Fatal Error rj-13

by F. Paul Wilson

  They kept going down until he was sure they had to be underground.

  "Let me know if you spot a Morlock," Jack said.

  Angelo glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

  "Never mind."

  They reached bottom where a heavy door stood open. A swipe-card reader jutted from the wall next to the frame. No Holmesian deduction needed to figure they'd been here before and prepared the space beyond. With what, he had no clue.

  Gabe stopped on the threshold and gestured to the space beyond. A smile rippled his lips.

  "Nice and private in here."

  Still not sure of how he was going to play this, but getting an idea, Jack too gestured toward the doorway.

  "About as private as you can get, from the look of it. Please-you two first."

  As they stepped through, Jack grabbed the door and slammed it shut behind them. He wasn't sure how he was going to keep it closed, but that question became moot when he saw the big knife in the hand of the man who had been hiding behind the door. The only spot Jack hadn't been able-or had time-to check.

  He leaped toward Jack, slashing with the eight-inch blade just as the door reopened and Gabe and Angelo came charging out.

  Jack backpedaled, reaching behind him, but his hip slowed him and they were on him before he could grab the Glock. Gabe and Angelo each grabbed an arm while the newcomer held the point of his bowie knife's big, beveled blade against Jack's throat. The overhead fluorescents reflected off both the blade and his shaven skull.

  "Real clown, this guy."

  Jack didn't dare struggle too much. A heavy blade like that could open his throat with a flick of the wrist. He felt a little sweat gather in his armpits. He'd expected Jake to be waiting inside.

  Okay, options-options-options. What did he have?

  First off, play cool or scared? Cool might work better with these guys.

  "You must be Jake," he said.

  The guy's features went slack for a second as he glanced at Gabe. "How the fuck he know-?"

  "Who gives a shit!" Gabe tugged Jack's arm and started him moving toward the doorway. "Get him inside!"

  "I don't like him knowing my name, man."

  "Fuhgeddaboudit. It ain't gonna matter."

  That didn't sound good.

  As they hauled him into the room, Jack put up enough of a struggle to work his hands behind his back. Jake closed the door, then took Jack's right arm and transferred the knife to Gabe. They slammed Jack back against the wall, but he managed to keep his hands behind him. They each hooked a leg around one of his, preventing any kicks on Jack's part. Seemed like they'd done this before.

  "This isn't fair," he said.

  "Ay, it's as fair as fair can be. I got a knife and you don't."

  Jack lowered his head. "I guess I didn't plan well enough."

  "I guess you didn't."

  "Yeah, you know the old saying: If you find yourself in a fair fight it means you didn't plan well enough."

  Gabe grinned. "Hey, I like that. And it looks like you didn't plan for shit." He twisted the blade back and forth. "Now it's playtime."

  Jack writhed, as if trying to get as far as possible from the blade-which wasn't such a bad idea-but the move allowed him to slip his hand under his sweatshirt and find the grip of the Glock.

  "Wh-what are you talking about?"

  "I'm talkin 'bout you talkin big upstairs, talkin 'bout rippin off my ear and givin it to Angelo. Well, guess what? Guess who's gonna lose an ear? Maybe two?"

  "Aw, you don't want to do that."

  "That's just starters, asshole. The real fun will be when I gut you."

  "G-gut me?"

  Jack inched the Glock free of its holster as the tip of the bowie approached his abdomen.

  "Yeah. Gonna slice you open and let your guts fall out."

  Angelo laughed. "Yeah, like sausages."

  Jake twisted his arm. "Maybe we'll feed you some. Like hot dogs."

  Angelo guffawed. "Aw, man, we forgot the fuckin' rolls!"

  This got laughs all around.

  "B-b-but I'll die!"

  "No shit!" Gabe shouted. "You're one smart asshole!"

  More laughs. They all seemed to be getting a big kick out of this.

  "Y-you can't get away with it! The security cameras! It'll all b-b-be on tape! They'll catch you!"

