Xenofreak Nation, Book Three: XIA (6 page)

It wasn’t until Bryn had been waiting for ten minutes or so before she realized she should have asked Mia for her holophone. She wandered around the pet store, looking at all the animals on display and trying to avoid the other customers. Their conversations told her that some of them had family or friends in the back room getting grafted, while others were waiting their turn. One disgruntled man made a point of commenting within Bryn’s hearing that rich people were going to be the only ones to survive the super typhoid. It was a dig at Mia, who’d cut ahead of everyone.

Scott had said it would only take a few hours, but two hours came and went and Mia had still not made an appearance. Turk had been coming and going between the back room and the front counter as people came and went. Currently, he was nowhere to be seen. It was so warm in the store Bryn was dying to take her coat off, but she couldn’t, not without revealing her quills. Her lower back had begun to ache and she wished she’d gotten Mia’s keys so she could sit in the car. A few of the other customers had planted themselves on the ground and she was considering doing so as well, when the bell on the front door jingled.

Everyone looked up at the newcomers, including Bryn, who froze in place when she saw who it was. The same four men who’d been casing the crowd at the tattoo place strolled in nonchalantly.

Bryn didn’t know for certain whether the men had robbed those people, since she and Mia had gotten out of there before it went down, but her first instinct was to head for the door. She did so, acting just as nonchalantly as the four thugs, but when she started to walk past one of them, he blocked her way and said loudly, “Nobody leaves. Everyone in the center aisle. Now!”

After a shocked moment, the customers hurried to comply. One of the men pulled a gun and in a voice like a carnie at the fair attempting to attract people to his booth, called out, “Purses, wallets, watches, and jewelry!”

The man who’d stopped her held out his hand. He had a heavy silver ring hanging from his nose and smelled like sauerkraut. “Empty your pockets.”

She’d run out of Scott’s apartment with nothing, but knew better than to argue. She stuck her hands into her jean pockets and turned them inside out.

He grunted and reached out to thrust his hands into her coat pockets, then when he didn’t find anything, reached both arms around her so he could shove his hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She managed to cross her arms over her chest, using her elbows to keep him from pressing up against her. Still, he took his time, chuckling lasciviously. She had to actively suppress the urge to knee him in the groin.

He finally let her go, just as a woman cried, “No! Please, I need this graft. I don’t want to die.”

“Everyone dies,” one of the men replied. Bryn glanced around just as the man ripped the woman’s wallet out of her hand and shoved her. She stumbled backwards until her calves hit the edge of turtle pond, then her arms did a full rotation windmill before she lost her fight for balance and fell into it. Water sloshed out onto the linoleum as the men laughed.

Bryn thought the thug with the ring in his nose was done harassing her, but he suddenly grabbed the hood of her coat and yanked it down.

“Whoa,” he said, taking a step back. “You’re that porcupine chick.”

“Yeah, and I’m broke, okay? I’m just waiting for my—my boyfriend. He’s in the back getting a graft.”

“Alright, sister. It’s cool.” He seemed about to say something else, but the man with the gun barked, “Hey Bull! Get behind the counter and check the register!”

The man named Bull gave Bryn one last creepy look, like he thought he’d bonded with her and didn’t want to leave, before heading for the front desk.

Bryn wondered about Turk and the staff in the back. Did they know what was going on out here? She looked up and spied another camera dome. Was there a live feed in the back or was the camera just recording? Turk had been gone an awful long time. In the two hours she’d been here, he’d always responded to the bell on the front door, but when those men had come in, he didn’t.

Just when she was thinking she didn’t blame him, the bell over the front door jingled again. Her first thought was,
Oh, no
,
some poor customer stumbling in on all this
. But when she turned, she saw two men with shotguns. She didn’t even have time to register surprise before the first man raised his gun to his shoulder and fired off a shot, hitting one of the thugs in the chest. Instinctively, she dropped into a crouch, then scooted behind a display of terrarium figurines.

More shots followed. A woman, Bryn thought it was the same one who’d gone into the turtle pond, screamed shrilly. There was a crash and the sound of broken glass like someone had smashed into a glass cage. Bryn lay flat, her cheek pressed into the cold floor, eyes wide open even though she couldn’t see anything. The acrid scent of gunpowder overpowered the animal odor.

