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Stopping at the edge of the high grass, hands on knees, chest heaving, a strand of drool hanging to the ground. In and out the hot air moves, my face flushed, bloodied knees like lipstick kisses. Regaining composure will be tough, but there is no time. Just a sip of water, then inside.

CHAPTER TWO

May 12, 2024

1. JACOB

There is time before he gets here. Assuming he actually is a he. Sometimes he is a she, but not so much anymore. They know better now, too many things have happened, screams from the jungle. Turning around to face the tiny, dusty bookstore, rows upon rows of approved books hide in the shadows. A flimsy counter holds an ancient cash register, as if it is actually used. It’s a formality really, gives it a good vibe, feels like the old days. I have time, if I hurry. Behind the counter is a stack of books that I know will please him. Easy pickings for the fire, but hope and rebellion all the same. Of Mice and Men, Lord of the Flies, and of course Harry Potter. The thick books will burn a long time at 600

pages, even if they’re the hottest tickets on the underground booklist. What he sees with his eyes and what he hears are often very different things, but X is sharp, dangerous. Grabbing them one at a time, a tall stack grows on the counter. Tucked under my chin, the load is impressive. Well, seven Potters what do you expect, eh?

I waddle down the narrow hallway and out the back, kicking the screen door wide open on my way to the barrels. One is still smoking, a tendril of grey drifting up from the hot iron. In they go with a clang dull thud, ash flying up past my head. I turn to the metal cabinet against the back wall to grab the gasoline can, and douse the contents. No need for a match. WHOOSH as it shoots up.

“Now that’s a FIRE!”

Back into the house, the diary entry will have to be fast. They always need that damn entry. Every day. Psychoanalyzed to death to look for signs of open rebellion, of anarchy in the making. You learn to edit: “Looking forward to the pig roast. Sad to see the books burn, but it is definitely necessary. Wish I could get laid.” Normal stuff. Nothing about the ocean, that’s for sure. I have to be careful. Nothing about fish or saltwater or the sun setting into the ripple of the horizon. A little too poetic just one time and the boots are on your door. Nobody knows.

I know. What a shock that day was.

Up the stairs to the second floor, to the office, and the tall window that faces east, away from the mountains, away from the caves, away from the jungle. To the open plains, the dirt and dust, the highway that nobody drives anymore, to the beach that nobody frequents. The docks and the ocean. Grabbing the closet door, I rip it open and push aside the coats and scarves. The telescope. Setting it up in the window, the sun beats down on the roof, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Focus...focus and there she is. The ocean. I have to confirm it every day. We are on an island. A big one, but an island. The boat is docked, new guy today. They’ll be here soon. Just have to look for a second, find my center, a little bit of peace before the show starts. On the desk the phone rings. Never any time, they always know. Have to make the entry soon. Have to put it away. For now, my precious. But I’ll be seeing you later. Maybe in the moonlight, just the two of us.

2. MARCY

I’ve finally found a moment to get out of that damn shack. It’s like a pre-school in there sometimes. Don’t eat the glue. Stop grabbing your wiener and go use the potty. Don’t poke Jenny in the eye with a stick. Idiots. If it wasn’t for their raw, artistic talent they’d be on the other side of the island planting corn and potatoes. But I need them to make it work.

Man I’m hungry. I have to go see him today. Soon. I hope he’s not too wasted. I need that dick in me later, and none of his excuses. It’s my only way out. Damnit, forgot the offering. I’ll have to make a quick stop before I head over there. Up the hill past the artesian well, there is a field of hybrids, daisyroses. He’ll love them. An arrangement of crimson, rust and ivory. There isn’t much red in this place, unless you count the spilled blood down by the caves. And in the moonlight it might as well be oil, it’s so black. I never wanted to be part of that committee, never wanted to see that part of the organization. Hard to stay horny when you’re puking your guts out in the bushes. So many ways to get out, but so few of them worth doing.

