by Brian Savage
“Why would it come after me?” Jack asked, exasperated.
“Because you are close to truly seeing,” she said, cocking her head to the left.
Jack felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu at the image of her there, head cocked to the left. An image flashed through his mind of her eyeless face and throbbing, flashing implant. He shook his head and turned away. He looked the way Brant had gone again.
“Truly seeing what?” he said quietly, pained by the image of her from his dream.
She didn’t answer him. He was growing so tired of the questions without answers. Tired of not knowing what was going on. Maybe Brant was more sane than he was. Maybe he needed to be having an emotional break down, too. He looked back at Aeralyn. She was watching him intently, with the same expression she had from before. The expression that gave no impression as to the inner workings of her mind.
“Do you trust me?” he asked her.
“I trust YOU,” she said, her voice showing feeling that didn’t register on her face. The emphasis on the last word was not lost on Jack. Jack clenched and unclenched his jaw as he looked into her eyes. I trust you too, he thought without saying. He didn’t know why. He looked back to the open hangar door. The attendant was heading back in, dusty-looking backpack slung over one shoulder, and metal toolbox in the other hand.
“Well, I’m ready when you are,” he said, as far out as his voice would carry. “Follow me, it’s a coupla hangars down.”
Jack and Aeralyn followed the man. Jack looked back over his shoulder, down the row of buildings, but didn’t catch sight of Brant. Where the hell was he? He caught up with the attendant.
“Did you see the guy that came with us: Brant?”
“Yep. He was out back the shop. Looked pissed. Was yelling ’bout something. Couldn’t hear him, though. I waved at him to let him know where we’re going. I know he saw me, just kinda looked at me funny, though. Seems like a good kid. Kinda strange, though…”
The man’s voice trailed off as Jack fell back a step, beside Aeralyn. Concern was written on his face.
“What did you mean by Brant not being himself?” Jack asked, not bothering to turn his face to hers.
“I don’t know how far gone he is,” she said, noting Jack’s concern. “Some people fight it harder, others succumb.”
“Succumb to what?!” Jack felt the desperation, to know what was going on, gripping his insides and clawing at his throat.
“I can’t say much more. Not yet. Trust me—I will tell you everything soon.”
He looked at her. The expression she wore was one of concern and care. Her pretty eyes sparkled as if there were tears there. She looks like she wants more than anything to tell me, he thought. He nodded to her, acknowledging her concern.
“I do trust you,” he said, just above a whisper.
Chapter 12
They followed the round figure before them into the hangar and found themselves pleasantly surprised by the aircraft before them. It was from a bygone age but was as well-kept and clean as the man had said. The white paint of the plane sparkled with a pearly finish. A long, red stripe stretched from tip to tail, matched by red accents on each of the turbine jet engines on either wing.
The man made his way to the far side of the aircraft. Jack and Aeralyn followed.
“Hey, we should wait on my partner,” Jack called after the man.
“I gotta do preflight and stuff. If he isn’t back by then, I’m sure he’ll see us when we head out on the strip.”
“Okay.” Jack looked back out the hangar doors. Worry marked his usually stoic face. He looked at Aeralyn.
“If Brant becomes ‘gone,’ what does that mean for us?”
“It means he might not let us leave.”
Jack clenched his jaw tightly, grinding his teeth together. Alarm bells were going off in his head. The type he hadn’t had going off in his head since fighting building to building, what seemed like lifetimes ago.
“Let’s get on the plane,” he said. Aeralyn nodded her reply.
They made their way up the narrow, steep steps of the passenger jet and into the cabin. They could see the right shoulder and arm of the attendant inside the cockpit to the right, adjusting knobs and flipping switches on the large, black control panel. They walked down the aisle to the left and chose two chairs across from each other about halfway down. The cabin was carpeted in the same red that accented the sleek exterior. The seats, a tan leather, had a fine layer of dust from lack of use. The chairs swiveled back and forth, each two sharing a small table between them.
