by M. R. Forbes
The Relyeh Artificer was right. She couldn’t handle it. She was going to die.
Only she didn’t die. Something grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her roughly away from the ether, dragging her in a silent scream. Then there was a bright light. And there was sound. And her cry was no longer silent.
“Governor,” Lutz said. “Governor.”
Natalia’s mind felt like it was spinning at a million rpm, trying so hard to process a flood of information it was never meant to handle.
“Natalia!” Doctor Hess said.
She felt pain somewhere around her arm. The light became less intense, but the pain grew. What had she done?
“Hold on,” Hess said. “I’ve given you a sedative. It should slow your heart. Just hang on a few more seconds.”
Everything started to slow down. Reality returned. Sensation returned. She was cold and sweating. She could feel the wetness inside her thighs and smell the urine and excrement that had spilled from her terrified body. She reached for the goggles, tearing at them but lacking the coordination to grip them.
“I’ve got it,” Lutz said. “Hold on.” He lifted the goggles off. Natalia saw him. She knew him. He smiled at her. “Governor. Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “No.” Her voice felt like it came from a universe away. She didn’t know if she would ever be the same again. What had she done? “I need to go back.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Doctor Hess said.
“Fuck you,” Natalia replied. “I need to go back. I need to find Hayden.”
“How?”
“We can stop this, but only if I find Hayden.”
“Natalia, if you go back in like this, you might die,” Hess protested.
“Then I’ll die,” she growled back. “You have no idea how important this is. Put. Me. Back.”
“Don’t you want to at least change your pants?” Lutz asked.
“Fuck my pants. Do you think a little shit matters? It doesn’t. But Hayden does. This planet does. Put me back in.”
“Lutz, we need to bring her to the hospital,” Hess said. “Whatever happened in there, we need to put her under observation.”
“Lutz,” Natalia said. “I’m not crazy. I’m desperate. Please. We can stop Alpha. We can stop Shurrath. We have to.”
“Lutz,” Hess said.
“Deputy Solino!” Lutz called out.
He entered the lab a moment later, looking at Natalia. “Governor? What the hell?”
“Sean, please,” Natalia repeated. “Thousands of people are going to die.”
“Deputy, can you escort Doctor Hess back to the other side of the lab? The Governor and I have work to do.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Hess said. “You’re going to kill yourself, Natalia. You’re going to get us all killed.”
“Doc, come with me please,” Solino said, grabbing his arm.
Hess glared at Natalia as the deputy led him away. Lutz held the goggles out to her.
“My body isn’t working too well right now,” she said. “Please put them back on me.”
He did as she asked.
“Same thing as before,” Natalia said. “Do it.”
“Pozz. I hope you know what you’re doing, Governor.” She heard him tap a few more keys. “Here we go.”
Chapter 50
Nobody looked up when Hayden entered the saloon, advertised from the outside as Dos Gatos. The two dozen or so patrons continued drinking, laughing, talking and otherwise pretending they weren’t all under Shurrath’s influence.
Hayden breathed easier at their non-reaction to his presence. He didn’t want to be noticed. He didn’t want to stand out. A secret scan of one of the settlement’s residents had given him the perfect cover, the Intellect Skin he was wearing cloaking him in the likeness of a man nobody knew well enough to care about and wasn’t enough of a stranger to draw their stares.
He found an empty table and took a seat, the old wood chair groaning as he planted himself in it. A young girl hurried over to his table carrying a pitcher of water.
“Agua?” she asked.
“Si,” he replied. “Tequila?”
She smiled. “Doscientos.”
Hayden needed a second to think about the word. He knew it wasn’t two or twenty. “Doscientos?” he asked.
She nodded.
He shook his head. “Cerveza?”
“Cincuenta.”
“Si.”
She poured him a small glass of slightly muddy water before heading off to retrieve the beer. He sat back, quickly scanning the room. Three men at a table in the corner. A group of five men and women playing poker close to the bar. A pair of women at a third table. And a lone man at a fourth.
The man’s head turned to catch Hayden’s eyes as they swept past. He was dark-skinned and small, big eyes and a wide face with a nasty scar along the chin. He nodded slightly to Hayden, and for a split-second Hayden worried he could see through the Skin’s hologram.
Then the man returned to his drink, looking down at it in contemplation.
False alarm.
The serving girl returned with the cerveza in a small cup. Under other circumstances, Hayden might have complained to pay so much for so little. He dug the notes out of his pocket and dropped them on the table. The girl scooped them up, smiled and headed to another table.
Hayden downed the drink, returning his attention to the card game. The men and women were dressed in matching dark clothes, and each had a small tattoo on the back of their hands. Shurrath’s symbol. He didn’t know if any of them were infected, but they were part of the ever-present militia that filled the city.
It had been tricky getting into Rose past them. Hayden, Isaac and Max had been forced to leave the car behind. It was too damaged from the fighting in Tijuana and the trife attack to avoid suspicion, not to mention it was covered in the corpses of dead trife. They had taken the weapons they could from the trunk and detonated the rest with one of the remaining grenades before spending the next two hours jogging ten klicks to the outskirts of the city.