Across the dirt town center to the northern path, the breeze is cooling, and I pluck my tank top off of my flushed chest. Wiping my forehead, and then my hands on my pants, the anticipation of seeing him rushes in again. There is never any time for myself. I’m never alone, and I never have any privacy. I found myself rubbing up against the corner of a desk this morning, moaning gently to myself while I sorted the paper stock. Didn’t even know I was doing it until I realized I was getting close to an orgasm. Not that it’d be the first time that my sexuality got me in trouble, or the last. It’s what got me here, and it’ll probably get me killed as well. That’s why I need out. He told me if I got pregnant he’d get me out of here. Back to the mainland. I’m not sure if I believe him. Why is he still here if he has all that pull, that power? Why does he live in that tiny house so far from the rest of us? He just sits there typing as the stack of paper grows. His isolation is a punishment I think, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe he wants to be there, away from prying eyes. It’s going to happen today though, there is no doubt about it. I can’t wait any longer. I must have his seed.

3. JIMMY

Down the concrete steps to the metal gate and subway below, I hope they haven't seen me. I’ve ducked around enough corners and zig-zagged through enough alleys that I’m pretty sure I’ve lost them. But I don’t want them knowing this entrance. Ever. Down to the Granit padlock, fishing in my pockets for the ring of keys. I shove it in, and turn it, popping the lock. As I pull the gates aside the screeching of the metal washes me with panic. Gazing back up the stairs the sky is fading, the color of a three day old bruise on a pale white thigh. I lunge through and pull it shut behind me, fingers poking through the mesh to click it shut. Once it’s secure, there’s no way they’re getting down here without a tank. Don’t think they have one. The sound of boots clomping on the surface drifts down to me and I ease back into the shadows holding my breath, as my heart pounds in my tight chest. Gibberish and shouting, the slap of flesh on flesh. A light bounces down the walls, searching for a clue, a bit of motion, anything. I creep backwards to the next set of stairs that lead deeper into the tunnels. They can’t get through, but the bullets won’t hesitate at the gate, and the light dancing by my feet is too close for comfort. When the sound of their angry grunts has faded to nothing I turn around and stare at the empty foyer. I know the metal doors are all locked because I locked them. And the path beyond the turnstiles only leads to a bricked up tunnel. I bricked it. Water drips in the musty cavern and I take a deep breath.

In the far corner, hidden in the shadows, is a rusty crowbar. I walk over and pick it up, and it’s good to feel the cold metal in my sweaty, weary hands. Walking to the center of the room, I stop over a manhole cover and insert the rod. Straining, I pull the lip up and off, sliding it to one side with the last ounce of my energy. It’s still a long climb down the ladder and a half mile of maintenance corridors until I get home. Home. Funny word.

When I was on the island I couldn’t wait to get off. Now that I’m here, I wonder if I should’ve stayed. Gunning down drug addled half-breeds always seemed like fun in my fantasies of war and post-apocalyptic mayhem. Nobody tells you about getting sick or how uncomfortable it is to sleep on concrete. They don’t tell you how your hands hurt for days from firing the guns, bruised palms and torn fingers. It’s all the glory of a lifetime of war movies and none of the pain and suffering.

So when I find a can of corned beef hash it’s a high for me, that stepping back in time to my childhood, those special occasions when we went out for breakfast. The corned beef sautéed with potatoes and onions, one egg over easy, oozing yellow over the plate. That treat.

She is waiting for me, but for a second I pause and do the math again, run the scenarios. How do we get back?

4. X

Sitting naked with my legs crossed in the Tindu Hut the toxins rise from my flesh and evaporate into the air. She is coming and purity is of the utmost importance. Elbows on knees, palms upturned, eyes open but focused on a certain spot on the far side of the mud enclosure. The ancient mandala that has been drawn there with elderberry and squid ink works an intricate pattern of continuously connected lines, rotating cubes, and elaborate scrollwork. It defies mathematics and after gazing upon its wonder for but a moment the walls slip away, the mosquito sucking at my sweaty thigh disappears, and the smell of hay and moss fades from my senses until there is nothing left but the presence of light, and then dark.

She is in the room. The cool air rushes over my crimson flesh and as I materialize in her bedroom apartment she clamors for the door. She has been ready and waiting but she isn’t fast enough. My essence drifts into her pores and as she runs for the elusive freedom of the street below, I go with her.

