The Dystopian Gene

by S. E. Meyer

  “What do I look like, a nursemaid?” the man asked.

  “Just take him,” Anna growled. “I have to get back upstairs, but I asked the guard to call emergency services.” Anna placed Ronnie into the man's arms. “He needs a treatment as soon as possible. Just get him out to the street, I'm sure the ambulance is already here.”

  The man's partner tugged Ronnie's mother towards the elevator. “Take the kid. We have to get going, anyway. The sooner we get this skipper processed, the sooner we get her a date with the gate.”

  Anna looked on while chewing her lip as the group shuffled to the elevator. She turned toward the stairwell, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  The elevator doors opened and Anna glanced back over her shoulder. Ronnie waved as they all stepped inside.

  Anna clenched her jaw while lunging for the elevator, sliding her hand between the doors as they closed.

  “Wait,” Anna said, removing the phone from her pocket. “Where's her phone?”

  “In my back pocket,” the woman replied. “Why?”

  Anna stepped around the officers and slipped her hand in the woman's pocket. “What is your name?”

  “Sandy.”

  “Pull up your clinic account, Sandy. I'll one-touch the funds. I know what it's like to lose a mother. I won't let you do that to him.”

  The woman shook her head. “You don't have to do that for me. I'm not taking charity.”

  “Take off her cuffs,” Anna demanded.

  The officer did as he was told with a reluctant huff and Anna handed Sandy her phone.

  The woman held up her hand. “I told you, I'm not taking your charity.”

  “I'm not doing this for you,” Anna argued. She rubbed Ronnie's mat of brown hair and then wiped a tear from his cheek. “I'm doing this for him.”

  Sandy shook her head, but tapped her phone and handed it back to Anna. The account balance leaped from the phone in large red numbers.

  '-$8,000'

  Anna coughed. “When's the last time you made a payment?”

  Touching the phones together, Anna hovered her finger over the 'Send Payment' icon. She took one last glance at the boy with red eyes, a fresh string of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. Returning her gaze to the phone, Anna tapped the screen.

  While handing the phone back to Sandy, Anna made eye contact. “It's done,” she said, “Take care of this little guy.”

  Anna dabbed Ronnie's small lips with her sleeve before stepping backwards out of the elevator. She gave the boy a smile while the elevator doors closed.

  Anna turned and marched for the stairwell, slipping her phone into her pocket with a nod. Atop the seventh floor landing, Anna paused. She took in a long breath while pulling her shoulders back before entering the seventh floor hallway.

  “I don't have time for more of your bullshit,” Anna snapped, holding her palm out in the guard's direction as she arrived at the penthouse doorway. “I need to secure this crime scene, so, partner or no partner, I'm doing my job,” she finished while entering the penthouse.

  “What does a young kid like you know about detective work?”

  Anna spun on her heel, staring the man down before glancing at his name tag. “Well, Officer Gregorson, I can tell you live alone, east side near the tire plant based on the hint of rubber smell emanating from your uniform. There's a few hairs on your pant leg, canine, so you own a dog. I would guess Chow mix.”

  The officer's eyes widened.

  “You care little for your job. Your uniform is wrinkled, your socks don't match, and you haven't cleaned or oiled your gun in months. You're also one doughnut away from buying a new belt. Should I continue?”

  The loose-jawed officer shook his head while scratching the back of his skull. “How could you know all that?”

  “Now, let me do my job.”

  Anna moved to the room's center. She closed her eyes before moving in a slow circle, stopping in front of the pile of debris.

  Anna opened her eyes.

  It was the rug that caught her attention.

  Well, that’s interesting.

  She pulled a package of latex gloves from her pocket and studied her discovery; a disfigured hand protruding from the mounds of drawer contents, visible from the edge of the rug.

  Donning the latex gloves, Anna bent over and moved a stack of magazines to reveal the man who owned the maimed appendage.

  There you are.

  “Minus two fingers and a thumb.”