A quick reconnaissance revealed the checkpoints going into the settlement, as well as the holes around them and some careful movements had gotten them all in unseen. Max and Isaac were in hiding at an abandoned site nearby, waiting for Hayden to get his scans and return. It wasn’t enough to image people at random. He needed to know they had access to Shurrath.
Max had complained it was unnecessary. He was using Cyrus Salk’s body as his shell and had all of the access that granted. But Hayden didn’t know how much Shurrath knew. Could the Relyeh ancient sense the broken bond between himself and Cyrus? Did he know the man was dead? It was too risky to rely on.
Rose reminded Hayden of Sanisco before he had deposed King. The people were as ragged and dirty as the buildings and hovels they lived in, and they spent their hours in fear of the militia and the man in charge of it. He had seen the militants roughing up a man in an alley on the way to the saloon, taking what few notes he had and putting their eyes on the woman with him. It had taken all of Hayden’s control to stay out of the altercation. Scenes like it happened every day in places like this, and he couldn’t fix it all at once. Evil like Shurrath fostered was the body of a snake. He needed to start with the head.
He also understood how the Hunger fed on fear. Rose was a power plant in that regard, just like Tijuana. Thinking about it now, he wondered if King had any connection to Shurrath or any of the other Relyeh. He didn’t think so. The man’s desire to inflict pain and cause fear seemed self-motivated.
Hayden sat at his table for another minute, watching the rest of the crowd. Then he stood up and started over toward the card game, coming up behind a heavier woman, who folded her cards down and out of sight at his approach.
“Qué deseas?” she asked, glaring back at him.
Hayden didn’t speak Spanish. He offered a slight grin. “Excuse me,” he said to the group. “No habla Espanol.” The others raised their hea
ds and stared at him. “I’m new to the area. Came south from what used to be Texas. I was told a man with my skills could get work as a fighter.”
“Who told you that, gringo?” one of the men asked in a thick accent.
“I didn’t get his name. He was wearing a medallion, looked like those tattoos on your hands. He said to go south into the Baja peninsula, find some fighters with the symbol and tell them you’re special.”
The five militants laughed. “Special?” their apparent leader said. He was the tallest of the men, with a shaved head and a sharp face. “What makes you special?”
Hayden grabbed his revolver, drawing it and pointing it at the man before the militants could even react. The leader was closest, his gun halfway out of its holster. Was he infected?
“For one, I could have killed at least half of you before you even had a gun aimed at me,” Hayden said. He spun the revolver on his finger before flipping it and sliding it expertly back into its holster.
“You got moves, gringo,” the man said. “I give you that. But do you even know what you are asking for?”
“A new life,” Hayden replied. “A fresh start. To be something more.”
“I see. Who taught you how to handle a gun like that?”
“My father.”
“He still alive?” the heavy woman asked.
“I killed him when I was nine,” Hayden replied. “He wasn’t kind to my mother.”
The group laughed. The leader stood up. “We might have use for a man like you. Tell me, gringo, what scares you?”
Hayden smiled. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
Hayden nodded. The short man from the other table grabbed him from behind, strong arms wrapping around him to get him in a hold. The militant closest to him stood to punch him in the gut.
Hayden took the blow without flinching, and then used the weight of the man holding him to kick out into the second man, knocking him back. He came down on his feet, grabbing the first attacker’s arm and using his augment to fling him easily over his shoulder.
The rest of the patrons in the bar stood up. They didn’t run out of the saloon, but they did move aside to leave the group of fighters more space.
The leader of the militia vaulted the table, knocking over the cards and chips and sending a leaping kick at Hayden’s face. Hayden dropped below it, rolling sideways and back to his feet, turning to face the group. Another militant came at him, taken down in a split-second by a hard punch to the side of his head. The blow left Hayden open on the other side, and a third soldier hit him in the gut. The Skin absorbed most of the strike, and Hayden grabbed the man, throwing him into the card table. Both the man and the table collapsed.
“Not bad,” the leader said, coming at Hayden from the side. He was fast. Too fast to be fully human. Hayden backed away from him, using his augments to catch the man’s too-powerful blows. “You want to be one of us, gringo? You have to earn it.”
Two other militants came at Hayden from the sides. He confused them by charging the leader, taking one of his punches to his ribs to grapple with him. They fell back, going through another table and hitting the ground.
“I want to be like you,” Hayden said. “I know you’re special.”
The man smiled. “And I know it’s you, Sheriff,” Shurrath replied.
The remark took Hayden off-guard. Shurrath punched him in the face, the blow cracking his jaw so hard it exploded in pain. Hayden growled, rolling off the man and reaching for his guns.
This wasn’t fun anymore.
“Did you really think you could sneak up on me?” Shurrath said, getting back to his feet. “Did you really think I couldn’t tell it was you? It doesn’t matter what you look like. Your posture gives you away. The Skin can’t change that. It can’t change your do-gooder attitude. It can’t change your gunslinger swagger.”
Hayden glanced around. He noticed the other people in the saloon were reaching for whatever they had to use as weapons, a sudden murderous intent in their eyes.