  Gabe kept smiling. "All you need is a broom handle to tip them so they don't see nothin'."

  Jack slipped his finger over the Glock's trigger. No safety to worry about. Ready. Just needed to know one more thing.

  "S-someone will hear!"

  He laughed. "Not you, asshole, 'cause you won't have no ears. And besides, nobody up there can hear nothin' down here."

  Just what he needed to hear.

  "That's a relief."

  Gabe gave him a puzzled look. "Wha-?"

  "You didn't plan well enough."

  He twisted to clear his right forearm, raised the Glock to hip level, and shot Gabe in the belly. The report was deafening in the small space. Angelo loosened his grip as he jumped and screamed like a girl, giving Jack a chance for a cross-body shot into his chest. Jake jumped on him and tried to take him down. Jack switched hands, slipped the pistol between his arm and his flank, and fired. Jake tumbled off, staggered back against the wall, and left a trail of blood as he slid to the floor.

  Jack whirled and found Gabe on his side, hands clutched over his abdomen, kicking his legs as he made agonized, grunting noises. He'd taken a hardball round to the gut. Looked like it had exited via his back. Same with Jake, but his bullet must have hit something vital on its trip through his chest, because his wide, unblinking eyes said he was gone. As was Angelo. The second round in Jack's magazine tended to be a hollowpoint or a pre-frag. He'd used Hydra-Shoks this time. Not much useful left inside Angelo's rib cage.

  He stepped over to Gabe and kicked the knife away. The guy's attention was centered on the pain in his belly, but why take a chance?

  "… hurts…" he grunted.

  "So I've heard," Jack said. "But probably not as much as being gutted by a bowie knife."

  Another grunt that sounded like "… doctor…"

  "Don't think so."

  "… please…"

  Jack rolled Gabe onto his back and pressed the muzzle of the Glock against his chest.

  His eyes widened. "No!"

  "You made a mistake. You thought you'd brought me into your world, but you wound up in mine. You threatened Gia and put your hands on her. You don't do that in my world. At the moment, life holds too many threats to me and mine that I can't seem to do anything about. You, I'm afraid, have the misfortune of being one that I can."

  21

  Jack waded back through the crowd until he reached a point where he had a line of sight to Gia. He waited till she looked his way, then waved. Her face lit when she saw him but he motioned her to stay seated.

  "Meet me downstairs by the car rental booths," he called.

  She gave him a questioning look.

  "ASAP," he said.

  She nodded and began buttoning Vicky's coat. He turned and squeezed through the crowd.

  Far below, he'd left the three bodies where they'd fallen. He'd closed the door to the room and locked them in. No one without a swipe card could open it. After wiping down anything he'd touched, he'd made the long, painful climb back up to the ticketing level.

  His hip was on fire now as he entered the crowded men's room and found he had to wait on line for a stall. When he finally reached one, he removed the sweatshirt and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. He waited a minute, then exited, leaving the hoodie behind.

  He found a spot outside on the floor where he could watch the traffic in and out of the men's room. He thought it would take at least ten minutes, but it took only five before he spotted a tall, lanky kid exit the men's room with a gray sweatshirt rolled up under his arm. Could have been his own, but his swiveling head and furtive look meant he'd probably boosted it. When Jack spotted a piec
e of the Nets logo, he was sure.

  Wear it in good health… but wear it.

  Jack headed down to the baggage level and found his ladies waiting near the Hertz booth. Vicky smiled and waved. She seemed to have recovered from the loss of her pretzel. Gia's expression was more serious.

  "Are you okay?"

  He nodded as he took the handle of her rolling suitcase.

  "Fine."

  "What about-?"

  "They're no longer interested in you."

  She bit her upper lip. "Oh, Jack, I don't like the sound of that."

  "It's okay."

  "But what does that mean?"

  "Just what it says: They won't be bothering you anymore."

  "But…" She leaned close and whispered so Vicky couldn't hear. "Did they attack you?"

  "As we both knew they would."

  "Then why did you go?"

