole, just like you were before.”

“That’s why we were such good friends.” The words are slurred and incoherent. “The ash, it gets in your lungs. Becomes part of you. Gums you up from the inside.”

“Sad story.” A light blinks over the stove, indicating that someone has buzzed up to the apartment. “Your delivery’s here.”