Aeralyn took the chair facing the cockpit. Jack set his bag down across from her and headed toward the front of the plane.
“Everything looking alright?” he said, hiding from his voice the apprehension building inside him.
“Like I said, this is the crown jewel of my humble fleet,” the balding pilot said, flipping a small switch and tapping the glass cover of what looked like a fuel reading. “This baby is in tip-top shape and is just rearing to go.”
“You going to let the FAA know we are about to go?” Jack asked, noting an abandoned headset wrapped around the far arm rest.
“Funny thing about such an old aircraft,” the attendant said, chuckling, “the radio systems in here jive up with the new digital systems they switched to some thirty years ago. This flight will be under the radar, and just above the clouds the whole way.”
Jack was inwardly pleased. The less outside sources knew about where they were going and what they were doing, the less likely whoever it was they were running from could find them. Running. Is that what they were doing? He shook his head. We are tracking leads, not running from this big, unknown evil. He was either listening to Aeralyn too much, or the books the old man had given him were affecting more than his romanticized notions of his relationship with her.
He scanned the open door of the hangar. The sky was beginning to darken. The steady rain began to build as a storm rolled over the small airport.
“The storm going to be a problem?” Jack asked, looking for Brant in the growing darkness.
“Nah. Once we break through the clouds, should be smooth sailing.”
The man pushed a button, starting the small craft. Jack heard the slow turning of the turbines build as they spun up. Jack continued to scan through the windshield for any sign of Brant as the man behind the wheel expertly drove the aircraft through the large opening and out on to the airstrip. Jack saw the periodic blink of white lights along the center of the runway, blinking rhythmically at a steady rate. It reminded him of his dream. An involuntary shiver raised goosebumps across his body.
Both he and the pilot looked out the windshield to the right, looking for Brant.
“I don’t see him, boss,” the man said, leaning far out over the yoke to look as far back along the hangar bays as he could. Jack was likewise hunched down and leaning far into the cabin, straining for the sight of a long hex coat.
“I’ll flip the headlights on a coupla times. Maybe he’ll get the hint.” The man relaxed back into his seat, and hit the switch on the side of the yoke, up and then down.
Something out of the corner of Jack’s eye drew his attention. He slowly turned his eyes to the front of the aircraft, as the light flicked on, then off, on, then off.
Lit momentarily by the headlights, standing fifty meters or so off the right side of the nose, was Brant. He was turned, facing away, hood up, tail of his coat buffeted against his legs by the growing wind.
“What the hell is he doing?” the man said.
“I don’t know,” Jack said, face set in stone. “Give me a minute.”
Jack turned and headed back into the cabin, stopping by the still open door. Rain blew in, wetting the light red carpet into a color much more akin to blood. Jack zipped his coat up and pulled the hood from beneath the collar.
“What are you doing?” Aeralyn said, a twinge of panic gripping her voice.
“I gotta go get Brant,” Jack said.
“Don’t go out there,” she said, the panic further growing.
“He’s my partner.”
“Not anymore.”
Jack glared at her. It was the first time he had felt anger toward her since they met. She met his gaze but sank further into her chair, drawing her knees to her chest, as was her custom. Jack’s expression changed as he calmed the inner storm that had built up in the short span of the conversation.
“I have to try,” he said, resigned to whatever was propelling them along this course of events. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m going to keep trying.”
He turned quickly and ducked out of the aircraft, nearly slipping on the first wet step. As soon as his foot touched the gravel strip, the cold hand of fear gripped his resolve and threatened to choke it out. He paused by the bottom step, looking back up at the windows of the aircraft, hoping to see Aeralyn’s face. Her face was absent. He began measuring his breath, four seconds in, four seconds out. He set his face as he walked toward the lone figure lit by the headlights of the aircraft.
The rain buffeted him from the right, wind howling around his ears, drowning out the sound of the jet’s engines idling on the runway. He pulled his hood as far over his head as it could go, attempting to keep the rainwater out of his eyes. He drew his weapon from beneath his jacket and placed it behind his back. He stopped thirty feet from where his partner stood, and could tell from this distance that his partner wasn’t standing still.