  Anna bent down on one knee, disturbing the antique tapestry. She waved her hand in front of her face to ease the smell of mildew filling her nose, and to dislodge the fly that landed there. “Let’s see what else we’ve got here,” she said while brushing more debris from the man’s face.

  Dried blood covered the man’s left cheek and his jaw was hanging open, disclosing a truant tongue.

  Anna turned up her nose. “So who have you been talking to? Or were about to talk to?” she asked the corpse in a low whisper.

  A message notification from Anna‘s phone broke the silence with the roar of an artillery shell.

  Anna jumped.

  What is wrong with me today?

  Anna tore the glove off her right hand and fished the phone from her pocket. She read the screen.

  ‘Get out of there.’

  Anna wrinkled her brow, not recognizing the sender’s number.

  The phoned chimed again.

  ‘You need to get out of there. Now. But first you need to do something. Someone is coming. I’ll call you.’

  A lump formed in her throat. As she hit the reply button, her phone rang. She pressed the talk button. “Who is this?”

  “That’s not important,” replied a gruff, elderly voice. The man’s tone held a familiar accent that Anna couldn’t place.

  “Get a knife from the kitchen. You need to cut something out of the dead man’s thigh.”

  “What? No, I’m not doing anything with the body.”

  “We have little time,” the man said. He paused before continuing. “Listen Anna, you need to do what I say or people will get hurt.”

  Anna stiffened.

  She rose from the rug, waving her free hand in the air. “Are you threatening me?” she challenged.

  Gregorson stepped across the threshold from outside the doorway. “Are you okay in there?” he inquired. “Do you need any help?”

  Anna ignored the officer, her attention focused on the words trickling into her head.

  “Look out the window and see for yourself,” the mysterious voice urged.

  Anna pressed the phone hard against her skull. Her ear turned white from the lack of blood flow as she peered out the dining-room window to scan the view below.

  Two black vehicles pulled up behind her car and three men stepped out.

  “See, I told you. They’re coming. They’re coming for it, and they’ll kill anyone who stands in their way.”

  The hair on the back of Anna’s neck stood up.

  Sucking in a breath through pursed lips, Anna turned from the window. “Who are you? And how do you know my name?” she demanded, firing off the questions with the rapid succession of a semi-automatic weapon.

  “They’ll be at the door any second, Anna. Quick, get a knife from the kitchen and cut open the dead man’s right thigh. You’re running out of time. It won’t be hard to find what you’re looking for. You should feel a slight bump under the skin where it’s located.”

  “Where what‘s located?”, Anna asked, wringing her phone through white knuckles.

  “The wireless smart drive.”

  “Um, are you sure you’re okay?” the officer repeated from the entryway.

  Waving the officer off, Anna turned to take a second glance out the window and scowled. “I’m not tampering with a crime scene. Who the hell are you?” she yelled into the phone as her heart hammered her chest.

  “It’s too late, they’re already there,” the stranger replied into her ear.

  Three m
en shoved passed the officer outside the door and entered the apartment. Their expensive suits matched the opulence of the room, but the drab color of their garments mirrored the gray undertones of the ambiance outside.

  One man pulled a gun, pointing it at Anna. “Where is it? No one will get hurt If you cooperate.” The man’s lips formed into a contemptuous smile.

  Anna swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing with adrenaline.

  “What the hell is going on?” she asked, while studying his face with her ice-blue eyes. “What are you doing barging in on my crime scene?”

  Anna’s nostrils flared, a subconscious effort to block out the sting of the man’s overpriced cologne.

  Officer Gregorson pulled his gun and pointed it towards the men. “Hold it right there. Who are you guys?” he demanded.

  Anna emptied her lungs.

  Glad someone has my back.

  “Let’s see some ID here-,” Gregorson continued.

  The man with the gun turned towards the officer and fired his weapon. Gregorson fell backward, cut off by a bullet entering above his left eyebrow.

  Anna’s eyes widened as her stomach cinched into a painful knot. She stood frozen as a tsunami of panic crashed down onto her chest, blurring her peripheral vision.