“These are my people, Sheriff,” Shurrath said. “You’re on the doorstep of my home. Did you think anyone in this city would help you? They are all mine. Every last one of them, whether they want to be or not. Fear keeps them in line, Sheriff. Fear binds them to me. It is delicious, isn’t it?”
His hands moved so fast, Hayden barely saw them. Then he was flying backward through the air, hitting a third table, crashing over it, and landing on the floor.
“Kill him,” Shurrath said.
Hayden rolled to his hands and knees, looking up. Every person in the place was headed in his direction.
The door to the saloon burst open beside him. Isaac stepped through it, a rifle in hand. He didn’t say anything. He just started shooting.
The militants and the patrons began to fall, cut down by the unexpected barrage. A window broke on the side of the building, and someone started shooting through, adding to the crossfire.
The militants started shooting back as Isaac joined Hayden by the table, pushing it onto its side to use as cover. Bullets began reducing the table to splinters of wood, proving it wouldn’t last long.
Hayden drew his revolvers, glancing over at Isaac. “How’d you know I was in trouble?”
Isaac smiled. “Aren’t you always in trouble?”
“Good point. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Hayden and Isaac popped out from behind the table, returning fire. Their first two bullets took out the militant coming at them from the right. Isaac’s next shot eliminated a dirty man with a nasty knife in his hand. The small man who’d grabbed Hayden had a pistol pointed his way. Their eyes locked again right before they both fired.
The small man missed.
Hayden didn’t.
His round hit the man right between the eyes, knocking him down. He snapped open the revolvers, emptying the spent casings from the cylinders. He put one on the ground, loading the first and shooting another man in the stomach. Flipping it into the air, he reloaded the second revolver before standing and catching the first one well before it hit the floor. His finger found the trigger and he shot again, diving away as a man with a shotgun opened fire.
Some of the buckshot strafed the Skin, but it didn’t break through. The rounds would leave a bruise but little else. He came up facing the man, shooting him in the chest and taking him down.
“Such desperation,” Shurrath said. Hayden found his host still standing in the center of the saloon, body bleeding from a dozen bullet holes. “Such determination. You could have been one of my best, Sheriff. I’ve almost reached your city. Your family. It’s Natalia, isn’t it?”
Hayden turned to face him, raising his revolvers. “Don’t you ever say her name again,” he hissed.
The shooting died around them, all of Shurrath’s people in the saloon dead save for Shurrath himself. Isaac came to stand by Hayden’s side.
“You too, Isaac,” Shurrath said. “You both could have been the vanguard of my new army. You could have had everything. Power. Women. Comfort beyond compare.”
“I just want you to shut up,” Isaac said.
“You handled this rabble,” Shurrath said. “But let’s see how you do with the rest of the city. I doubt you’ll make it out of here alive.”
“You’ll have to find another host to watch from,” Hayden said. He stepped forward, putting the muzzle of his revolver to Shurrath’s head. “See you soon.”
Hayden’s finger started depressing the trigger. The man’s expression changed suddenly, becoming something else. Something caring and familiar.
“Nat?” Hayden said in disbelief. It couldn’t be.
“Hayden,” Natalia said through the militant leader.
“How?”
“No time. You have to get out of there. You have to hurry. Alpha is closing on Sanisco, and I can’t hold this for long.”
“What?”
“We managed to get access to the Collective. I’ve been to Shub-Nigu. I’ve seen
more than I ever wanted to see. If you can get Shurrath, we can stop them. But you can’t kill him. Grace—”
“I know. I found her. She died to save me. I have a plan.”
“When you get to Shurrath, make yourself known. I’ll find you.”
“What can you do?”
“Kill every one of Shurrath’s khoron.”
Hayden raised his eyebrow. “What the hell have you been doing while I’ve been gone?”
Natalia smiled, leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. The man’s stubble was rough against Hayden’s face. “Get out of there. Now!”
Hayden glanced at Isaac.
And they ran.
Chapter 51
Whatever Natalia had learned, whatever she’d done, it worked.
Hayden, Isaac and Max emerged from Rose twenty minutes later, each of them mounted on motorcycles modified to handle the mountainous terrain to the south. The bikes featured large, chained tires and spiky protrusions angling out of the fenders and handlebars, along with permanent crates welded behind the seat to carry a decent haul of cargo.
Nobody in the city had tried to stop them. When they left the saloon the people outside, both civilian and military, came to a complete stop to let them past, standing still as though they were robots controlled by a master switch.
It had to be Natalia. The reaction was creepy but effective.
The trio ran past dozens of armed soldiers who had been headed for the saloon and who had found themselves powerless to even take another step. Looking into their eyes, Hayden could see they were aware of their condition and definitely unhappy about it. But there was nothing they could do about it.
Max laughed the entire time, all the way from the saloon and across three streets to where they found the bikes, parked out in front of the nicest building in the city—though it was still crumbling and filthy. Shurrath’s symbol was painted across the steps leading into the structure, and the guards on either side of the door suggested it was the residence of the city’s leader.
A leader who couldn’t do a damned thing, at least for the moment.