Seemingly independent of the wind, Brant rocked forward and backward and side to side, balancing on the balls of his feet. Jack watched a few minutes longer before attempting to get Brant’s attention. The jets headlights cast his shadow, like a malformed giant of the man he was, across Brant’s back and disappearing into the darkness of the stormy night.
“Brant!” he yelled, voice breaking slightly. Jack hoped it was from the volume and not the fear that was growing inside of him. Fear that Aeralyn was right, and Brant was really gone. “It’s time to go, bud.”
Brant stopped moving, the only indication that he had heard Jack. Jack’s heart raced despite his combat breathing. His body tensed as Brant slowly turned around.
“What are we doing, Jack?” he yelled above the din of the storm and jet. He faced Jack now. His weapon was drawn and was held low, at his knees. Jack’s whole body was taut, ready to move at a moment’s notice. His mind screamed, Run. Eyes initially drawn to the naked weapon in Brant’s hand now worked their way up to Brant’s face. Horror fell on Jack like a ton of bricks. The eyes were where they should be, but from them streamed tears of blood. Blood ran down Brant’s face, dripped off his chin, and stained the white dress shirt beneath.
He knew from his medical training that crying tears of blood was a stress reaction. He had even seen it once in a severe case of PTSD in a fellow medic during the war. He focused on his breathing. His heart thumped in his chest. He knew his implant would likewise be flashing quicker than normal.
Brant’s wasn’t flashing at all.
“It says you have to die, Jack. It says you all have to die.” Brant was shaking his head back and forth. “I don’t know why you have to die.”
“Who says that, Brant?”
“I don’t know, and yet I do.” Brant smiled a twisted grin. Pain and something manic twisted the corners of his lips farther than they would have gone before. “It will all be okay, Jack. I’m going to kill you. You won’t really die. No one really dies anymore.” His voice was calm and cool, loud enough to be heard, but steady as if he were purring out the words. Jack pointed his weapon at Brant. Brant’s right eyebrow shot up, his expression a sarcastic question: “What are you going to do with that?”
Jack took the slack out of his trigger, just as Brant’s face twisted in agony. He doubled over, clutching the side of his head with one hand and slamming his weapon against the other side.
“Run, Jack!” he screamed. “I can’t take much more of this.” He slammed the butt of his weapon against his implant. Blow after blow, every strike causing convulsions that ran through his body. Brant fell to his knees.
Jack ran forward a few paces, wanting to help, wanting to do something for his partner.
Brant looked up and raised his weapon in one fluid motion. “I can’t do it, Jack. I can’t fight it. Maybe you were right. That shit I ate did more than poison me. I didn’t want to know, though. You get so much for free, you never really think about that universal truth.” Brant’s voice was clear now. It was Brant speaking. Jack was sure. A tired Brant, one resigned to whatever it was that was happening to him. “Nothing is free.”
In one swift motion, Brant bent his outstretched arm at the elbow, and brought the barrel of his weapon up and under the jutting implant.
“Brant!” Jack ran forward, willing his feet to cross the distance in time. A feat he knew he wouldn’t be able to accomplish.
“Bye, boss,” Brant said, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips. He pulled the trigger. Brant’s head snapped to the left, as he crumpled forward onto the wet gravel. His eyes still open, they stared blankly at Jack, who slowed to a walk, shoulders drooping. Jack came to stand above the body that had once been his partner. The hood that had covered his head had been blown off in his mad dash to reach Brant. The rain hid the tears that streamed down his face. A dark liquid mixed with the rain beneath Brant’s head. It rolled like dark rivers through the puddles of rain.
Jack holstered his weapon. He knelt and closed the open eyes of his partner. He rested his hand on the still warm forehead. “Goodbye, bud,” he whispered, standing and making his way back to the plane. He looked up above the light of the headlight, through the windshield. He could see Aeralyn standing between the pilot seats. Their eyes met. He dropped his gaze and walked slowly to and up the steps to the plane.