  “Run,” the stranger’s voice commanded into Anna’s ear.

  Anna winced, watching Gregorson’s final thoughts slide down the wall behind him.

  “Run!” the voice in her ear repeated as the man with the gun took aim.

  With a fresh wave of adrenaline washing over her extremities, Anna bolted to the kitchen. She pulled the gun from her holster with her right hand while still pressing the phone to her ear with the other. Ducking through the open doorway as a bullet splintered the wood trim next to her cheek. Anna spun her torso. She aimed her weapon around the corner and fired three rounds through the doorway.

  Anna blinked and the color of her eyes changed from blue to a piercing gun-metal gray.

  ◆◆◆

  “Shall I bring you another, sir?” A thin butler asked from the shadows as the bald man sitting before him drained his glass. The old man finished with a slurp from between two perfect cubes of ice before dropping the glass onto the serving tray next to his high-backed chair. "Indeed,” he grunted through one vocal cord. The other had collapsed years ago, turning his voice into a thin, hoarse whisper.

  “Your guest has arrived. Should I bring him in along with your drink, sir?” The butler asked.

  He received an uttering through the man’s hollow cheeks that only years of service allowed him to translate. The servant took the tray and exited the drawing room through a set of ten-foot high oak doors.

  The man slid a cigarette from its silver case with age-spotted hands. Forcing a swallow, he lit the end with a match and inhaled as a middle-aged, well-dressed man entered the room, followed by the butler.

  “Is it done, Damarion?” the bald man squeaked through a smoke-filled exhalation.

  “Right to business, Cornelius?” Damarion replied, wringing his smooth, callous-free hands. He raised a waxed eyebrow. “My men are taking care of it as we speak.”

  “Your incompetent men should have taken care of it last night.”

  “I told you, they searched the apartment all night and found nothing. Even torture proved unsuccessful.”

  “Everything is going according to plan. It’s not in his apartment, it’s in his leg.”

  Damarion’s eyes widened. “His leg? That information would have been more useful last night,” he replied. Damarion waited for a response while flicking the manicured nails of his third finger and thumb.

  The butler placed a fresh glass of brandy next to Cornelius.

  “That’s because you do not understand what’s happening here, Damarion. The temptation of a wounded rabbit pinched in a snare, is enough to draw a wolf from the safety of its lair.”

  “Is there something you‘re not telling me?”

  “I could not inform you of the change in plans over the phone. The Resistance hacked our communications. That’s why I called you here this morning. I set the trap. The Wolf will be there.”

  “At the scene? How do you know?”

  “Because what’s most precious to him is in danger of being lost.”

  “The smart drive?” Damarion asked.

  Cornelius smiled through yellowed teeth. “He’ll be there. Bring me the Wolf, Damarion, and I will see you get what you want. What you’ve wanted all this time, as promised,” Cornelius rattled. He took another deep drag from the dried tobacco leaves pinched between his bony fingers.

  “As I said, my men are dealing with it as we speak,” Damarion continued.

  “And as I told you on the phone, my inside man said Agent Wool has already arrived at the scene.”

  “Yes, and you also said she was alone. Her partner wasn’t with her.”

  “You’re underestimating her,” Cornelius said through a throaty whisper. “She’s not just any agent.”

  “I sent five men,” Damarion replied. He paused, staring into the old man’s blood-shot eyes. Damarion displayed a charming smile that had led many women astray. “I’m sure they can handle one little girl,” he scoffed.

  Cornelius rolled the cigarette between his thumb and index finger. “No, your men are already dead.”

  Damarion’s eyebrows shot skyward. “How do you mean?” he asked.

  “If Anna Wool doesn’t kill them, the blast will,” Cornelius explained.

  Damarion's eyebrows got further acquainted with his widow's peak. “Blast?”