Through it all, one terrifying fact stood out: she’d recognized the man who’d come in first, gun blazing. He was wearing sunglasses, but his blonde hair and the crocodile xenograft on his face were unmistakable. She was already frightened, but now terror blossomed in her gut.

Had he seen her?

That question was answered far more quickly than she expected. The shooting stopped and other than some moans and whimpers, a relative silence fell. The next thing she heard was heavy footsteps coming closer. She felt a firm hand on her shoulder and was rolled onto her back. She saw her own frightened face reflected back at her in his mirrored sunglasses.

Dundee grinned, a feral show of teeth. “Look what the dingo dragged in.”

A group of about fifty people was gathered on the sidewalk and steps outside the building housing XIA headquarters. It was a secure building, an unprepossessing nine stories tall, and had several government agencies ensconced within. The XIA took up the top two floors and was open for business, but because of the riots, the other agencies had closed up shop. A notice had been posted on the main glass doors that the building was closed to the public.

From the hastily cobbled-together signs some of the men and women in front of the building were holding, Scott figured the crowd was composed of xenos looking for protection – and answers. Then he saw a familiar xenograft, a Mohawk of ragged feathers down the middle of a bald head. It was Chief Joe, standing next to his girlfriend Liz. Both were members of the XBestia gang, and neither had any business being here if the crowd was indeed what it seemed.

When Lo drove past, several of the protesters broke from the pack and followed the car around the corner to the parking garage entrance. Scott was glad for the dark tint on the sedan’s windows when he saw Chief Joe and Liz among them.

In order to gain entrance to the parking garage, Lo would have to roll down her window and hold her hand under a holoscanner, but the xenos were suddenly all around them. Lo inched the car forward to avoid running over anyone as they shouted, shook their fists and banged on the hood and windows. Scott kept his head down and his hands out of sight.

There was no police presence, of course, and the one security guard behind the gate was unprepared to handle the situation. He shook his head to indicate he wasn’t opening the gate, then held a hand up to his head to show them he’d called for backup.

Several tense minutes later, two armed guards arrived, dressed in tactical gear. One of them shouted a warning before lobbing a tear gas grenade over the fence. The crowd scattered to a safe distance as Lo drove through the gate and checked in with the guard. She parked in the underground lot on the nearly empty first floor.

They still hadn’t heard from Shasta, so Scott talked it over briefly with Lo and they decided to put Nicola and Savvy in separate interview rooms for the time being. Technically, Savvy was being detained for questioning and would have had a date with an interview room anyway, but Nicola was a juvenile runaway. They wouldn’t be able to hold her long before they had to turn her over to Children’s Services – unless, as he suspected would happen, Shasta made her a protected witness.

Scott got out of the car and let Savvy and Nicola out. They all headed for the elevator, but before they got there, it opened and three of the XIA techs, who normally never left the control room, hurried to intercept them.

“Hold on,” one of them said, panting a little as if trotting across the parking lot was too much for him. He was pale and flabby with thinning brown hair. Scott caught a glimpse of his ID badge: Bob.

“We got a loud ping when you drove in,” Bob said.

Scott didn’t know what that meant exactly, but he looked at Savvy, who as usual wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s in the backpack?”

Savvy tightened his fingers around the straps. “My stuff.”

“We’re going to have to confiscate it,” Bob said.

“No.” Savvy took a step back, as if he was prepared to run away to keep them from taking it.

Nicola, who had her arms wrapped around the covered bird cage, said, “Felson, just let them have it, okay? You’ll get it back.”

“I highly doubt that,” Savvy replied, but he removed the backpack from his narrow shoulders and handed it to Bob.

Bob gestured to the bird cage. “That, too.”

Nicola gasped and turned to Scott with pleading eyes. “Don’t take Perky.”

“Nobody’s going to hurt him,” Scott said.

“Her.” Nicola sniffed like she was about to cry, but reluctantly held the cage out to one of the techs. He took it by the handle and Nicola said, “Careful! Hold it level or you’ll spill her water all over the paper.”