He ducked through the small door and into the warmth of the cabin. The pilot and Aeralyn emerged from the cockpit and stood side by side, each observing Jack’s stooped figure. In an instant, Aeralyn rushed forward, closing the distance between them, and hugged Jack hard, pressing her face against his chest. Jack responded to her touch slowly, encircling her with his arms and gently squeezing her.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” she said, her voice hoarse. Jack didn’t respond in words, but he squeezed her a bit tighter.
“Let’s go,” he said, looking up to the fat, bald man standing awkwardly and watching the pair.
“You just want to leave him—” he started to say, before being interrupted by Jack.
“Let’s go.”
The man wrung his hands, before nodding his assent. He pulled the steps up and closed the door to the cabin, before disappearing back into the cockpit. Jack heard the pitch of the engines change as take-off approached.
Aeralyn looked up at his face from his chest. Her hair was a wet mess, dampened by the rain on Jack’s coat, and sticking out at all angles. “I’m sorry, Jack,” she said again.
Tears still streaked Jack’s face. He didn’t understand why, no matter how many he lost—battle buddies, partners, friends—he cried for every one. He didn’t deaden inside like he had watched some do, the pain searing a patch on their emotions until nothing could get through the thick, tough scar tissue. A tear dripped off his chin and splashed onto her damp face.
“Let’s sit down,” he said simply, quietly. They sat down, peeling away from each other reluctantly, both immediately missing the warmth of the other. Jack sat down slowly, pained, as if having aged years in the short span of time. Aeralyn sat down across from him and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping them with her arms. Jack looked at her from across the small table. He placed one hand on the cool, faux wood, feeling the smooth, slick veneer. He watched her as she watched him.
“Do you still trust me?” she asked, breaking the silence. She unclasped one arm from around her legs and attempted to smooth the dark hair that stuck up at odd angles, having escaped her braid. She pulled strands stuck to her face by tears and rainwater and pushed them behin
d her ear.
“I do,” he said, unmoving, like a deer caught in a set of headlights.
“I want you to understand what happened to Brant,” Aeralyn said, almost pleadingly. “I don’t know if you will truly be able to unless we do something first.”
“Do what?”
“I need to access your implant. I need to alter it. We won’t be safe until I do.”
“Alter it how?” He thought back to the blast that tore the implant from his partner’s neck. He inwardly winced again at the loud crack and the way Brant’s head had snapped to the side. “What exactly do you want to do?”
“I need to sever your implant’s connection with the host, and install a few programs to keep you safe.”
“I don’t know about this,” Jack said uneasily.
“Jack…please. Do you want to see? Do you want to know?”
“Yes…” he said hesitantly, just above a whisper.
“You have to let me do this or you can’t, Jack.” She brought her legs down to the floor, one hand a fist on the table. She leaned forward, desperation written on her face. “If you don’t let me do this, the next person to go will be you.” Her voice cracked a bit, tears threatening to flow freely once again. She has cried so much since we first met, Jack thought to himself. Was it his fault?
“Please…” she said, begging. She uncurled her fist and slid her hand across the table, palm up. She stopped when the tip of her longest finger touched the tip of Jack’s. Jack looked down at her hand. Skin smooth, tan, soft. He lifted the tips of his fingers and slid his hand over hers, covering it. She gripped his hand hard, squeezing it. Tears of relief squeezed out of her eyes, as her whole face smiled.
“Thank you, Jack.”
Jack took a deep breath. “What do you need me to do?”
“Lay down on the ground first.”
Jack stood, removing his wet jacket and laying it across the back of the seat. He knelt in an altered pushup position before rolling to his back, shoulders just fitting between the two rows of seats that lined each side of the plane. Aeralyn pulled a small black box from her bag, and a black cord with matching ends. She stepped over Jack and knelt on his right side, between a seat and table. Jack’s eyes followed her as she plugged one end of the cord into the small black box, then reached a hand toward the right side of his face.