Her stomach tightens as she holds her breath, flying out the splintered door and down the steps of the abandoned apartment building. Dust flies as tears leak from her eyes, wide open to see and yet blind to the reality. Hands scrape faded wallpaper, searching for purchase. Boots slam down onto each landing, the nape of her neck vulnerable and tense. Heat upon her head, and no air, no time. Around and around the stairs she goes, faster and faster, a high-pitched mewing that grates across the foyer. Her hands drift over the soiled wooden handrails. A highpitched screech surrounds her. It emanates from her and she doesn’t even know it. The panic is a rancid, smothering, fleainfested blanket. She glances up the open stairwell, but my darkness blocks the open door that has been her residence of late. Gusts of cold air seep out the door frame, a mist of steam and fog. It is too late. Her head spins and the door to the street is in sight. It is there, it is right there. She can’t risk another look back, but she has to. Back and up, a blur of muscle, sinuous and shiny in a coat of red, thick and sticky. My form descends the open stairwell with a grace that is unsettling to the mortals, dropping down the shaft at a gravity defying slowness, yet faster than she can move at her best sprint. A violent thud in the foyer, and a cloud of dust and wetness. She flies out the door, wrists broken as she crashes into it and flings it wide, a scream erupting from her lips as she darts out into the daylight and traffic. The blare of horns, the crash of metal, the crinkle of glass, and her soft wet thump.

I edge towards the open frame, once again on this plane as my spirit returns to my ravenous hulk. Closing the door gently, my teeth clench in bemused anguish. The building fades from view, a slow vapor rising as I return to the jungle.

Fail. Failure. It rings in my head.

5. GORDON

Strapped to a cold metal chair in a grass hut at the edge of the dock is not the ideal way to come to. The asshole that made me mop up my own vomit has a large syringe in his hand and it’s meant for me. Zeke, always so melodramatic. That needle could knit an afghan for a battleship. This will hurt. They want me to forget. Where I came from, why I’m here, the outside world, the island we’re on. But I won’t. I made sure of it.

When the sentence came down, I started doing research. All part of the plan. They wanted me in, and I took the job, but it had to look legit to the cops, the judge. Like a Trojan horse virus I was going to destroy from within. The implant was the easiest and safest way to do it.

“Now listen up, fucker. You vomit on my shoes again, and it’s lights out. Got it?”

Arms tied behind my back, my shirt on the floor, the room bakes me like an oven. His eyes run over my sinuous frame. Deceptive, my weight. It’s all muscle. The surgeries changed my frame, as well as my face. He doesn’t recognize me.

He’s been here too long, that I can tell. He’s reacting to me like a wolf to a wounded sheep. I could have been a thirty-yearold blond MILF or an innocent girl scout. It was all about the power, and the opportunity. I doubt if he could get it up if he tried. They put potassium nitrate in the chow down here. Saltpeter to us citizens. Keeps you from getting an erection.

“This won’t hurt a bit, Gordon. Well, me anyways.”

He leans over me, drops of sweat splashing onto my bruised chest. He shoves the needle into my left arm, grinning the whole way. It didn’t hurt until it hit the bone. A deep, sharp stab that makes me wince. He expects me to pass out, so I do. In theory. The ancient art of self-meditation, Gong Rhass, the serpent mind. I can slow my heartbeat to almost nothing, so that I appear dead to the layman. A quick check of the pulse and nothing. I can stop my heart for up to 12 seconds. This has come in handy on more than one occasion. Waking up in a body bag is claustrophobic and foul. The key is to get out before the mortician gets in.

As my hearing fades, footsteps enter the room. Lilac.

“Is he out?”

“Of course, that’d put a horse under, Marcy.”

The room shifts from grey to black and I enter the center of my being. Somewhere in the distance a sea bird caws. A fire is burning, leaves and sassafras roots. Rain clouds are forming, it’ll be here before dark. His partner stands outside smoking a Marlboro Red. My hands are pink and starting to swell. The drugs were working, damnit.

I hear a zipper go down, and a panic comes over me. Then another zipper, and the rustling of clothes being pulled off. Faintly, in the distance, but still audible, she speaks again.

“I’ll take care of you after I take care of him.”

The microchip isn’t working. The chip has failed. Losing my focus. Her hands, her mouth.

6. ASSIGNED

//

Reboot

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Camera 1: West coast

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Camera 2: East coast

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Camera 3: North coast

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