Bob frowned at her, lifted the cover to look inside and was immediately rewarded with an indignant, ear-piercing chirp. He gave Nicola an unreadable look, then turned and waved for the other techs to follow him. As they headed for the elevator, he unzipped Savvy’s backpack and looked inside, saying, “Test everything for everything. Standalone equipment only.”

Nicola sniffed again and glowered at Scott. “Are you happy now?”

Scott wasn’t, actually. He and Lo hadn’t bothered to frisk Savvy back at the Warehouse, and there was a distinct possibility that whatever the tech guys thought had set off their alarms was still on him. He caught Lo’s eye and jerked his head in the direction of the door that led to the main lobby. She lifted her eyebrows in silent inquiry, and he said simply, “Scanner.” She nodded and waved for Nicola and Savvy to precede her.

Nicola turned to Savvy and asked, “What was that all about?”

“They want to scan us for weapons.”

“Oh.” Nicola pouted, but said nothing further.

There was only one guard in the main lobby, which made sense, since the other two had just dispersed the crowd so Lo could drive in. The guard greeted them with, “And I thought today was going to be boring with the building shut down.”

Scott looked out at the crowd, which seemed to have grown significantly in the last few minutes alone. He saw Chief Joe and Liz again, but they couldn’t see him – the windows and glass doors making up the entire exterior wall of the main floor were coated with a reflective surface.

After their guests went through the body scanner without raising any alarms, Scott and Lo took them upstairs. The receptionist buzzed them in to a nearly deserted office. There were only a few administrative staff members in sight, and they were all on the phone, keeping the communication lines open. Scott assumed the other agents and handlers were either out in the field or unable to do their jobs due to the state of the city.

Lo went off to find Savvy and Nicola something to eat while Scott processed them, obtaining holoprints and running their DNA. By the time the two were settled in their respective interview rooms, it was after noon.

The minute Scott got back to his cubicle and sat down in his office chair, he texted Shasta again, letting her know they’d arrived and that the techs were going over Savvy’s ‘stuff.’ Then he attempted to call Mia, grinding his teeth in frustration when she didn’t answer. Finally, he called Carla.

Bryn’s godmother answered on the first ring. She wasn’t home, if the noisy crowd of people in the background of the holo was any indication.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Poppy’s Pier. How’s Bryn?”

“I was hoping you’d heard from her. Why are you at Poppy’s Pier? It’s condemned, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you know? The National Guard is rounding us up. Xenos.”

“You’re kidding. How do they know who to round up?”

Carla’s xeno name was ‘Mouse,’ after her old xenograft. After it had been forcibly removed by an ARA operative, she’d had another one grafted on. It was located in the same place, on the curve of her breast, but wasn’t normally visible.

She wrinkled her nose. “They have a list of people who’ve gotten transplants, and they’re sweeping xeno neighborhoods for the rest of us. One of my neighbors ratted me out. When the guardsmen showed up, I was given the choice of showing them my graft or being treated to a strip search. So I showed them.”

“That’s—”

“Barbaric? Just a sign of the times, sweetie. Besides, I’m actually kinda glad to be here. My neighborhood’s a war zone and at least here I’m safe.”

Scott had seen for himself how badly her neighborhood had been hit by the rioters when he’d picked up Bryn’s clothes that morning. He’d invited Carla to stay at his place, but after what happened to Bryn and Mia, it was probably best that she’d refused. Not that being threatened with a strip search and detained by the National Guard sounded like a better option. And Poppy’s Pier…what made them choose
that
place?

Back in 2020, an unprecedented storm surge from hurricane Poppy critically damaged the already deteriorated infrastructure of Pier 40 on the Hudson. The fifteen-acre pier, part of Hudson River Park, was shut down until a funding source to repair it could be identified. Unfortunately, by the time an amendment to the Hudson River Park Act had been agreed upon, the cost to repair the damage exceeded any potential returns on the investment, and a commercial source of revenue couldn’t be found. The pier remained officially closed to the public for their safety.