  "To get them away from you."

  "Did you… I mean, are they…? "

  He looked at her. "Do you really want to know the details?"

  She held his gaze, then looked away. "No. Not really. I have a good imagination."

  "I hope Jack kicked their fucking asses."

  Unwilling to believe Vicky had just said that, Jack turned and stared into her innocent blue eyes.

  "What did you-?"

  "Victoria Maria Westphalen!" Gia said, hands on hips in the classic shocked-and-angry mother pose.

  It appeared to be dawning on Vicky that she'd crossed some sort of line, but she merely shrugged. "Well, he stole my pretzel."

  "That's not the point. Have you ever heard me talk like that? Have you ever heard Jack talk like that? Where on Earth have you ever heard that kind of language?"

  "On the bus. Everybody-"

  "I don't care what everybody does, we do not use that kind of language, understand?"

  "Okay, okay," she said in a my-mother-is-so-not-cool tone. "I hope he kicked their fucking heinies. Okay?"

  Jack had to turn away. He could stifle-barely-the laugh that struggled to burst free, but he could not hide the grin. He shouldn't have bothered because, after a pregnant pause, Gia leaned against him and started laughing out loud. Jack joined her while Vicky looked at them like they were crazy.

  When Gia finally composed herself she looked back at Vicky. "We don't drop f-bombs either."

  "F-bombs?"

  "The f-word."

  Vicky rolled her eyes. "Okay, how about-?"

  "How about we talk about something else?"

  Vicky shrugged. "Okaaaaay."

  Gia looked back at Jack. "What are we doing out here?"

  "I thought we'd go for a walk."

  "Back to the city? But-"

  "No. One of the hotels. Whichever is closest."

  "I thought you said they were full up."

  "They are, so we'll camp in a lobby until morning."

  "Why?"

  "The airport might not be the best place to stay. Way too crowded in there. Something might set that mob off. And if it does, you two might get hurt." He put an arm around her and pressed her against him. "Or worse."

  That was one reason. But Jack had another. Since no one without the right swipe card could enter that room, the bodies had a decent chance of remaining undiscovered till morning. But he couldn't count on it. Someone might stumble on them five minutes from now. Word of a triple murder could panic the crowd. But even if word never reached the crowd, the cops and TSA people would be poring over the tapes. They might see a couple of the dead guys with someone in a gray Nets hoodie. Jack had spotted a good number of gray hoodies in the Central Terminal and, though it was highly unlikely in that packed throng, the tapes might link the hoodie with the dead guys to the hoodie who'd been with Gia and Vicky. That was the way his luck seemed to be running lately.

  He lifted Vicky onto his shoulders. His hip protested but he ignored it. This was Vicky.

  "Want to go for a ride?"

  "Yes!"

  He held out his arm to Gia. "Shall we?"

  She hooked an arm around his elbow and they started walking. A couple of hotels waited not half a mile from the terminal. Any other night, it would be suicide to try to cross the Grand Central on foot. But tonight it would be like making their way through a crowded parking lot.

  He looked up at the sparkling winter sky and thought of the Lady. With all the concern about Gia and Vicky, she'd slipped his mind.

  He wondered how she was doing. It couldn't be good.

  22

  "Well, it's official. A White House spokesperson has announced that the Internet, that globe-spanning conglomeration of computer networks for the sharing of information, has, for all intents and purposes, crashed. Internet data traffic has come to a virtual standstill. Uninfected intranets-self-contained computer networks with guarded Internet access-still remain functional, as do military and some governments networks, but these form an infinitesimal fraction of what the Internet was. No World Wide Web, no Twitter, no Facebook, no chat rooms, no Usenet-it's all down. The Department of Defense is looking at this as a possible act of war. The Department of Homeland Security has raised the National Threat level to red or 'severe.'

  "In further comment, the White House announced-"

  Weezy muted the TV.

  She hadn't checked on the Lady for a while and was afraid to go see her now. She knew the end was near, maybe had passed.