  “Yes, Damarion. You will need to send more men. I want the Wolf. I would have preferred to take him alive and put him in the Chamber, but now I don't care. This has to stop. So either alive, or in bits. I don't care, damn it! Bring him to me.”

  “And what about the smart drive?”

  “Forget the smart drive, the explosion will incinerate any information on it. The Wolf will die, and any rebellion left from within the walls will die with him. He's the last one.” Cornelius leaned closer to Damarion. “Whoever removes that smart drive from the dead reporter's leg will detonate the charges my men set this morning.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Now what?” Anna asked the man on the phone. “If you’re trying to help me, what do I do now?”

  “I told you. You need to get the smart drive from the dead man’s leg.”

  Anna shook her head. “What’s so important about the smart drive?”

  “Because Anna, it was your mother’s.”

  Anna’s head swam.

  My mother’s?

  “If you want to find out the truth behind her death, and live long enough to find her murderer, you need to do as I say.”

  A man appeared in the second entryway to the kitchen. Anna aimed and fired two shots into his chest. Distracted, the two men behind Anna went unnoticed. The first man grabbed her from behind. She dropped the phone as she drove her elbow into the man’s face. He stumbled backwards, sending a set of knives crashing to the floor. Instinct took over as she turned, jumped and kicked the man in front of her in the chest, forcing him backwards into the man with the gun behind him.

  As Anna fell back to the floor, she dropped to a crouching position. Leaning to one side, she fired three precise rounds. The bullets ripped through both men and they crashed to the floor.

  Anna ignored the pain in her chest while wrestling with her trembling hands. She held her position for several seconds, weapon aimed, as she watched the life drain from her attacker’s eyes.

  Anna pulled in a long breath through her nose and exhaled. She scanned her surroundings and snapped the phone up off the floor. As she did, she saw the kitchen cutlery block of knives sitting sideways on the floor.

  Could this be a chance to find mom’s killer?

  Anna hesitated, knowing what tampering with a crime scene could do to her career.

  But...why?

  It wasn’t her mother’s death that haunted her as much as wh
y she died. Those three letters. The question that burned in the back of her mind. An endless void beating through her daily thoughts and empty heart. A chasm that only one answer could fill.

  ‘Let it go, Anna.’

  That’s what everyone kept telling her. Friends. Family. Co-workers. A repeated mantra from people who think they know what’s best for another human being, confident their advice will heal the soul.

  For whom does a troubled mind quell, if not oneself, conductor of the symphony of thoughts in which we find ourselves entangled? Anna recalled a favorite quote.

  They were wrong. Letting go proved impossible. The need for answers. Meaning. Purpose. The truth. They might as well be asking me to stop breathing.

  Anna decided.

  In one fluid motion she jumped to the other side of the men, grabbed a knife with a serrated blade, and ran back into the living room.

  “Okay, now what?” she breathed as she removed the pile of debris from the dead man's legs and felt his right thigh for a lump.

  “You're alive, that's excellent,” the stranger's voice trickled in her ear. “I'm not surprised. Like mother, like daughter.”

  “You knew her? My mother?”

  “No time for that now. Upper right thigh, cut his pants and cut out the smart drive.”

  Anna did as instructed. She cut the man's pants away from his thigh and found a small lump. She drove the knife deep into the lifeless leg and cut out a chunk of flesh, peeling back the skin to reveal a small tube. Anna held it up, inspecting it in the light. The unknown metal alloy shell reflected a pink hue through the thin coat of blood that surrounded it.

  “Okay, got it,” she said into the phone. “Now what?”

  “Run, Anna. Run like the hounds of hell were at your heels and don't stop until you get back to the police station.”

  Anna stood still, her gaze fixed on the metallic tube. “Now Anna, go! You're still in danger, get out of there, I can only delay it for so long,” the voice demanded.

  Anna stood up and made it to the hallway in three long strides, jumping over Gregorson's lifeless body in the doorway. “Who are you, and how did you know my mother?” she asked as she ran down the stairwell to the ground floor. “And what do you mean, delay it? Delay what?”