Poppy’s Pier, as it came to be known, was a huge, square structure jutting out over the Hudson River with a former soccer field at its center, surrounded by a multistory building and parking lot in various stages of collapse. Because of its proximity to Lower Manhattan, local law enforcement swept the pier regularly, preventing gangs from taking over like they had at Coney Island, but the pier was still a dangerous place.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Stay close to an exit. If things get dicey, I don’t want you to get trampled.”

“That’s sweet of you to worry, but I can take of myself.”

He believed her. Carla was a survivor. “Tell Bryn to call me if you hear from her, okay?”

“Shouldn’t she be at your place?”

“Yeah, but it turned out my place wasn’t safe either.”

“Great. Now you got me worried. Will you call if you hear from her first?”

“If I get a chance. Lot going on.”

“Tell me about it.”

After he disconnected, he sat and stared unseeing at his cubicle walls, heightened anxiety and a sense of lingering regret burning a hole in his gut. He’d told Bryn he loved her last night…
after
she’d fallen asleep. He didn’t regret saying it, he just wished he’d been brave enough to tell her when she could respond back one way or the other.

“Heard you caught a big fish.”

It was Jason Alton’s voice, and Scott reluctantly turned around in his chair. Alton had a white strip across his nose and both eyes were surrounded by colorful bruising.

“What are you doing out of the hospital?” Scott asked. “Aren’t you missing a lung or something?”

The question came out sounding more antagonistic than he’d intended; not because he didn’t harbor major hostility towards the guy, but because he usually hid that sort of thing better.

“Nope, all patched up,” Alton said. “Amazing what they can do these days. You should know. What was it – four bullets in the back?”

Before Scott could point out he’d been wearing bullet-resistant clothing, Lo arrived and tossed him a plastic-wrapped sandwich. “Food court was closed, so I had to hit the machine.”

He said, “Thanks,” and used his claws to tear into the plastic wrap before shoving the turkey on wheat into his mouth. The cheese tasted funny, but hopefully the sandwich would help settle his stomach.

Lo turned to Alton. “You on duty already? I thought you were at death’s door.”

“Felt like it, but I’m alright.”

“You don’t look alright, but you know what? I have some cream that’ll make you pretty again in no time.” She took off for her cubicle.

Scott ate his sandwich in silence, happy to have a reason to ignore Alton. He wasn’t jealous exactly – Bryn had very specifically told him she wasn’t interested in him – but it rankled that Alton had gotten close to her. Just because Bryn didn’t want
him
, didn’t mean he didn’t want
her
.

Lo came back with a tube of something that she proceeded to squeeze out onto her finger. Alton jerked his head back when she lifted her hand to his face.

“What’s in it?”

“How would I know?” she responded. “It’s for bruising, and trust me, it works miracles.”

Alton let her smear the stuff around and under his eyes. “Smells terrible.”

“Shut up.”

When Lo was finished, she stepped up close to Scott and said, “Your turn.”

Scott sighed, but tilted his head back obediently. The stuff did smell terrible, but he kept his opinion to himself.

When she finished, she asked, “You text Shasta?”

Scott had taken another bite of the sandwich, so he nodded.

“Heard back?”

He shook his head no.

She turned to Alton. “You?”

“Haven’t heard from her since this morning when she was on the way to the airport with Unger. Have either of you, um, heard from Dr. Padilla?”

Scott didn’t particularly want to tell Alton about Mia, but Bryn had sent that message telling him they’d been chased out of his apartment hours ago, and Mia should have been in and out of surgery by now.

“She’s getting grafted,” he said.

“
What
?” Alton had been leaning against the cubicle frame, but he jerked upright so quickly it must have hurt, because he winced and put a hand to his ribs. “Where?”

“New Rochelle. Why?”

“Gangs have been hitting rival dens all over the city, trashing surgeries and robbing customers. Haven’t you been paying attention to the news?”

Scott clenched his jaw, but didn’t respond to Alton’s implied criticism other than to say, “We’ve been working.” He pulled his holophone out of his pocket and checked his messages for the text he’d sent Mia. “She went to a den called Koo Koo Bamboo Tattoo. You got a list of the places that have been hit?”