  She pushed herself up to her feet, and forced herself down the hall to the bedroom.

  She stopped by the doorway, listening. Again, no breathing. She wasn't used to that, but she expected it. She stepped into the room. The bedside lamp still burned, illuminating the bed The empty bed!

  No… no… someone there, under the covers. But she'd left the Lady lying atop the covers.

  "Lady?"

  Weezy gasped as she realized she was seeing the covers through the Lady. Her brain kept telling her to run, to flee this madness, but she put one foot in front of the other until she was standing at the bedside, looking down at what was left of the Lady.

  Her body as well as her clothing had become transparent, or nearly so. What substance she retained had a faint, misty quality about it, just enough-barely enough-to provide a visible form. Weezy wondered at the transparency of her clothing until she realized that what appeared to be clothing on the Lady was really part of her, as malleable as her flesh-or rather, as malleable as it used to be.

  Weezy stared at the two holes in that flesh. When Weezy had first met her last year, she'd shown her a tunnel carved front to back through her torso by a previous attempt to extinguish her. After the Fhinntmanchca attack, a second, larger tunnel had appeared on the other side of her navel.

  She lay just as Weezy had left her, but… she'd been solid then. As before, her eyes were closed. Still conserving energy, or unable to open them?

  She reached a hand toward her and noticed how it trembled. She pushed it toward the Lady's shoulder, finally touching it -and passing through.

  She snatched it back. She'd felt something-the best she could describe it was a tepid liquid. The Lady's substance had sublimated to a semi-solid state. Was this how it would end? From solid to semisolid to… what? A vapor, her molecules dissipating into the air? Was that how she would end-a victim of Brownian motion?

  And yet… why hadn't that already happened? If the Internet was down, why was she here at all? Weezy could only assume that the damaged noosphere was trying desperately to maintain her existence, and obviously losing the battle.

  The mountain lake she'd described was draining dry.

  "Lady?"

  No motion, no response, not even a flutter of the eyelids. She seemed even less substantial than a moment ago.

  Weezy felt a sob building in her chest. No need to suppress it, so she let it burst free. She'd come to love the Lady as a person. She knew she was simply a projection of the noosphere, but she seemed more than that. She seemed to have her own personality. Most likely that was merely a projection as well, but whatever
it was, Weezy had come to love it.

  She pulled a chair up beside the bed. She didn't want to look at what was left of the Lady, so she turned out the light. But even though the Lady wasn't human, she shouldn't have to die alone. Someone needed to be here to bear witness to her passing.

  "I'll sit with you until…"

  She couldn't bring herself to say it.

  … until there's no more of you to sit with.

  SUNDAY

  1

  Weezy awoke in the dark with a cold left hand. She remembered resting it on the bed next to the Lady's earlier. She must have fallen asleep. A cold weight rested on that hand.

  Reaching across with her right, she turned on the light and gasped.

  The Lady still lay on the bed as Weezy had last seen her, but she seemed more visible. No, she was more visible. She could no longer see the covers through her. The cold weight resting on Weezy's hand was the Lady's. It had substance now. Last night she'd been reduced to some sort of strange semiliquid, progressing toward vapor. Now she seemed to be gathering mass and moving in the other direction.

  Weezy slipped her hand from under the Lady's and touched her arm. Definitely solid now.

  But how could that be?

  She shook her gently. "Lady? Lady, can you hear me?"

  Nothing. No breath. No movement. But she was still here. And she must have moved sometime since Weezy dozed off, or else how would her hand have come to rest atop Weezy's?

  She gave the Lady's arm a gentle squeeze. The flesh rebounded. How was this possible? The Internet was down, and yet she not only survived, she was rebounding.

  Unless… had the Internet somehow rebounded just in time? It seemed too good to be true, but…

  She looked around for a clock but couldn't find one. She dug out her cell phone and touched a key. The display lit to show no service and no time. She'd left the TV on in the front room and heard it now. She hurried out to see if she could learn anything from the tube.